Too late. She’s already gliding away, shouting for someone to time her spin.
I’m alone in the middle of the pond, heart hammering, and Oliver is walking toward the ice like a man on a mission.
I panic.
I push off hard, aiming for the cluster of cousins near the bonfire, but the sudden motion throws my balance. My ankle wobbles. The world tilts.
I go down hard.
The ice slams into my hip, my shoulder, my breath whooshing out in one brutal gasp. Instinct takes over, and both hands fly to my stomach, curling protectively over the tiny life I’ve been guarding for ten weeks.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until strong arms haul me upright.
“Savannah. Jesus. Are you hurt?” Oliver’s voice is raw. His hands are everywhere: my arms, my back, my face, and then one palm slides lower, settling over both of mine on my stomach.
He freezes.
I feel the exact second he registers it: the subtle, firm curve that wasn’t there in October. His hand spans almost my entire lower abdomen, fingers splayed wide, and there’s no hiding it now, not from this close, not when he’s touching me like he’s trying to memorize the shape of the truth.
His eyes snap to mine, wide and stunned.
“Savannah,” he breathes. It’s barely a sound.
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. His grip shifts, gentle but immovable, and he’s steering me toward the boathouse before I can protest, one arm locked around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
The door bangs shut behind us, cutting off the laughter and music to a dull, distant hum. The only light comes through the cracked window and the thin gaps between cedar planks: pale winter sun striping the floor in gold and shadow.
Oliver doesn’t speak at first. He stares at me. His hand is still on my stomach, palm spread wide, fingers trembling against the soft knit of my sweater. I watch his face cycle through emotions so fast. First shock, then fear, wonder, and something fierce and territorial that steals my breath.
“Halloween.”
I nod. My throat is raw from trying not to cry and the cold air.
He sinks all the way to his knees. Both hands slide to my hips now, then lower, cradling the tiny curve I’ve been hiding under every oversized sweater I own. His thumbs trace slow, reverent circles, like he’s mapping new geography.
“Say it,” he whispers.
“I’m pregnant,” I choke out. “I swear, Oliver. There’s been no one else. Not since—”
“Since me.” He finishes the sentence like he needs to taste the words. His forehead drops to my stomach, breath hot through the fabric. “Jesus, Savannah.”
I thread my fingers into his hair without thinking, needing something to anchor me. He shudders at the touch.
“I thought—” His voice cracks. “I thought you hated me. That you were shutting me out because I left. Because I was a coward.”
“I was scared,” I admit. The tears keep coming. I can’t stop them. “I woke up, and you were gone, and I thought… I thought that night only mattered to me.”
He makes a broken sound and pulls me down until we’re both kneeling, his arms locking around my waist like he’s terrified I’ll disappear. I end up straddling his thighs, hands braced on his shoulders, our faces inches apart.
“It mattered,” he says fiercely. “It’s all that’s mattered for ten fucking weeks. Every meeting, every city, every night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing you in that red cape, hearing you say myname like I was the only thing you wanted. I thought I’d ruined everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I whisper. “You gave me something amazing.” I cover one of his hands with mine, pressing it harder against the swell. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought you’d feel trapped. Or worse, that you wouldn’t care.”
His eyes flash with something dangerous. “Not care?” He cups my face, thumbs wiping tears I didn’t realize were still falling. “Savannah, I’ve been half-alive since I walked out of that hotel room. I’m not walking away again. Not from you. Not from our baby.”
Our baby.
The words punch the air out of my lungs.
