His words pushed me higher, sent me spiralling into another release, and this time he followed me, repeating my name like it was the answer to every question, spilling into me with every ragged thrust.
When we collapsed together, sweat-slick and shaking, he kissed my face everywhere, cheeks, eyelids, jaw, murmuring, “I love you.I love you.I love you.”
I laughed, breathless, crying all at once.My heart felt so full.
He brushed a thumb under my eye, his hair damp against my forehead.His voice came quiet, hesitant, like he was about to hand me something fragile.
“Is it too much if I tell you,” He said, “that if you weren’t on birth control, I wouldn’t care?That I want everything with you, the life, the family, the forever?”
I stared at him, stunned, a little in awe.The words didn’t scare me.Andthatwas terrifying.
He shifted slightly, his hand moving to play with my hair, still searching my face.“I’m not trying to rush you.I just… I’ve never been so sure of anything.Not like this.Not like you.”
My fingers slid along his jaw; he was handing me pieces of his heart.He was being honest and vulnerable, and I wanted to do the same.“I can see it too.”
His lips curved in a brilliant smile.“How many kids do you want?”
I laughed, still breathless.“We’re just skipping asking if I want kids and going right to how many?”
“I’ve known you your whole life,” he said, eyes warm and certain.“You’ll be an incredible mother, Cassidy.”
And then he kissed me again, slow and deep, like the words we had shared were a promise.
Later, I lit the fire again while he slipped out to check the perimeter.My body still hummed, but my mind drifted to the future, our future.I saw books stacked in that library, Brody sanding a crib, a toddler chasing fireflies.My heart clenched so tight I pressed my hand to my chest.
Then, snap.A twig?What was that?
I froze, eyes on the dark edge of the meadow where I could have sworn, I saw movement.
Brody returned from the opposite direction, calm, reassuring.“Nothing out there, Cass.Probably just a deer.”He brushed his lips over my temple, tugging me close.“Come on.Let’s eat before you ravish me again.”
I ran my hands over his chest up over his shoulders, "I love you."
He smiled, "I love you.Thank you for trusting me.Choosing me."
I leaned into him, breathing him in deep, letting the shadows slip back.Because tonight wasn’t about fear.Tonight was about us.About love.About building a life under this maple, with roots sunk deep and branches stretching wide, a future waiting to be claimed.
And I was ready.
Chapter 47
The weeks carried me forward like a current.Not calm, not entirely safe, the trial loomed, the blocked calls still came, but steady enough that I could imagine life after.
The Crown confirmed Andrew’s trial date, yet his side had yet to confirm his acknowledgement.My lawyer used words like “airtight” and “compelling evidence,” but no matter how many times I heard them, the reality didn’t sit right with me.Andrew was gone, having disappeared into silence, and somehow that felt scarier than his presence had ever been.Every buzz of a blocked call reminded me that he was still connected to me, like a thread tugged tight at the edge of my nerves.Every tingle, every gut feeling that I was being watched, but couldn't see who it was, notched up my angst for what was to come.
Brody had finally had enough.One night, after watching my screen light up and my jaw clench again, he plucked the phone out of my hands.He handed me his instead, our contacts already swapped.
"Let me carry this one," he said simply."You’ve carried enough."
For the first time in months, my phone didn’t feel like a bomb waiting to go off.
In the space the trial carved out, life still pressed forward.Marin and my publisher had shifted from edits to planning my book launch, cover reveals, pre-orders, and a tight little tour I’d reluctantly agreed to.Not endless flights, no endless media blitz, just a handful of curated events.Enough to count, not enough to drown me.
At night, I’d sit with my laptop open, staring at a blank page that wasn’t edits anymore, wasn’t notes or rewrites.It was… possibility.What came next.
I had written my story, my truth, into fiction as a way to get it out.As a way to push back without saying that was what I was doing.
And now...now I could write something for me.I could pluck a story from my imagination and set it free.
