My body moves, slow and heavy, like it’s wading through mud. The scan photo is still clutched in my hand, the edges already soft from where I’ve been touching it too much.
And then I see him.
Kade.
Standing in the doorway of the pub like he owns the whole damn place. Leather kutte unzipped. Hair windswept. His jaw tight. His chest rises and falls like he’s run here. Like he didn’t stop to think, just followed something instinctive and reckless straight to me. And I want to believe it’s true . . . only he’s three months too late.
For a heartbeat, everything else disappears.
The music.
The chatter.
The warmth I’d finally let myself feel.
Gone.
His eyes find mine, and it’s like being hit straight in the chest. I forget how to breathe. Forget how to stand properly. My pulse roars in my ears, loud enough to drown out every rational thought I had about being ready for this moment.
I thought I was prepared to see him.
I wasn’t.
There’s too much there—anger, regret, something raw and aching that makes my throat burn. I hate that it still has this much power over me. I hate that my first instinct isn’t to step back but to steptowardshim.
Then, his gaze drops.
Straight to the scan photo in my hand.
I see it happen in real time, the second his brain catches up with his eyes. The way his jaw clenches hard enough to make themuscle twitch. The way his shoulders stiffen, like he’s bracing for a hit.
When he speaks, his voice is low, rough. Familiar enough to send a full-body shiver down my spine.
“Guess I’m too late for the scan.”
Every single sound drains from the room, leaving nothing but the hum of my blood and the weight of his stare. My fingers tighten around the photo like it might anchor me, like if I let go, I’ll come undone completely.
This is the man I love.Loved.The man I left. The man who broke me . . . and the only one who ever made me feel safe.
And standing here, with my baby’s heartbeat still echoing in my chest, I realise something terrifying—seeing him hurts more than missing him ever did because now I have to face him.
Every pair of eyes flicks between us like they’re watching a car crash in slow motion.
I swallow, my throat dry, my heart hammering so hard, it hurts. I tell myself not to cry. Not here. Not now. I’ve cried far too many tears for this man.
Kade takes a step towards me.
Just one.
My body reacts before my brain does. My shoulders tense. My fingers curl tighter around the scan photo until the edges dig into my palm.
“Eden,” he says.Not Queenie. “I—” He stops and scrubs a hand down his jaw like he doesn’t trust himself to keep talking. His eyes flick to the photo again then back to my face. “Can we talk?”
The word ‘talk’ feels too small for what sits between us.
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
It comes out quieter than I mean it to but firm enough that he stills.
