My breath catches, my heart slamming painfully against my ribs.
“Kade,” I whisper, and for the first time, I’m speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s done,” he says quietly. “And honestly? I feel lighter already.”
I nod, but dread curls in my stomach. He might feel lighternow, but it won’t stay that way.
“You’ve been busy,” I say. “Making plans.”
Something in my tone must sting, because his gaze drops to the table like I’ve burned him.
“I should have talked to you sooner,” he admits. “But it wouldn’t have mattered what you said. This was always going to happen.” He swallows. “Feeling the baby move yesterday . . . it changed everything. If you’re staying here, Eden, then I’m staying too. I want to be part of my child’s life. Fully.”
My chest tightens.
“I’m not seeing Pete,” I blurt.
The words spill out before I can stop them, clumsy and ill-timed. The second his eyes snap back to mine, I regret it.
“I don’t mean . . .” I rush. “I’m not trying to say anything. I just thought you should know. We’re not a thing anymore.”
“Or at all?” he asks mildly, lifting a brow.
Heat floods my face.
“I know you, Queenie,” he adds softly. “He’s not your type.” He exhales, long and heavy. “Look, we’re about to be parents. Let’s stop dancing around things. No games. No half-truths. We need to be able to exist in the same space for our child.”
I nod, even though something inside me twists painfully at how reasonable he sounds.
“And maybe one day,” he continues, carefully, “you’ll meet someone else.” The words clearly hurt him to say. “And I’ll haveto accept that.” He pauses. “But understand this—everything I have in me is going into being a good father. And that leaves no space for anyone else. Just you. And the baby.”
It should feel like comfort.
He stands, offering his hand. I take it, and he presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles.
“Thank you for listening,” he says. “Maybe we could grab lunch this week?”
It sounds like a meeting request, and I hate that it does.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “That’d be great.”
He leaves, and the door closes softly behind him.
I sit there with two untouched lemonades and the hollow ache of uncertainty.
CHAPTER TEN
KADE
I don’t belong here.
That’s the first thing that settles in my chest as I sit in the small, neutral room with its bland walls and uncomfortable chairs. No kutte. No title. No President. Just me, hands clasped together like they’re the only thing keeping me upright.
The woman across from me, Amanda, doesn’t look afraid of me. That alone throws me.
“So,” she says gently, “you’re here because your partner survived a sexual assault.”
I nod once, and my throat tightens. “Yes.”
