She’s soaked through completely. Her white dress clings to her like a second skin, rainwater dripping from the hem, plastering her hair to her cheeks. She’s breathing hard, chest rising fast, like she ran the whole way here.
For a second, my brain just . . . stops.
Behind her, half-hidden by the rain and the dark, is my bike.
My fucking bike.
“What—” I start, then stop, because she’s looking at me like she’s about to fall apart or fall into me, and I don’t know which one would kill me faster.
“I needed to see you,” she says, breathless, “and you weren’t answering.”
“I thought Diesel . . .” I glance past her again, disoriented. “I thought he took the bike.”
“I asked him not to,” she says quietly. “I told him to leave it.”
My chest tightens. “Why?”
She swallows, rainwater running down her throat, her lashes clumped together. “Because I didn’t want you thinking you had to give up everything.”
I stare at her, the rain soaking into my boots, my shirt, my skin, though none of it is registering.
“I don’t want you to disappear for me,” she continues, her voice trembling now. “I don’t want you shrinking yourself down or cutting pieces off because you think that’s what you owe me.”
“I don’t—” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat. “Eden, I chose this.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “That’s the problem.”
She takes a step closer, and I fight every instinct not to reach for her.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” she says. “I don’t need a dog or a white picket fence.” She half laughs. “I trust you,” she says honestly, emotion clogging her throat. “I trust you not to leave again.”
Her words cause an ache in my heart. They mean everything to me. They mean I’ve proved myself to her enough so she can trust me again. She knows I’ll be here for our child.
Rain streaks down her face like tears she refuses to let fall.
“I went home,” she whispers, “and all I could think about was how calm everything’s been, how easy. And it scared me, because calm shouldn’t mean empty.”
My heart slams so hard, it hurts.
“So, I called Diesel, and he hadn’t left. I got him to drop your bike back here, hide it round the back.” She smiles slightly and then her body shivers.
I move quickly, opening the door wider and stepping aside so she can get out of the rain.
Water pools at her feet. She’s shaking now.
I grab a towel from the hook and hold it out, stopping just short of her. “You’re freezing.”
She doesn’t take it straight away. Her eyes stay locked on mine, burning with something darker, more uncertain.
“You can,” she whispers.
Only then do I step forward, draping the towel around her shoulders slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. She inhales sharply, but she doesn’t move.
“I want to . . . can we try something?” she asks quietly.
I nod, keeping my voice steady. “Of course.”
Her fingers slip into mine, tentative at first, then firmer, and she leads me upstairs. My chest tightens, not with expectation, but with focus. I follow, careful not to rush her.
