“I know why you’re doing this,” she says, her knuckles white where they grip the handles of her crutches. “And I appreciate it, for real. But I can’t stay here knowing…”
“Knowing what? Please tell me.”
A raindrop hangs on the tip of her nose, and I resist the urge to wipe it away. I don’t have that right anymore.
“I know you’re only doing this because of the baby,” she finally sighs. “And I understand. I do. But I won’t be a charitycase because I’m carrying your pack’s child. I won’t live like that.”
Is that what she thinks? I’m in fucking agony every day over what I did to her. And all I want is for her to forgive me.
I drop to my knees in front of her, not caring about the mud soaking through my pants or the rain pounding against my back.
“Listen to me,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I was coming to your apartment to beg your forgiveness before I ever saw that test. I was standing outside your door like a fucking coward, trying to find the right words to tell you how wrong I’d been, how sorry I was, how much I missed you. The baby changes nothing about how I feel about you.”
“Why would you want me back after what my mother did to your family?”
I swallow hard, rain dripping from my hair into my eyes.
“Because I love you,” I say simply. “Because without you, there’s an emptiness inside me that nothing can fill.”
She shakes her head, refusing to believe me. “I wouldn’t be with you if your family hurt mine. So I don’t blame you.”
“I forgive her,” I interrupt, the words leaving my mouth before I even realize I’m going to say them. Shock hangs in the air between us. “I forgive your mother.”
“What?” says Francine, her voice small and broken.
“I forgive her,” I repeat, and something inside me shifts, a burden lifting that I’ve carried for years. “She did a terrible thing. She took my parents away, leaving Nora without a mother and father. But holding onto that rage has only hurt me. Hurt us. And I won’t let it destroy us anymore.”
Tears fill her eyes, mingling with the raindrops on her cheeks. “How can you forgive her whenIcan’t even forgive her myself?”
The question is soft, vulnerable, laid bare between us like an open wound.
“Can you?” I ask gently. “Can you forgive her, Francine?”
Her tears come faster now, streaming down her face as she shakes her head, lost and confused.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’ve been so angry for so long. She killed my dads, Kieran. She burned them alive for money. How do I forgive that?”
I rise slowly to my feet, careful not to crowd her, though every instinct in my body screams to pull her into my arms, to shield her from the rain and pain and everything that threatens to hurt her.
“One day at a time,” I say softly, aching to hug her.
“I don’t know,” she says with uncertainty, trying push me away with her crutch, but the rubber tip slips in the mud. I catch her before she can fall, my hands gentle on her shoulders.
“Please. Stay here where we can take care of you. You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to speak to me. But please don’t go where I can’t protect you.”
Something in her expression softens ever so slightly.
“Fine,” she whispers. “But only until I’m better.”
Relief floods through me so intensely that my knees nearly buckle. “Okay, thank you for not running away.”
I scoop her up into my arms, carefully supporting her injured ribs and casted limbs. She weighs almost nothing, and it hurts my heart.
I carry her back toward the house, where Drake, Rowan, and Elias wait beneath the shelter of the porch. They’ve been carefully watching our interaction the entire time.
Drake steps forward. “I prepared the couch for her,” he says quietly. “With pillows for her feet and extra blankets.”
I walk inside, grateful to get out of the rain.
