Hope and fear collide, flooding me with equal parts wonder and panic.
What if I screw this up?
What if I’m not enough for either of them?
My gaze drifts to the photo on the bookshelf. The one Rina asked about last night with Mom, Dad, Hayes, Theo, and me. Mom was pregnant with Kia at the time. We looked like one big happy family. It was back when the world made sense. Before the accident stole Dad from us. Before Hayes had to become a man when he was just a teenager.
I can still picture that night.
Mom at the kitchen table, hands trembling as she tried to explain what happened. Instead of crying, Hayes wrapped an arm around me and Theo, doing his best to be strong for all of us. I didn’t understand it then, but that’s the night I learned love can disappear in the blink of an eye.
That’s not a lesson I want to pass on.
I don’t want my kid to ever know what it feels like to lose one of the people who are supposed to always be there. The worst part is, no matter how hard I try, that’s not something I can control.
I push away from the counter before the ache can sink in too deep, and turn my attention back to the pan. I’m no Michelin-star chef, but from where I’m standing, the eggs look edible.
I plate them beside the bacon, pour a glass of orange juice, and load everything onto a tray.
Rina stirs as I walk into the bedroom. Her lashes flutter, and a sleepy groan slips from her as her eyes blink open. She looks gorgeous with her dark hair mussed, sheets tangled around her, and skin kissed by morning light. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want what we’re building to last a lifetime.
“What’s this?” she asks, voice scratchy with sleep as she pushes up against the headboard, brows drawn in mild suspicion.
“It’s a little something I like to call breakfast.” I set the tray on the bed. The mattress dips under my weight as I climb in beside her. “Don’t look at me like that. I followed the instructions to a T. Trust me, these eggs are gourmet level. Your tastebuds aren’t going to know what hit them.”
Her lips twitch, as if she’s trying not to smile. I scoop up a forkful and hold it out.
When she continues to stare, I tease, “Be a good girl and open the tunnel for the choo-choo.”
That earns me a scowl. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”
“I know.” My grin turns tender. “But I want to do it for you.”
Her eyes meet mine, startled, before darting away. She hesitates, then opens her mouth and accepts the bite. Her lips close around the fork. Somewhere in my brain, I know she’s just eating eggs, but my body doesn’t seem to care. Watching her chew, swallow, then lick a trace of cheese from the corner of her mouth is the kind of domestic intimacy I never thought could undo me.
And yet, here we are.
“See?” I say. “Not too terrible.”
Even though she doesn’t answer, a faint curve ghosts across her mouth. It’s small and subtle around the edges, yet it lands deeper than any other smile she’s given me.
I keep feeding her bite after bite. Small motions along with the quiet scrape of the fork against the plate. The tension in her shoulders eases as she sinks back into the pillows with a sigh she probably doesn’t even notice.
For once, there aren’t walls between us. Just something simple and real. Something more intimate than any kiss we’ve shared.
I feed her until her lashes lower and her breathing steadies. Until the storm in her eyes quiets and she looks sated.
I don’t say what I’m really thinking—that I’d stay like this forever if it meant she’d never have to face the world alone again—because I don’t want to scare her.
All I can hope is that deep down inside, she feels it too.
27
Rina
By the time noon rolls around, I’m dragging.
Even though Oliver made breakfast this morning, I’m still wiped. My body feels weighted, every movement a Herculean effort. Like I’ve been running a marathon I never signed up for. Fatigue presses down until even holding myself upright is work.
