“I… sat. Briefly.”
He exhales, but there’s heat simmering under his calm. “Let me help. Not because you’re fragile, but because you shouldn’t have to fight so hard just to be taken seriously.”
My breath hitches.
“And if you let me help carry the small things, you can focus on the big ones. You can keep doing your job your way, and no one gets to say a damn word about whether you’re coping or not.”
The words land like kryptonite wrapped in logic, because that’s what it is. He’s not offering pity, he’s offering strategy. The kind of loyalty I’ve never known how to ask for, let alone accept.
“What about hockey?”
“It’s the off-season,” he says with a quirk of his mouth. “Exploit me while you can, baby.”
I snort, but my voice comes out smaller than I intend.
“You brought food?”
He nods once. “Coconut curry. And snacks for later.”
My eyes flutter shut. “Of course you did.”
“I brought your body wash, too. The one you said didn’t make you wanna barf or give you a headache. And some honey,” he adds after a beat, quieter now. “The good stuff. From my hives.”
It hits me then, a quiet breaking. A pressure in my chest that gets tighter with every breath.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper, sinking further into the water. The words scrape out of me before I can swallow them. “Not just today, not just work. All of it.”
Reid doesn’t move, but I feel his eyes on me.
“I thought I could keep pushing through, like it wouldn’t change anything. Like if I didn’t talk about it, no one would treat me differently. But they are. They already are.”
I swipe at my eyes, frustrated. “And IknowI shouldn’t care. I know it’s not true. But it still—” My voice breaks. “It still hurts.”
Reid shifts to kneel by the tub and cup my face with both hands.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” he says. “But even steel can bend under pressure.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Carina. Not your endurance or your resilience. Iknowyou have it. I’veseenyou live it. This—” He brushes a thumb beneath my eye to wipe a tear. “This doesn’t make you weak, baby. It makes you human.”
He kisses my forehead once, and when he pulls back, I think I might fall apart all over again.
“Let me feed you,” he murmurs. “Let me help you and be here the way youdeservesomeone to be.”
My eyes close, and I nod, and that’s when it happens. A flutter, deep and low, like a knock from inside my belly.
I inhale sharply, my eyes springing open as I sit up and press a hand to my stomach.
“What?” he says, voice alert. “You okay?”
“I think—” I pause.
And there it is again, stronger this time. I grab his wrist and guide his palm to the spot.
The baby kicks. A tiny pulse, right against his touch.
Reid’s eyes widen, mouth parting like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. He just stares at where his hand touches me, like the whole world has narrowed to that single point.
