A tear slips hot down my cheek, then another.
And another.
I scroll to the top again, just to see it. Just to make sure it’s real.
Havoc.
It’s me, exactly as I am.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it behind my eyes. I make it to the bottom of the stairs and pad barefoot into the hall, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“Reid?”
It’s a broken whisper, but if he’s near, he’d hear it. There’s no response, so I dip my head into the living room. Tap lightly onthe bathroom door. He’s not in the office, not in his downstairs gym.
The door across the hall is ajar, one of his guest rooms.
I push it open, and am met with boxes against the walls. One is half open, revealing soft green swaddles and an unopened baby monitor. There’s a crib still in plastic wrap, a folded-up stroller, a mobile with tiny forest animals.
Everything is new and untouched.
I press a hand to my mouth and try not to fall apart, but it’s too much. The notes. These boxes. The fact that I hadn’t asked for any of it, and he did it anyway. Quietly, tenderly, without any push.
As though he’s been silently preparing and waiting for me to catch up.
The sob hits before I can stop it, and I stumble back into the hallway, trying to keep quiet, but my throat’s closed up. I make it into the dining room in some kind of daze, past the kitchen, past the fridge where he keeps the good yogurt just for me, and out the back doors, barefoot onto the cool stone.
It takes me a second to find him, but I do.
He’s down by the hives, crouched with a smoker in one hand, checking a frame in that careful, focused way of his. His forearms are bare, covered in smudges of pollen and smoke, and his hair’s still damp from the shower. There’s a small jar of fresh honey resting near his foot.
The bees are loud, and the world feels too bright, too full for my heart that’s lodged in my throat.
I’m halfway across the grass, tears streaking hot down my cheeks, when he finally glances toward me.
It happens all at once. His head snaps up on a double take, body going rigid, eyes locking on me like something instinctive just tripped.
“Carina?”
He’s already moving. The frame forgotten and clattering softly against the stand as he crosses the yard at a dead run. Our distance closes fast, his boots thudding against the grass, face sharpening with every step
By the time he reaches me, dropping the jar of honey to the grass beside him, I’m shaking.
“Carina—what happened?” His hands are on me, gripping my arms then shoulders then face like he’s checking for blood, or injury, for something he can fix. “Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Is it the baby?”
I shake my head, but the movement is useless because my chest caves in on itself and the sob punches free.
“No—no, I’m okay, I just—” My voice fractures. I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t even breathe right.
“Hey.” His grip softens instantly, palms warm and solid as he pulls me closer, forehead dipping to press to mine. “Hey, talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
“I didn’t mean to look,” I choke out, clutching at his shirt. “Your phone buzzed, and I was trying to make it stop, and it just—I opened—and I swear I wasn’t snooping, I didn’t mean to, Reid, I just—”
He frowns.
“My phone?”
I nod, swiping at my cheeks with the heel of my hand, which does absolutely nothing. “It was already open. On the Notes app, the one called Havoc.” I laugh, but it’s broken and wet. “You named a whole ass essay after me.”
