“Maybe.”
A breath of quiet passes, and her fingers trail absently over the bump. My hoodie is hanging off one of her shoulders. I want to be with her.
“You look…” I shake my head. “Christ, Havoc.”
She lifts her eyes, smiling faintly at the nickname.
“You’re the one who looks like a soggy meatball.”
“Hey, we beat Vegas.”
“Still soggy.” Her smile turns softer. “You’re coming home tomorrow?”
“Should be back early evening.”
“You need anything?”
“No, just you.”
I see the way her lashes lower, the faint shimmer at the corners.
“Come back safe, okay?”
My chest aches, and I press my fingers to the screen again.
“I will, baby.”
“Goodnight, Reid.” Her voice is so soft, I almost miss it.
“Night, Havoc.”
***
The plane is dark, humming with the low white noise of half-sleep and recycled air. I’ve got a hoodie pulled low, and a baseball cap tugged down even further. Noise-canceling buds in too, but none of it helps.
I can’t sleep. I keep replaying the game—then overlaying it with the way her voice sounded. The curve of her belly and the faint hum of her laugh. The way her fingers moved across the blanket in absent little circles, like she was soothing both of them at once.
I think about the baby’s heartbeat. About the list in my phone of names we haven’t agreed on yet.
I think about Harry. About the way he said my name when he was proud. About the fucking treehouse we built that I’ll never see again.
I think about the look on Carina’s face when she told me about Harry’s House. That wild, brilliant idea she offered like it wasn’t already a legacy.
I don’t know how she keeps doing it, threading light through all my cracked seams without even meaning to.
But I do know one thing. The second I land, I’m going home.
To my girls.
To her.
The drive from the airport feels infuriatingly slow, but once my cab pulls away down the drive and I watch the taillights vanish into the night, I turn quickly toward the house, reaching for my keys.
When I get inside, the house is still. There’s no music and no psycho cat. No Carina waiting nearby to tell me she’s missed me.
I drop my bag in the hallway and toe off my shoes, letting the scent hit me first—lavender and lemon oil and her.
My ribs ache, and I roll my shoulder once as I walk into the dining room.
