I kiss the side of her head and nod against her hair.
“I don’t wanna be anywhere else but here.”
She exhales against my skin, as though my answer was something she didn’t know how much she needed to hear.
I ease us back gently, shifting so we’re both lying down on the pillows. She curls up against me, with one hand over my heart, and I count her breaths until they sync with mine. The way she sinks into me now feels different, as though she’s letting someone else carry the weight. And I thank every single star in the sky that it gets to be me.
My thumb brushes slow circles against the small of her back. I keep the rhythm even, keep myself steady, even as everything inside me feels like it’s cracking and realigning at once.
She’s asleep within minutes, but I don’t move. I can’t. Won’t.
Because I’ve never wanted to be anywhere more than I want to be here. And yeah, the playoffs are calling. I have another game in two days. Life’s about to get loud and chaotic, and more complicated than ever.
But none of it outweighs the feel of her head on my chest. The soft heat of her breath against my skin. The way her body has finally let go in my arms.
This woman. This moment. This truth.
Everything has shifted, everything in me narrowing toward her.
And fuck, I hope she lets me keep her.
Chapter eighteen
This fracture of color across the sky
Carina
Iwake before him, and for a moment, I think it’s earlier than it is. My bedroom is still shadowed, my curtains drawn tight, but the quiet hum of the city outside says otherwise. I blink once, then again, my eyes adjusting to the soft gray of morning.
His arm is heavy across my waist, the weight of it grounding. His breath brushes warm against the back of my neck, and all I can do is lie still, not ready to move.
Reid doesn’t stir, not even a twitch of his fingers. He sleeps like someone who hasn’t in a while—deep and unbothered.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to see him. He’s tucked in behind me, broad and quiet and solid in a way I envy. One hand splayed across my stomach, the other tucked under the pillow.His brow is smooth, his mouth relaxed under his mustache. The lines of tension that usually bracket his eyes are gone.
I study the rise and fall of his chest, the way the morning light softens the shape of his jaw. The faint scrape of stubble where it catches the pillowcase.
He looks so calm it almost hurts, as though nothing cracked open last night. That the words I forced out of my mouth didn’t turn my whole world sideways.
I’m pregnant.
I felt it lodge in my throat before it ever landed in the air, but it sat there, scraping its way out until I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
And still, he stayed. Held me. Let me cry.
My fingers rest just above the sheet, and I can still feel the imprint of his warm hand wrapped around mine. Not trying to keep me from falling apart, but making sure I didn’t have to do it alone.
That’s what undid me. Him, choosing to stay.
I shift carefully, peeling the sheet back inch by inch so I don’t wake him. His hand slips from my waist without resistance, and I pause for a second, watching the way he barely moves, his breath still even.
He takes up more space than I realized. Not just physically—though yes, he’s enormous and entirely too much man for my bed—but in the room. In me. The air feels different with him here, and I’m not sure if that terrifies me or calms me.
Maybe both.
I ease my way out from under the covers, feet finding the floor. The wood is cool beneath my toes as I cross the hallway to the living room, each step quieter than the last.
The apartment is wrapped in soft light, diffused and gold around the edges. I don’t turn any lights on. I don’t need to.
