"You've defended my father this whole time. Baylor was friends with my mother. He told you." She's putting pieces together now, pieces that don't actually fit but make sense to her in this moment of pain and confusion. "I could tell when you were telling me what you overheard Baylor and my dad fightingabout the other day. You were holding back. You were holding back because you knew."
She slowly backs away from both of us, and it's like watching something break in real time.
"I heard you say as much when I walked in," she continues, her voice breaking. "'You can't keep this from her.That's what you were discussing, right?"
A tear runs down her cheek, and I've never felt more helpless in my entire life.
"Asha, that's not what we were talking about. I fucking swear it." The words come out desperate, almost frantic. I take a step toward her, my hand outstretched. "I've never lied to you."
"Then tell me." She shrugs, tears now streaming freely down her face. Her voice is quiet, defeated. "Tell me what you were talking about."
My gaze instinctively flicks to Warrick, and I see him stiffen, see the warning in his eyes, and I hesitate. Not because I don't want to tell her, but because now feels like a really fucking terrible moment to add one more betrayal to the pile. My indecision lasts only a second, but it's a second too long.
"That's what I thought," Asha says, her voice flat now, emotionless.
She reaches into her back pocket and pulls something out. My eyes track the movement, not understanding what I'm seeing until she slams it down on the coffee table with a sharp crack. A blue-and-white test.
My entire world tilts on its axis as every certainty I had dissolves.
"You should have told me," she says, her voice hollow. "Congratulations. You're going to be a father."
My heart drops to my stomach, and I have to command every cell in my body not to fall to my knees. It feels like the air has been sucked from the room. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can'tprocess anything beyond those two pink lines and what they mean.
"Asha." Her name comes out choked.
But she doesn’t waver as she moves toward the door, the letters still clutched to her chest, as I try to make my legs move, but they won't. They're rooted to the floor.
"Asha, wait!" I finally force the words out, taking a stumbling step forward.
She pauses at the door, one hand on the frame, but she doesn't turn around.
"Don't follow me," she says quietly, and there's a finality in those words that terrifies me more than anything else that's happened in this godforsaken library. "I need to be alone." And then she's gone.
I'm frozen, staring at the space she no longer occupies. Another empty hallway, just like before. I need to run after her, need to chase her down and explain, but then I blink, and my eyes catch on the coffee table and the test she left there. My legs unlock, and in three strides, I'm there, snatching it off the table. My hands shake as I stare at it. It's real. We're having a baby. Joy and terror collide. This should be the best moment of my life, but instead, I'm standing on a cliff's edge.
She's pregnant. And she's alone.
I clench the test tightly. I'm her husband. I don't care if she told me not to follow her. She needs me, and fuck if I don't need her.
"Don't." Warrick's voice is sharp when I reach the door. "Let her go," he says, his tone softer. "Give her time to process and read those letters. She needs her mom, and right now she has pieces."
My grip tightens around the knob until my knuckles turn white as I stand there, torn between the door and the manwho's already lost his daughter once. I know he's right, and Lord knows I can wait. I've done it for years.
So why does it feel like waiting might be the biggest mistake of all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TRIGGER
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS LATER
It's midnight, and I've already knocked on every damn door I know.
Forty-eight hours ago, my world was literally turned upside down. I spent the afternoon busying myself with chores around the ranch, things that needed to get done before the bulls arrived, because she asked for time. Space to be alone with her thoughts. I hated it, but it's why I tried to keep my hands moving and my mind occupied until she came home.
By dinnertime, I was pacing the loft. By bedtime, I was calling every one of our friends, trying to figure out where she'd gone. I didn't sleep.How could I after the bomb that was dropped on me?
By morning, I was checking every one of our credit cards in hopes of finding her. Did she go into town to buy coffee? Where did she eat dinner? Where did she sleep? Nothing. After putting an alert on all transactions, I got in her car and drove toeveryone's house. I had to be sure they weren't lying to me just to cover for her.
