There’s conviction in her expression, a fierce loyalty that mirrors my own.
I hold her eyes for a moment longer, rooting myself in the certainty that I’m choosing to trust her with this.
“This stays with you,” I tell her quietly.
She lifts her hand and places it over her heart. “It doesn’t leave me,” she promises.
I study her face carefully, searching for hesitation or doubt, and find none. I believe her.
For now, the secret feels protected, wrapped in the small circle of trust we’ve built over years of friendship.
Tonight, I’ll tell Kiren. And when I do, everything will change.
23
ROWAN
“We’re not going home,” Lila declares the moment the hospital doors slide closed behind us.
The evening air is colder than it looks, dry and sharp in my lungs. I instinctively pull my coat tighter around me, and beside me, Lila does the same, her shoulders lifting against the chill. A thin dusting of snow clings to the edges of the sidewalk and the tops of parked cars, softening everything just enough to make it look quieter than it is.
I turn toward her, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “We both have early shifts,” I remind her, though my voice lacks conviction.
“I don’t care,” she insists, stepping in front of me so I can’t simply walk past her. Her eyes are still glassy from earlier, rimmed pink, but the softness has been replaced by resolve. “You just told me you’re pregnant. We’re not treating that like it’s routine.”
A cold gust lifts a few strands of her hair and sends a fine scatter of the powdery snow skimming across the sidewalk. She pushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear as she pulls her coat tighter around herself.
She gestures toward the street. “There’s a diner four blocks over. The one with the neon sign that never turns off. We can sit for twenty minutes. Fries. Pie. Milkshakes. I don’t even care what. Weareacknowledging this.”
I hesitate, but not because I object to celebrating. My thoughts are already miles ahead, picturing Kiren’s face when I tell him. I want to hold onto that moment, keep it unshared for just a little longer. But twenty minutes won’t change that. And for the first time in weeks, I feel lighter, as though something inside me has opened rather than tightened.
“Fine,” I concede, lifting my hands in surrender. “Twenty minutes.”
“That’s my girl,” she replies, looping her arm briefly through mine as we step toward the curb.
Leo brings the SUV to a smooth stop directly in front of us, as seamless as ever. The engine idles low and even, the headlights washing pale light across the pavement. He steps out immediately, scanning the street with the constant vigilance that never leaves him, even in seemingly quiet moments.
Karp exits from the front passenger side at the same time. He doesn’t speak. He never does unless it’s necessary. His presence is broad and immovable, his shoulders squared beneath his jacket as his eyes sweep the sidewalk, the parking lot, and the street beyond.
“Evening, Doc,” Leo greets calmly as he opens the rear passenger door.
“Evening, Leo,” I reply, then add, “Change of plans. We’re heading to the diner on Westbrook.”
Leo inclines his head once. “Understood.”
Lila glances past us toward the parking lot, where her car sits under a light dusting of snow. For a second, it looks like she’s calculating the distance.
“I’ll just leave it,” she says. “I can grab it after dinner.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know.” She pulls her coat tighter and gives me a look that ends the argument before it starts. “I’m riding with you.”
Leo holds open the back door, and she slides in beside me. The door shuts with a firm click, sealing us inside.
The quiet inside the SUV feels worlds apart from the city's hum outside. Karp sits forward in his seat, his posture attentive, one forearm resting against the center console as he watches through the windshield.
Leo merges into traffic smoothly.
