My eyes sting instantly.I hate it.I hate that I’m about to cry.I hate that lately everything makes me cry—gum wrappers, kind words, the fact that Cally remembered I hate mint.
Dammit.
Cally notices anyway.His brows pull together, and before I can protest, he shifts forward and pulls me into the most awkward hug in human history because there’s a paper sheet and a cold table and my legs are definitely not in a dignified position.
I go stiff at first.My brain short-circuits on contact.
But Cally just holds me.
“Hey,” he murmurs against my hair.“It’s okay to be scared.But you’re not doing this alone.”
My fingers curl into the back of his shirt like I’m grabbing onto him because I don’t know what else to grab.My voice comes out small, ugly with truth.“I don’t know if I can do this at all.”
“You can,” Cally says, and there’s no doubt in him.Not a single crack.“You’re Vesper Anaïs Lafontaine.You can do anything.”
A wet laugh breaks out of me, because of course my body is doing comedy and tragedy at the same time.“That is such a lie.”
Callaway pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands still on my shoulders like he’s anchoring me without saying it.“No, it’s not.”He taps my chin.“Now breathe, and let’s get through this.You can fall apart later—preferably somewhere that doesn’t involve a paper cover.”
I let out a wobbly laugh and swipe at my cheeks.“Fine.But I’m holding you to that.”
“Deal,” Cally says.
“I’m here,” Monty repeats quietly, and his thumb strokes the side of my hand once, like a promise he doesn’t need words for.
And they are.
They’re here.
Which is the part that scares me most.
Because being held—being seen—being cared for like this ...it makes you want things you can’t afford to want.
It makes you believe in futures.
It makes you forget how many times your heart has learned the lesson that nothing stays.
My throat works as I swallow.I stare at their hands, their faces, the way they’re trying not to look scared for me.
And all I can think is:
How long will this last?
How long is their truce?
Can we survive it?
Or is this another beautiful, temporary thing that’s going to break me again—only this time, with a baby between us?
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Vesper
The door swings open, and a woman in a white coat steps inside, flipping through a chart like she’s walking into any ordinary appointment instead of the moment that’s been stalking me for weeks.
“Good morning,” she says, warm and efficient.She looks up and smiles.“I’m Jane, your technician.And you must be Vesper.”
I nod, and my mouth goes dry like my body just remembered it’s supposed to be afraid.
