“Sure looked like it from where I was standing. Alone.”
“I was running after mydivorce papers. I was running afterLily’s half-brother.”
Everything in me misfires. Humor gone, anger paused.
Oh, fuck. The note Blake left—the baby isn’t yours—it surges back, a ghost I forgot to fear. The boy who shares Lily’s blood.
“Oh.” Heat spikes behind my eyes for a completely different reason. “Oh, God. I didn’t even?—”
He takes a step closer, then rethinks, staying put. His eyes are wet and wild. “Mia, I didn’t go after her. I went after what she owes Lily. After the life I want with you.”
Compassion grapples with the instinct to protect myself.
“I’ve been working with Liam’s lawyers for weeks,” he says, softer now. “We can finish it without her, but if she’s found and signs the papers, it’s clean. Faster. I wasn’t chasing her, I swear, Mia. I was trying to end her part in my life. I was choosing us. I’ll always choose us.”
I’m exhausted, heavy bones pinning me to bed. Something in me gives. The ache knots with hope. I owe it to us to figure this out. To talk it out, at least.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” My voice cracks. “Why just run?”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he says. “I saw a chance and took it. I thought if I could fix everything before it reached you, I could spare you… this. This mess isn’t a part of the life I promised you.” There’s a big exhale before he continues. “I should’ve grabbed your hand and pulled you with me. Explained everything while we ran together.”
He drops to his knees, keeping that careful distance, his palms open. “I’m so sorry. For making you doubt. For making you relive that kind of fear. I hate that someone taught you that love runs when it gets hard.”
I want to stay angry, but his voice, God, his voice, it keeps shaking.
“You asked me to trust you,” I whisper. “And I did. But now…”
“Nothing’s changed.” He’s firm, but a tinge of despair clings to the edges. “I’m here, telling you the truth, as always. I was in an impossible situation, and I handled it badly. While I was running, all I could think was,this is it. I’ll have my divorce, and I get to marry the woman I love.” A half smile tugs at one corner of his mouth; hope wobbles there. He inhales, lifts his head, eyes locked on mine. “Youcan trust me, Mia. And I’ll spend every day proving you’re right to.”
The quiet hums. Fragile, trembling.
His apology hangs between us, too raw to sidestep. Every unscripted word vibrates through the room.
Truth is, I believe him. Of course I do. This man has never done me wrong.
He’s still kneeling, head bowed slightly, trying to control the rise and fall of his chest. I’ve never seen him like this. Not composed. Not controlled. Just… stripped.
The suitcase sits behind me, useless now. Might as well be a casket. Every reason I had to stay angry is gasping for air.
“You make it really hard to leave,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches. “Good. That’s the point.”
For a breath, the world narrows to the sound of the clock in the hallway.
Then he says, “If I have to crawl for you to forgive me, I will.”
The words hit deep, where fear and longing share a pulse.
“Pres… don’t,” I breathe, but he’s already moving.
Palms hit the floor. Shoulders squared. He crawls from the entrance of our bedroom, all the way to my feet. Every inch forward leaves behind something I don’t want in me. Every fear, every wall, every last bit of resistance.
“You’re it for me, Mia. I’ll beg. I’ll kneel at your feet. Give me a chance. Let me prove it to you.”
He stops inches from my knees, but doesn’t touch me. He waits. So damn respectful. Pres bows his head and exhales, the sound landing somewhere near my heart.
“Stay,” he says and my palm caresses his face. The word cracks on impact. “Please. Stay.”
