Page 107 of Fighting Fate

“I didn’t press charges against him.” Willow lets out a breath as her hand presses to my lips. “In return, he dropped the charges against you.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t have to press charges because the Crown Prosecution Service is doing it anyway. And if he tried to go back on our deal, it wouldn’t go far now that the CPS is involved. They’ve charged him with grievous bodily harm with intent. Dorian says he’s not getting less than fifteen years because I’m pregnant and…” Her breath hitches, making her sound choked. However, she’s quick to recover herself, adding, “He’s not getting away with it.”

“Dorian?”

“Perks of having a bigwig in the family.”

“Lo…”

Smiling softly at me, she presses a kiss to my jaw, trailing it up my face until the tip of her nose is touching mine. “Peter’s more fucked now that the CPS are going for him than he would’ve been if it was just me…”

“Willow…”

“You risked everything for me and him,” she breathes, clasping her hand over mine, cradling her belly. “You had my back, and I have yours. You protect me, and I protect you. That’s how it is…right?”

I nod, holding her tighter. “I’ve missed you so damn much.”

“Want to come home with me?” Willow presses a kiss to my lips.

The vibration of her content hum warms through me, and I don’t care about anything. The entire world falls away as I lift her onto my lap and kiss her deeper. There’s only silence beyond our ragged breaths and the thrumming of my heart. There’s only Willow and me.

All that matters is the here and now. Having her in my arms. Feeling our boy wriggle around inside her. It’s everything I want and all I’ll ever need.

* * *

TWO MONTHS LATER…

Holy. Shit.

Once upon a time, I didn’t think I could love anything more than the cage. There was nothing that held my interest or made me feel like there was more to life. I wanted to achieve everything my father didn’t get a chance to, and I lived with nothing but the need to make him proud. I thought I was happy…until now.

Dark grey eyes blink up at me when I adjust myself on the couch, pulling the blanket over us while we watch the NBC Sports reels at five o’clock Christmas morning. Everyone is still in bed, including Willow. At three days old, this kid is already going against every routine plan she had made. He’s hungry all the time, and when he’s not eating, he’s looking for a cuddle.

“Done?” I ask, checking the bottle for how much he’s had to drink. Considering he’s two weeks early, our little boy is so perfect.

I’m putting the bottle down on the side table when Willow walks into the room in her holly-and-robin Christmas pyjamas that look loose now that her belly isn’t full. Her hair is in wild disarray around her pregnancy-swollen face. There’s never been anyone as beautiful as she is, and every time I set eyes on her, my heart skips a beat like it’s the first time.

Still half-asleep, Willow puts the breast pump down on the coffee table before slipping under the blanket next to us.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” I tell her, even though I’m wrapping my arm around her so she can snuggle into me while I rub the baby’s back.

“I want to pump before everyone comes down to open presents and have breakfast. Otherwise, I’ll have to go sit in the bedroom halfway through.” An awed smile tugs at her lips as she touches her forehead to the baby’s.

“You settled on a name yet?”

The instant the midwife put our son on her chest, she changed her mind about naming him Mason. It’s sort of a relief as he really doesn’t look like one.

“Maybe,” she whispers, running her fingertips over his cheek as she sits up. A coy smile purses her lips into a beak while she hums teasingly.

“Maybe?”

“This naming business is really hard.”

“It’s for life.”

“It is.” The murmur of her retort settles into silence. With her soft stare flitting back to our boy, she traces the edge of the lion tattoo on my chest. “And it should be special.”

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