Page 178 of For Better or Hearse

“We finally picked a name.” Tessie touches her bump. Her brown eyes shine with tears. “Willow.”

“Oh, Tessie. I fucking love it.” She looks at her best friend’s belly. That little life. That little baby she will love with her entire soul. “Willow.”

Tessie’s smiling and Solomon’s smiling and Ash’s heart is a great balloon in her chest. Nothing is right. But for one long second, it all feels like it will be okay.

Ash wakes to the sound of the front door opening.

Heart thudding, she rockets up on the couch, smearing her palms across her bleary eyes. She shakes her head to rid herself of the fog of sleep. Reality, her surroundings come back into focus. Footsteps. Down the hall.

Wait.

Shouldn’t all the Whitfords be at the hospital?

The footsteps get closer, and then a broad-shouldered form stands in the parlor.

Ash looks up. And up.

An unholy strangled sob leaves her throat.

Nathaniel.

“Ash,” he says softly.

For one long second, she’s sure he’s a mirage. A hallucination caused by lack of sleep. Even though her heart, her brain, the two best annoying parts of her, scream otherwise.

He’s here. In front of her. Whole. Alive.

Ash cries out. And then she launches herself up and covers the distance between them.

He catches her in his arms. Instantly, a sense of calm, of rightness, washes over her.

He glues her body to his like he’ll never let go. “Ash,” he breathes into her neck like a mantra. “Ashabelle.” He’s shaking. They both are.

She burrows into him, presses her face to his chest, absorbing his heartbeat. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “You’re alive.”

Nathaniel collapses to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face against her stomach.

“You’re hurt,” she says, alarmed. Her hands, unsure of where to go, hover urgently over him. “You need to go to the hos—”

“No.” A miserable sound wrenches out of him. He shakes his head over and over again. “Let me hold you. I just need to hold you.”

The scent, the sight of him hit straight to her heart like a flood.

He’s here. He’s here.

“I’ve got you,” Ash whispers. “I’ve got you.” Trembling, she runs her nails through his damp hair. She doesn’t have any bones left in her legs.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he rasps, hands tracing over the curve of her back. “You’re all I thought of, Ashabelle. Getting home to you. I had to make it home.”

Home.

Ash feels the tears rise. And then she’s crying, nodding, wrapping her hands tight around those broad shoulders to stay standing. “You’re here,” she sobs. “You’re here.” She doesn’t believe it. This beautiful second chance. A do-over of the highest order.

Gripping her hips tightly, Nathaniel pushes to standing. “Don’t cry,” he says, cradling her face in his hands. He whisks his thumbsover her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “Don’t cry, my morbid little beauty.”

“I thought you were dead, you asshole,” she hisses, voice shaking with emotion. “I’ll cry if I want to.”

“I told you. That honor is yours alone.”

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