Page 106 of Things We Burn

The silent command made me gasp, made hope warm in my stomach.

I traveled the distance between us. He didn’t move, didn’t meet me halfway. Maybe that meant something. Maybe that meant nothing.

I went up on my tiptoes to reach his lips, laying mine on his. Still he hadn’t moved to take over the kiss. It was all me. Until our lips touched, our tongues crashed together, and the kiss was no longer the peck on the lips I’d expected.

By the time it was done, Kane’s hand was on my ass, inside of the panties, his other hand behind my neck.

Our bodies couldn’t be flush because of my protruding stomach pressing into his flat torso.

Kane looked down at my stomach, his eyes hungry and possessive. He let go of my ass, stepped back then knelt down to lay his lips gently on the swell.

“Good morning, Baby Girl Rhodes,” he murmured in an incredibly tender, incredibly sweet voice, speaking without any of the reservation he was using with me.

Which was good. I didn’t want Kane taking his resentment toward me out on our child.

As if responding to her father’s voice, a foot kicked against Kane’s hand.

His eyes widened in wonder, then he smiled. Smiled with his whole being. Without any of the shadows that had been shrouding his face. “I can’t wait to meet you either,” he whispered, laying his hands on me a moment longer before looking up at me.

His smile was gone.

My heart panged painfully.

“You wanna be quick about getting ready?” he asked. “Our baby’s hungry.”

Another heart pang.

Our baby. Protective. Claiming.

Because I couldn’t speak, I just nodded then turned to go get ready.

My tears mixed with the spray of the shower. And I couldn’t decide whether they were from happiness or heartbreak.

KANE

I could barely breathe. Barely fucking think. My mind had been in a fog since the second Avery had opened that door. I’d been prepared to be mad at her. Ready to rage at her for running from me. For fucking abandoning me.

Just like my mother had.

Yeah, it was shitty of me, projecting all of my issues onto her when I knew she wasn’t my mother. But I’d also told her about my mother, about the wounds she’d opened up inside me. Ones I’d hid from everyone but her. And I’d been livid about the fresh cuts she’d created herself despite knowing what she knew.

But then I saw her.

Her face flushed, different, softer yet harder at the same time. More vulnerable. So much more vulnerable.

And her stomach.

My child.

My fucking daughter.

Growing inside her.

Had been growing inside her while I’d been in a cell these past months. And I hadn’t known. I’d fucking missed it. Months of it. I’d missed watching her grow. I’d missed taking care of my woman. The doctors’ appointments. I’d missed carrying fucking furniture up the stairs. Getting pulled on a beach by a seventy-pound dog.

The thought of Avery doing all that.

Pregnant.

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