Page 99 of Things We Burn

There were many places I imagined I’d be the night I got out ofprison.

None of them, fucking none would’ve been in a nursery in a small house in coastal Maine.

Avery’snursery.

Thunder boomed throughout the night.

I focused on my breathing, willing my heart to beat evenly.

I glanced at the open door. There was no lock. I wasn’t trapped. The air was cool. No officers, no yelling inmates, no stench of body odor and metal. I didn’t have to be on guard, ready, waiting to see if Knox’s protection detail had expired.

Most importantly, Avery was in the next room. I could hear her getting ready for bed. I wasn’t wondering where she was, if she’d moved on to another man, if she was safe. She was there. With me. Pregnant with my baby.

My fucking baby.

Lightning illuminated the room. The crib I’d put together. The chair that Avery had sat in, watching me. There were rolls of wallpaper in the corner. Clothes with tags still on them sitting on top of the dresser. Impossibly tiny clothes.

I’d insinuated that the baby might not have been mine.

She’d recoiled as if I’d hit her. I felt pain, agony shredding at my insides seeing her flinch like that. Seeing her shrink before me. She didn’t battle me. She didn’t keep her trademark calm. There was none of that. None of my Chef. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, she spoke timidly, froze like a scared rabbit.

I wanted to hold her. Fuck, I wanted to gather her in my arms and forget it all.

Maybe that was the right thing to do.

I couldn’t, though.

I was too fucking angry.

But I loved her too much to leave. Ever.

I would never leave her. Never leave my baby.

But I didn’t know how to forgive her either.

AVERY

I was in bed. I’d rushed my normally militant nighttime routine. Since I’d moved here, I’d been given something I hadn’t had in years: free time. Endless amounts of it. Enough to make me insane. Nowhere to go in the morning. Nothing to prepare. No menus to design. No food to buy.

Only sorrow to digest, only a baby to grow.

Hence the dog. Hence me becoming addicted to reality TV and detective novels.

And the routines. Morning routine. Nighttime routine.

My en suite was overflowing with all sorts of body and face products courtesy of Kiera, who was sent endless amounts of things in PR. In my prior life, I sometimes indulged in a skincare routine, but most of the time I did nothing more than wash off whatever makeup I’d remembered to apply, brush my teeth and maybe slather on moisturizer.

Now I exfoliated. Used serums. Oils.

All pregnancy safe, thanks to Kiera’s research. I hadn’t even realized there were things you couldn’t use while pregnant.

After researching, I realized that pregnancy was more about what you ‘could’ have. And even those things were highly debated.

Though I should’ve put double the amount of time in to make myself look good, smell good, considering I was getting into bed with Kane, I was in fight-or-flight mode. All I managed to do was wash my face, brush my teeth and tie up my hair.

I didn’t want to get caught midway through my routine by Kane. I felt self-conscious, uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to move around him. Didn’t know how to occupy the same space. And soon, he’d be in my bedroom.

Nightwear proved to be a problem. A big problem.

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