Page 125 of Things We Burn

I hadn’t realized I’d squeezed them shut. Opening them, Kane’s gaze was boring into me.

“I do not hate you,” Kane rasped. He leaned forward to lay his lips on mine. “I was mad at you. I’m emotionally fucked-up with a shitty past. I felt abandoned. I lashed out. Because I love you. Becauseyouare my lighthouse in a fuckin’ storm, and without you, I was nothin’ but rubble against rocks.” He rested his forehead on mine. “I do not hate you.” he ran his thumbs beneath my eyes. “You are mine. We have shit to work out, but it’s nothing compared to this.” He rested his hand on my stomach.

Baby Girl did somersaults underneath his palm.

He let out a laugh that sounded like it was mixed with a sob.

“This, the three of us, is my world,” he whispered.

I couldn’t stop crying. It was like a dam had broken, and I couldn’t plug it up.

“I’m sorry,” I sniffled. “I’m sorry I abandoned you. That I was so easy for Brax to fool. That I insulted what we had by giving up so easily. That’s my own past. I know it. And you were locked up. Alone…” I let out a wretched sob at the thought of it.

“Okay, Chef, we’re gonna pause the apologies.” Kane sprinkled my moist cheeks with kisses. “You don’t need to be getting worked up over this. We’re gonna get you home. We’re gonna shower, put you in my tee, then we’re gonna go to bed. You can cry if you want, that’s fine. But we’re gonna save the heartfelt conversations for later. We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

I tried to force my breathing to even. It felt like there was a beast inside of me, a hormonal, heartbroken beast. One I’d been repressing for years, and she had a lot of tears.

“You good to head out, Chef?” Kane asked me.

I sucked in a breath, trying to grasp on to the ice queen Avery Hart. I couldn’t find her.

“I’ll be fine,” I lied.

Kane stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes flitting around my face. Eventually, he leaned forward to kiss me delicately. Then he kissed my belly. Then he rearranged me so I was facing forward in the car and buckled my belt.

Though I wasn’t sobbing uncontrollably, I couldn’t stop crying during the short ride home.

Without a word, Kane got out of the car, plucked me up from my seat then carried me inside.

“Kane,” I hissed through my tears. “That’s so dramatic. I can walk. I’m too heavy.”

“You can walk,” he agreed, unlocking the door. “And you’re not too heavy. I want to carry you, so I’m going to.”

And he did. All the way up the stairs. Then he peeled off my clothes and got us both into the shower. Still, I didn’t stop crying. Not when we got out and he dried me off, peppering my body with kisses. Not when he used the oil all over my body, gingerly massaging out the kinks. Not even when we curled up in bed together, where I was warm and safe.

I didn’t realize I had that much sorrow in my body.

It was off-putting.

Not to Kane, though.

He just held on.

Twenty

I slept hard that night,riding an adrenaline crash, I guessed. Yesterday had utterly exhausted me.

Kane had held me all night long. I had foggy recollections of jolting awake, his hands rubbing my stomach, my back, his voice in my ear. “You’re safe, Chef. Baby girl is moving.”

A large kick confirmed that, the relief of her movement coupled with Kane's warmth easing me back to sleep.

Kane had gotten up at some point because I woke in bed alone. My head was pounding, mouth dry, and I felt as if I’d been hit by a train.

I glanced to the bedside table where a large glass of water was sitting. I wrenched myself up to down it. Then I waited for my stomach to settle. I’d been so thirsty; I’d forgotten about the way my stomach lurched if I drank water on an empty stomach. A holdover from the first trimester still going strong.

I blinked at the time on my phone.

It was after eleven.

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