Page 96 of Things We Burn

More silence hung around us.

I didn’t have anything left in me to try to fill it. I just stood there, leaning against the doorway, staring at the spot above Kane’s head because I couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I’m staying,” he declared, breaking the tense hush.

I sagged in relief at him breaking the uncomfortable silence.

I nodded even though I was kind of surprised. Though I shouldn’t have been. It was getting late, the storm was raging outside, and he was on a motorcycle. There were some hotelsaround, though that was likely too public for him. Where did I expect him to go after finding me here, pregnant?

Run. Maybe I expected him to run. Leave. Even if everything I knew about him told me Kane would never do that to me. Except I’d constructed a new version of Kane in my mind, the one Brax had born that day at his office, one that I’d let him poison my other version of Kane with.

“The sofa, it pulls out,” I said, trying to find my bearings. This house was too small for a guest room. The upstairs had a large master with a bathroom, the nursery, another bathroom and a small linen closet. Downstairs was the living area, kitchen, bathroom and sun room. I’d liked that it wasn’t big. I wasn’t expecting visitors beyond Kiera, who made sure to get a top-of-the-line pullout even though she also scouted the best hotel in town. “I’ll get some sheets.”

“I’m not stayin’ on the fuckin’ sofa.”

I paused at his tone, staring back at him. “You’re not?”

“Avery, I got out of prison eleven hours ago. I haven’t slept on a mattress thicker than a thin pillow for months. I haven’t slept with my woman for months. I’m pissed as fuck with you right now, but there’s no way I’m spendin’ another goddamn night in a bed without you.”

My knees were quaking, my mouth went dry, and my heart beat rapidly. Not from fear or despair. No, now it held hope. He called me his woman again. He might’ve still been looking at me with that horrible emptiness, but he was calling me his woman. He wanted to sleep in bed with me. I would no longer toss around a cold bed without the presence of the man I’d yearned for.

Even though that was what I’d hoped for, dreamed of, I hastened to erect a barrier of my own. One to protect myself. “Don’t I get any kind of say in this?” There should’ve been somekind of bite to my voice. I’d intended to add bite. But the words came out small and hesitant instead.

I didn’t know that woman. The quiet, timid woman whose heart was hammering like a hummingbird.

“No,” Kane said simply. “No, you fuckin’ don’t.” He looked at the crib pieces on the floor. “There good takeout places around?” he asked, kneeling down on the floor picking up the discarded, brand-new toolbox I’d bought in preparation for putting together all of this furniture.

My palms became sweaty.

It had been one thing to have to walk past this mess of a nursery that served as evidence of my failure to thrive on my own and create a space for my child.Failed. I hadn’t done that in a long fucking time.

Or maybe that’s all I’d done since Brax tried to tear us apart. Failed Kane. Failed myself.

Now Kane was here. And he could see it. That I couldn’t even put a crib together for our kid.

“Avery.”

Sadness pummeled me at hearing my name. I looked up to find Kane studying me. His brows were furrowed slightly. His expression still wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t iceman-cold either. But he was calling me by my name, not something he’d done since he first started using ‘Chef’ as an endearment. The loss of it felt physical.

“What?” I asked weakly.

“Takeout,” he repeated. I couldn’t be sure, but I swore that his voice was softer. “Any good takeout places around here?”

“Takeout?” I squinted at him, trying to get my mind together. “Um, yeah, there are a few places.”

When I’d moved here, I was fresh out of the first trimester, and my appetite had slowly been coming back. Then it came back with a vengeance. But although I’d been starving foramazing food, I was also really tired. Like really tired. A physical exhaustion I’d never experienced even in my sleep-deprived career. Cooking a simple meal sometimes felt like a herculean effort.

I’d gone on a mission to find good food in this small town.

And I’d been pleasantly surprised at the variety and quality of the restaurants available. It made sense; this place was a tourist destination, and the ocean was right there. The fresh seafood was abundant. There was a mix of casual, seaside eateries and more upscale restaurants. I’d sampled each and every one, more than once, and found myself drawn to the Shaw Shack run by a father and son fisherman team that focused on simple flavors done right.

In my opinion, they were missing the in-between type of restaurant. For when people wanted something a little more upscale than lobster rolls on paper plates but didn’t want to be intimidated by a wine list and a tasting menu.

That was neither here nor there.

Here was Kane. In my house. In my nursery. Asking about takeout. He was here, but he wasn’t. Not the Kane I remembered anyway. Although I supposed I wasn’t the Avery he remembered.

“Pick your favorite,” Kane instructed. “Whatever you think is good I’ll like. Order a lot.”

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