Page 58 of Halfway to Hell
He took a breath, then turned to the small group gathered in the room—his folks, Cree, and Kennedy—all of them watching, waiting.
With his usual cocky wink, he said, “We’re expecting.”
Kennedy was so excited she started slapping Cree’s arm over and over in rapid bursts until he finally grabbed her hand, laughing as he stopped the assault. Then she let out a squeal that could’ve shattered glass.
“I’m gonna be a godmother!” she grinned, practically bouncing. “I am, right, Sunday?”
“Yes,” Sunday laughed. “You can be the baby’s fairy godmother.”
Texas snorted, cutting in with a grin. “Hey, what if it’s a boy? No son of mine’s having a fairy godmother.”
“If it’s a boy,” Sunday countered with a teasing smile, “he can have a burly godfather that rides a bike.”
Texas raised a brow, pretending to think it over. “Now that I can live with.”
Knowing damn well he’d ask one of his brothers to be godfather, Texas countered her with a smirk. “How about a burly,grouchygodfather that doesn’t ride a bike?”
“You can pick whoever you want,” Sunday said softly, cupping his cheek with her hand. “It’s your baby too.”
That simple truth landed like a weight in his chest.
“Sunday…” he breathed. “We’re gonna have a baby.”
She nodded, then shrugged with a nervous little smile, like she wasn’t sure what came next.
But Texas wasn’t hearing anything else. The words echoed in his head—we’re gonna have a baby—over and over until the joy cracked wide open into panic. His chest tightened. His breath stuttered.
His daughter had died because of a defect in her tiny heart—a silent thief they hadn’t seen coming. What if this baby…
His stomach churned. Cold sweat beaded along the back of his neck. He was freaking out.
Overwhelmed by a surge of panic and self-disgust, Texas shot up from the couch and bolted to the kitchen. He barely made it to the sink before his stomach lurched.
He emptied everything he had; hands braced on the edge of the counter as his body shook. When it was over, he turned on the cold water, rinsing the mess away with trembling fingers, then splashed the icy stream onto his face, trying to steady himself.
Behind him, he felt Sunday approach before she touched him. Her hand moved gently over his back, worry etched into every stroke.
“I was afraid you’d react like this,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, Texas. I hate that I’m the reason you’re?—”
“Sunday,” he cut in, still leaning over the sink, his head bowed as the water ran over his wrist. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“You’re upset.”
“No...” he paused, correcting himself. “Well… yeah. But not because you’re pregnant.”
She didn’t respond right away, and he felt her waiting.
He knew what had to come next. “We never talked about my daughter,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. “Or my wife. Not really. Just that day in the diner.”
Sunday stood beside him now, quiet and steady. “Then what?” she asked, gently.
Before Texas could answer Sunday, his mother stepped into the kitchen.
“Ange,” she said gently, using his formal name, “your dad and I are heading home. We asked Cree and Kennedy to stay with us tonight.”
Texas met her eyes and immediately understood. She was giving them space. Space to talk, to breathe, to figure out what this all meant. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, his voice a little steadier. “We’ll come over for breakfast.”
Kathryn walked across the room, her steps quiet, but sure. She kissed Texas on the cheek, her touch soft, and gave him a look that saidI know, and it’s okay.
