Page 143 of One Secret

Cyrus's eyes burn. His lips part in wonder. I can practically feel the energy, the hopeful optimism zipping about beneath his skin. He swallows again.

'What do you think you saw?' he asks.

'Not think,' I correct him. 'Know. I know who I saw. I know who I see.'

Even though it has my shoulder screaming bloody murder, I reach up to put my arms around his neck.

'I see a phenomenal man. A talented executor of his profession,'—his eyes flash at my careful choice of words—'a trusting and devoted friend. And a loyal lover. I see a man who will make a protective, supportive, and loving father—'

'But I—'

'Who deserves,' I continue, shaking his shoulder to shut him up, 'to be a father. If only because he has paid the price of his mistake for years.' Guilt, I know, can be the most painful of punishments.

'And,' I finish, '...the man I want to love. Forever, if I can.'

The vibrant, brilliant, joyous light I felt in Cyrus's body is suddenly shining out of his eyes. For a second, everything is right with the world. Every piece is falling into place, every desire is about to be fulfilled...

But his expression suddenly dims, replaced with painful regret.

'Darcy, I'm not the one to give you what you want,' he chokes. 'I'll... I'll give you everything you or the baby needs. I swear it. I will. But I... I can't be someone who—'

'What is it you think I want?' I demand of him with a laugh and another shake. His arms wrap tighter around my middle. 'Who do you think I am, Cyrus? You think I want some nine-to-five office worker, home for dinner at six and saving stodgily in his lucrative investment portfolio?'

Cyrus lets out something between a laugh and a sob, then clears his throat.

'I do actually have one of those.'

'You know what I mean!' I thump him in the arm. It's a testament to how tired the man is that he actually flinches. 'I'm hardly Betty Crocker or some 40s housewife. If I'm not that kind of woman, what makes you think I'd want that kind of man?'

'What kind of man do you want?' The hope is back. Blooming hotter and brighter than I ever thought possible.

'You! You dumb asshole!' I shout, thumping him again. 'I want you! I want someone who challenges me, someone who excites me. I neither need nor want a knight in shining armor to protect me. I want someone who will fight my battles with me. Who'll stand beside me on the front lines, not expect me to cower in the back.

'I want someone smart, who is going to confront me when I'm being an asshole and will take it when I tell them the same. I want someone who lights me up like a goddamn furnace every time he touches me and who makes me feel safe when I fall asleep.

'I. Want. You.'

I'm out of breath. Practically panting.

... and I've made myself the absolute center of attention for every single person in the room. All eleven of them. Seven patients, a doctor and three nurses. Twenty-two eyes trained on the both of us like we're the cliffhanger ending to Days of Our Lives.

Oops.

I'm not normally one for embarrassment, but I feel myself flushing red hot.

Cyrus tugs at the collar of his shirt. He clears his throat.

'Um... okay,' he says, then winces at his own lack of ceremony.

I giggle.

'Come on,' I nudge him towards the exit. 'My release papers are all signed and I want to go.'

'All right...' Cyrus glances around us, like he's looking for something to carry, something to do. The man is nothing if he isn't a pragmatist. His fingers curl and uncurl like they need a purpose.

So I put my hand into his.

'Here,' I say holding out the little white envelope with the other. 'Carry this for me.'

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