This woman. This fierce, stubborn, impossible woman. She was bravery wrapped in heartbreak, and she was completely, devastatingly impossible for me to resist.
How the hell could she ever expect me to be just friends?
“You should be mad,” I agreed. “I’m angry at myself. I made everything between us harder than it needed to be. And I ruined our first date.”
“Our first date?” She wiped at her eyes. “You say that like you think there’ll be more. I told you I’m pregnant, Cal. Pregnant.”
The pulse in her throat beat visibly, and I wanted to put my mouth on it. Run my tongue and teeth over her skin and see just how fast I could make her heart race.
If she called me Cal one more time, I was going to lose what was left of my restraint.
“Are you getting back together with Sean?”
She recoiled like I’d slapped her. Her arms folded over her middle. “Why would you ask me that?”
“You’re having his kid. You’ve gotten back together with him before. It’s not an unreasonable question.”
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped back toward me, pointing her finger into my chest. “You think I’m that weak? You think I can’t do this on my own?”
“I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” I held her glare without blinking. “I know you can do it on your own. But you shouldn’t have to.”
The tears came faster. Her pointed finger curled into a fist, gripping my shirt. She held on like she was trying to decide whether to pull me closer or shove me away again.
“I don’t feel very strong.” Her voice cracked. “Crying is the only thing I seem capable of lately.”
I didn’t wait for permission. I pulled her against me, my arms wrapping around her shoulders, my hand cradling the back of her head. I held her there—firmly enough that she’d have to fight to get free, gently enough that she’d know she didn’t have to.
She didn’t fight. Her body sagged into mine, her forehead pressed to my chest, her hands flattening against my sides.
And then she exhaled.
Fuck, it was so much more than just a breath. It was intricate and penetrating…and goddamn profound. Her sigh feathered up and out, lacing around me. Pulling me in. Splintering the wall between us.
“When I was thirteen,” I murmured against the top of her head. “I broke my arm. Fractured it in three places. Skateboarding, obviously.”
She shifted her cheek against my chest, her hands sliding higher up my sides.
“It was the worst pain I’d ever felt. But I didn’t cry. I sucked it up, held it in, told myself I was tough enough to handle it.” I swallowed against the tightness building in my throat. “Until the doctor examining me picked up on something else. He didn’t say a word, and I had no idea what was wrong. No reason to cry. But I’ve never sobbed harder in my life.”
“What was it?” she whispered.
“Cancer.”
Her breath caught, her fingers tightening on my ribs.
“Sometimes there’s no choice, Zadie. Sometimes the strength just finds you.”
We stood in silence. Her clutching me. Me breathing her in. And for the first time since she’d told me about the baby, the space between us didn’t feel like a battlefield.
It felt like ground we’d reclaimed.
She lifted her head. Those big, dark eyes found mine—wet, uncertain, and burning with a need she refused to admit.
Fuck, that look lit me up. Turned me inside out. Narrowed the whole damn world to her and this moment.
“I think you need to decompress.” My thumb traced her jaw. “Let me run you a hot bath. You can close your eyes and let go.”
“Yeah, okay.” She sniffled. “That actually sounds nice.”
