“Because the baby’s dad—” Sully squeezed his eyes shut. “—is from here.”
He swallowed hard, and I knew he was debating whether he should ask for clarification.
“Sawyer,” I said, gentle, soft.
“Eleanor, I—” He was shaking his head again like he didn’t know if he wanted to hear it. His eyes were still closed.
“Just listen,” I whispered, and after a second, he nodded.
A bit of relief calmed my nerves.
“I’mhere,” I explained slowly, “because this is where he used to talk about raising his kids.”
We were close enough now that I could touch him, and I…I had to. He’d gone down some rabbit hole in his head, and I had to pull him back. I pressed my palm to his cheek, and he jerked a little before stilling. His body leaned in.
“I’mherebecause he once whispered to me about taking his kids to five-dollar movie nights at the old Rosewood theater. And because he wanted to spend summers teaching them how to swim in the lake down the road and spend winters showing themhow to skate. Because he once imagined crisp, snowy mornings playing pond hockey with smaller versions of himself, and I know there’s things under his bed—books and LEGO and ancient video games—that he’s been waiting to pass on. I’mherebecause this is his home, and it used to be mine, too.”
Sully’s eyes blinked open, and I don’t think I was prepared for the look in them. It was something awed, something reverential. He’d gone from hardly being able to stand the sight of me to staring at me like he never wanted to look away.
“El?” he breathed, like he didn’t want me to stop talking. Like he needed more—more of a confirmation. His hands mirrored mine, coming up to cup both sides of my face. “Are you…really?”
My vision was blurry as I nodded. “Really.”
His lips parted, words suspended as he figured out what to say, and all I could do was wait. Repeat “Really” until he believed me.
Really, Sawyer.
This wasreallyhappening.
And I wasreallyscared.
And even though I hated admitting it, Ireallyneed you.
“You came back,” he finally breathed, ragged and broken. “You came home so that I could, so thatwecould…”
His gaze drifted lower, to my stomach, like he didn’t trust himself to say it yet, needing to look for himself in order to believe it, even though there was nothing to see. Not yet.
I choked out a watery “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
Those blue eyes collided back with mine, wide now. Wondrous.
“It can’t be anyone else’s, Sawyer,” I said, making that clear.
“What?”
“The baby.”
His eyes flicked around my face again, assessing the truth of my words, and whatever he found there must have finally been enough for him to believe it—believe it all. His entirebody deflated, his forehead dropped to mine, and his eyes squeezed shut again.
“Fuck.” His exhale was broken, gruff, and it seemed to drag across my skin, causing me to shiver. He was still clutching my face, and I was still clutching his, but I wasn’t quite sure how to let him go. “Eleanor. God, I—” Cedar and amber swirled in the air as I breathed in the distinct scent of home. “Say it,” he rasped. “Say more. Please. I need to hear—please.”
“I’m pregnant with your baby, Sawyer.” Our heavy, erratic breaths mingled. When Sully was quiet except for a long exhale, I checked, “Is that what you needed? What you wanted me to say?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes, thank you,” he groaned before his head dropped to my shoulder instead. And then, suddenly, Sully was on his knees. And his hands were gripping the fabric of my shirt while his head pressed against my stomach. “Oh my God, El.”
I stared down at him as I tried to steady myself, relief spreading through my limbs—limbs that were moving of their own accord. My fingers tangled themselves in messy blond hair, needing to feel that this moment was real. As if the way Sully was slipping his hands under my shirt to palm my stomach wasn’t enough.
“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what part of this whole thing I was apologizing for. “I’m so sorry.”
