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She nods quickly, tucking her hair behind one ear. “I’d say I’m much better than okay.”

I chuckle. “Yeah. That was . . .” Truthfully? There are no words. I just get so worked up when I’m around her. I’ve never felt like this with a woman before. It’s like no matter how many times I have her, rather than satisfy my hunger, I only end up wanting her more. “You’re incredible. I’m sorry that wasn’t more romantic.”

Our first fucking date night in forever, and I practically maul her, and then fuck her in the hallway up against a wall. Shit. What’s wrong with me?

Though I can’t regret telling her I love her. I do. So fucking much.

She rolls her eyes. “Men these days. So much for foreplay.”

I squeeze her ass and chuckle. “I didn’t hear you complaining. And . . .” I give her a wicked smirk.

“What?” She laughs, somewhat nervously.

“You were really wet.”

She swats at my bicep. “Oh my gosh, Alexei!”

I laugh again, leaning down to kiss her. “Next time, more foreplay. Got it? I promise.”

She shakes her head at me, but she’s still grinning.

“I meant what I said, though,” I add.

She cocks her head, watching me as I pull up my jeans and button them. “About what?”

I take her face in my hands. “That I love you.”

And I do. It’s fast, but I’ve never felt more sure about anything in my entire life. She makes me smile and gives my heart this full, happy feeling. Plus she turns me on more than any woman ever has.

Her cheeks blush, and she looks almost shy. She didn’t think it was only something we were going to say in the heat of the moment, did she? That’s not how I roll. I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t 100 percent true.

After just a moment’s hesitation, she seems to find her footing. “I love you too.”

I break into a happy grin. “Good. Now get dressed so we can go get our baby.”

Ryleigh giggles as she grabs one of my T-shirts and puts it on.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ryleigh

The hospice room is warm and smells like flowers that are trying too hard. Lilies and something else—carnations, maybe—arranged in vases on every surface like someone decided that enough flowers could make a room like this feel like something other than what it is.

A room where people come to die.

Andi is propped up in the bed by the window, and when we walk in, she smiles. It takes her whole face to do it now—every bit of energy she has goes into that smile. It makes my breath hitch.

“There she is,” Andi says, her voice thin but steady. Her eyes aren’t on me. They’re on Ella, who’s awake in my arms, gnawing on her fist and looking around at the new environment with her usual expression of mild suspicion.

“Someone’s been asking about you,” I say, crossing the room. It’s not true—Ella is three months old and doesn’t ask about anyone—but I say it because it makes Andi’s face light up, and right now that matters more than accuracy.

I lower Ella onto Andi’s chest, careful of the IV line, careful of how fragile she’s become. Andi’s hands—thinner than the last time, the bones more visible through her skin—come up to cradle her daughter, and the sound she makes is so quiet I almost miss it. This soft, shattered exhale, like she’s been holding her breath for days and finally let it go.

“Hi, baby,” Andi whispers. “Hi, my sweet girl.”

Ella stares up at her mother’s face and goes still. Completely still—no fist-gnawing, no kicking, no squirming. Just those big blue eyes locked onto Andi like she knows. Like some part of her recognizes the voice that talked to her before she was born, the heartbeat she listened to for nine months.

I step back and sit in the chair by the wall, giving them space. Alexei wanted to come, but I asked him to wait in the car for this one. Some goodbyes aren’t meant for an audience.