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His eyes trailed over my body, lingering on my swollen breasts before moving to my belly. I felt like he wanted to touch me, but he couldn’t give himself permission. I took his hands in mine and rested them against the warm skin that was home to our son.
Lucian’s focus was intense as he held his palms against me. “When did you know?”
“Before I found out you were sick,” I admitted. “I tried to tell you. I wanted to, but the timing wasn’t ideal. Emmanuel’s trial, and then the cancer… but mostly, I was afraid. I didn’t want you to think I’d done this on purpose.”
My eyes moved to the floor while I spoke, shame welling up inside me. Lucian removed one of his hands from my belly and brought it to my chin, lifting my gaze back to him.
“I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me,” he said softly. “You never should have been made to feel that way.”
“You didn’t know.” I shrugged. “But I wasn’t sure how you would react… after Dawson.”
He closed his eyes, restraining the visible emotion he felt and confining it inside him. “When I saw you and I realized you were pregnant, I was angry. But it was with myself. I missed everything.”
“Not everything,” I insisted. “You’re here now. You’ll be here when he comes into the world. Right?”
“I’ll be here,” he said emphatically. “That much I can promise.”
I should have been happy with that, but it wasn’t enough. “And what about his first birthday? Or his fifth? Will you be here then?”
Lucian met my eyes, and there was so much regret in his. “I don’t know, but I can tell you that I want to be. I can tell you that I will do everything in my power to make that happen.”
“Tell me what’s happening,” I begged. “Lucian, I can’t take this anymore. I need to know. Are you getting treatment?”
His face softened, and he reached out to touch me before he thought better of it. But before he could take it back, I took his hand in mine and threaded our fingers together.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “That’s why I’ve been gone so long.”
Relief flooded my chest and my heart as I looked up into his dark eyes. “You are?”
“I just finished chemo. Radiation is next.”
“So that’s good.” I smiled. “Right? That means everything will be okay?”
“The prognosis is good so far,” he said hesitantly. “My oncologist is confident that the treatment will work, and he’s happy with the odds. But there’s always a chance it could come back, and if it comes back, it’ll require more aggressive treatment. So I can’t tell you that I’ll be cured forever, Gypsy. I can’t make you any promises, except to say that I’m doing everything I can, and I’ll continue to for as long as I can.”
My throat bobbed as I nodded. That made sense. This wasn’t a sprint; it was a marathon. It would be a lifelong battle to make sure he was healthy, and every time he got even the slightest hint of a cold, terror would wrap its icy hands around my heart. But I didn’t care. He was here now, and he was alive, and I would take every single second that I could get with him, and I would never take them for granted again.
Those were lofty ideals, but I wanted so badly to make sure of it. Because that was what Lucian deserved. He deserved someone who would love him until their heart splintered apart and turned to dust. And nobody on this earth would ever love him more than I did.
“What made you change your mind?” I asked.
He debated his answer carefully before he gave it to me. “When I got my diagnosis, I thought I’d been given an opportunity. After Dawson, there was nothing else I wanted more. I’d been merely existing since he died and little else. I thought this decision would bring me peace. But when you walked out on me, the reality of it hit me. I kept telling myself that you could move on, but the reality was I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you here by yourself or with anyone else. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave you that way.”
“I came back for you,” I told him. “I came back, but you were…” I took a deep breath. “They told me you were dead.”
He held me against him as I composed myself, and when I looked up at him again, I was afraid to ask the next question. “Do you believe me?”
His gaze was cloudy before he refocused on me. “If I told you that I did, would that make me a fool?”
“No,” I whispered.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said grimly. “Maybe I am a fool. But I believe you, Gypsy.”
