Page 11

TEN

DIA

"A bear's roar echoes through the mountains; let your voice be heard." — Unknown

When Justin tells me he wants to show me something, I don’t expect it to be a house.

We’re driving through a neighborhood I’ve never been in before. It’s brand new builds, quiet, tree-lined, the kind of place with wide porches and swing sets, and that easy stillness people always talk about but I rarely feel.

He doesn’t say much, just watches the road with that same calm intensity he always has. His fingers drum the wheel like he’s working through nerves, which isn’t like him. Justin doesn’t get nervous.

When he pulls into a long driveway, I glance at him.

“You buying real estate now?”

He cuts the engine. “Come look.”

I step out, eyeing the two-story craftsman tucked behind tall oaks. It’s got a wraparound porch and big windows with white trim. It feels natural, homey.

“Whose place is this?” I ask as we walk up the path.

“Could be mine,” he pauses, “ours, if you say yes.”

That stops me cold. Are we really doing this?

He fishes out a key, opens the door, and gestures for me to step inside. I do, slow and unsure. The house smells faintly like new paint and sawdust. Clean. Untouched.

Toon stays quiet as I take it in—hardwood floors, open layout, big kitchen with stainless appliances and a window over the sink.

He leads me down the hall and opens a door. Master suite. Then down the hall again, another one.

Two. Two master suites.

I turn to him, brows raised. “I don’t understand.”

“This place has space,” he says. “One side for me, one for you and the baby. Separate enough that you’ve got your own privacy. But close enough that I can help. I don’t want to put pressure on you that we have to be something you aren’t ready for. I want you to have help with the baby. It’s more space than your condo. Just another option, Dia.”

I blink.

He goes on, his voice soft. “You wouldn’t owe me anything, Dia. No expectations. No strings. Just let me be there. This way, you’re not doing it alone.”

My throat closes. I try to tell myself it’s the hormones from pregnancy making this so much more. In truth, though, it’s my heart wanting this to be real.

I look around again, this time trying to picture what it would feel like to wake up here. To bring a baby home here. To have Justin just down the hall. To not be alone, even on the hard days.

But I can’t answer.

Not now.

“Justin…”

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to decide today.”

I nod, grateful. I take a step toward him to say thank you, and suddenly, my stomach flips.

I rush down the hallway, flinging open the bathroom door and barely make it before I’m kneeling over the toilet, heaving.

Everything I ate today comes up in violent waves. Welcome to pregnancy, I guess my baby thinks if we puke here comfortably, it’s a good place to live.

Behind me, I hear feet pounding the floor. A door slams. Another toilet flushes.

I wipe my mouth and lean against the wall, panting.

“Justin?” I call out.

“Gimme a sec,” comes his voice, muffled but strained.

I push up, swish some water from the sink, and move toward the other bathroom. He’s hunched over the toilet, pale and sweating.

“You okay?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then he groans, flushes, and sits back against the wall.

I smirk. “You’ve got sympathy sickness. Never seen a man commit this hard to the role.”

He gives a weak laugh but doesn’t meet my eyes.

Something about it twists in my gut. This isn’t about pregnancy. I can sense it. “You’re not actually like catching something, are you? Do we need to go to urgent care?”

“Nah, bad sushi,” he says too quickly.

But he’s lying. I can feel it. He won’t look at me, and his hands are shaking.

We leave shortly after. He drives us to a little restaurant on the edge of town. Quiet, cozy, dim lighting. Booths tucked into corners. He always picks places like this, like he’s protecting me from too much noise, too much space.

He orders tea. No food. That’s the second red flag.

“You’re not eating?” I ask.

“Not hungry.”

I raise a brow. “You just vomited up everything you’ve eaten today.”

“Guess I’m out of room.” His mouth twitches like he’s trying to make light of it, but his skin looks off—too pale, almost yellow under the lighting.

I don’t push. Not yet.

Instead, we talk about the house. I ask what made him pick it. He says it’s near my parents, BW, the clubhouse. It feels right. That he wants to give me something stable.

But his words drift a little. His eyes glaze now and then, like he’s here but not really. I force myself to eat, even though my stomach’s still rolling. He tries to smile for me, but I can see the effort it takes. Something’s wrong.

And I’m done pretending it’s not.

Back at my condo, I unlock the door and step inside, expecting him to say goodbye and walk back to his truck.

But he hesitates. So I turn.

“Justin come in for a bit, yeah?”

He steps inside. I shut the door.

I can’t hold it in anymore , I spin around on him. “You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine?—”

“You’re not!” My voice is firm, sharper than I meant. “You’ve been pale for days. You threw up in that house like you’ve been sick for weeks. And you’re not eating. Don’t play me. Justin Miller, you might get over on the brothers. You might be this wall of stone, no emotion, and no one can read you, but I know you.” I poke his chest. “This is me! We are connected even when we don’t want to be. You know that shit! I can see it. You’re not telling me something. Justin, whatever it is, you’re not alone either.”

He goes quiet. His jaw clenches. His eyes drop to the floor.

“I didn’t want to tell you yet,” he says softly. “Not now, not this way.”

My heart drops. “Justin, this isn’t us. This isn’t how we are!”

“It’s heavy,” he warns.

“I’m not a little girl. I’m not the woman you left behind with an apology and goodbye in a bedroom while I slept. I’m strong enough to take loss, whether I lose you or not, I have learned to survive.”

He stares at me letting my words sink in. “Yeah, I heard you as you shattered my world into a million pieces and thought I had to be dreamin’ because no way you’d do that to me without facing me. I guess some things don’t change. You didn’t have the balls back then to face me, face what we shared, and face your club. Now you don’t have the balls to tell me the truth. Good to know I’m the strong one between us, Justin.” Yes all of my words drip in disdain and disappointment. Why can’t he trust me with his shit like I do him with mine?

“You want it, fine I’ll lay it out. And let me say I’m sorry for how this is going to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. It kills me to know you have ever shed one single tear for me. I don’t deserve them, I don’t deserve you, but I’ll be damned if I can stay away.”

“Just land the plane, Justin. Tell me what the hell is going on with you. Let me love you back, dammit. You don’t have to be strong alone.”

He takes a deep breath. “I was already planning to come back here before Clutch died,” he admits. “I wasn’t just floating through. I was headed for the VA clinic.”

My mouth goes dry.

“Why?” I whisper.

He runs a hand down his face. “Gallbladder. Started acting up months ago. Stomach pains. I thought it was diet. Stress. Maybe an ulcer.” He pauses. My heart sinks.

“It’s not like you need your gallbladder.”

He finally meets my gaze. “Had it removed. Did some more tests.”

The long pause rattles me. It’s like I know he’s about to blow my world apart for the second time.

“It’s cancer.”

The room tilts. I step back a little, the words echoing in my ears like gunshots.

“No.”

“They caught it early,” he says quickly. “Treatable. I started chemo. First couple of rounds were pills, they weren’t too bad. That is why I know the baby is Clutch’s. The meds make me sterile. No one knows really, just Little Foot and Rex back in Catawba. For now, I’m trying to keep things quiet. The club as a whole doesn’t know yet.”

I blink, shaking my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want it to be a thing. I didn’t want you to carry it with everything else.”

I sit down hard on the arm of the couch. My hands shake. “Jesus, Justin.”

He walks toward me, slow. “I didn’t bring you to that house to distract you. I brought you because I want to be there for you, however long I’ve got. And I hope that is a long time, but you also gotta know it might not be.”

My head snaps up. “Don’t say it like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

I swallow hard, tears pricking behind my eyes. “Are you going to die?”

“Not planning on it,” he says, voice soft. “But I’ve seen enough of life to know not everything goes according to plan.”

I close the space between us, wrap my arms around him, and press my face into his chest. He holds me like he did that night after I called him to save me from the boy pushing for more than I wanted to give.

Tight.

Steady.

Like even now, even with this truth between us, he’s still trying to protect me.

“I just got used to the idea of losing someone,” I whisper. “I can’t do it again.”

“You’re not losing me. Not yet. Not if I can help it.”

I nod against him, even though I don’t believe it.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

Later, after he falls asleep on the couch, I sit at the kitchen table with a glass of water and stare out at the night.

The photo from the ultrasound is stuck to the fridge with a magnet that says “Home is where your people are.”

I don’t know what home means right now.

But I know this man, lying on my couch with his body fighting for time, is already part of it.