Page 111 of Hold Me Tight

“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m not asking you to forget.” He steps closer, gaze burning into mine. “I’m asking you to give me another chance. For Nora. For our family. Our daughter deserves that, doesn’t she?”

A hard knot forms in my throat. “That’s not fair.”

He reaches out, his thumb brushing along my cheek with a practiced familiarity that makes my skin prickle. “The truth is that I never stopped loving you, Callie. I know I’ve got a long way to go, but think about it. Please. I’ll even go to counseling. We can work on it together. Just give me another chance. Give our family another chance.”

His words echo in my head, colliding with a flood of emotions impossible to untangle. I open my mouth to push back, but another thought pops into my mind.

My tongue sweeps over my lips. “Were you the one who paid off the bakery loan?”

Zane doesn’t answer right away. His hand drops from my face as his jaw tightens.

“It was you, right?”

He exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

My stomach twists. “Why?”

“Because I understand how much that place means to you,” he says. “And I know how hard you’ve fought to keep it. I didn’t want you drowning in stress while raising Nora. It wasn’t about control or guilt, it was about doing the right thing, even after screwing up everything else.”

For a moment, I’m unable to find the words. I’m caught somewhere between shock and something dangerously close to gratitude. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was waiting for the right time,” he says with a shrug.

Everything feels so tangled. The moment, the past, the wreckage we left behind.

The man in front of me isn’t the Zane I remember.

But that doesn’t mean I trust him.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

And now, it feels like I have more questions than answers.

40

River

The elevator doors glide open, and Callie steps out with Nora asleep in her arms. Her tiny Railers jersey is bunched beneath her chin, one small cheek nestled against her mom’s shoulder. Her inhalations are slow and steady, lashes fanned out across flushed skin. She was out cold within five minutes of leaving the parking structure.

I follow a few steps behind, not saying a word.

Not yet, anyway.

Callie’s been silent since we left the arena. It’s not the I’m-exhausted kind of quiet, or the my-kid-just-fell-asleep-on-me kind. This silence feels heavier. Like she’s mentally grappling with something that she’s not ready to talk about.

A pit has taken up residence in my gut.

She doesn’t glance back as she moves down the hall, murmuring to Nora while carrying her into the room that’s becoming hers more and more every day. I hang back and watch as she goes through the familiar nighttime routine. Her hands are steady as she removes the jersey and swaps it for pajamas.

I get the feeling she’s holding herself together just long enough to get her daughter settled. And I hate that. Hate that she won’t tell me what’s going on in her head.

She hums quietly as she tucks the blanket under Nora’s chin and smooths her hair with aching tenderness.

I don’t think Callie realizes how truly strong she is.

And I don’t think I can stand here much longer without saying or doing something.