Page 10

My mind is still whirring when we pull up to our house twenty minutes later. Elsie insisted we head back to the ranch to pick up her truck, and I considered protesting so we could talk sooner, but I think she needed a few minutes alone. And maybe I did too.

I stuff my shaking hands into my pockets so she doesn’t see as I step over the threshold.

For the second time in three weeks, I’m walking through the front door of my house that I no longer live in, unsure of how I ended up here.

I don’t know if I expected things to look different, but they look almost exactly the same as they did the last time I was here.

It feels strange that our lives are turning upside down, but this house remains untouched, frozen in time.

Elsie stares at me for a long moment, uncertainty written in every line of her face.

I want to say something to reassure her, but before I can get a chance, she spins on her heel and disappears into the kitchen.

She’s all long lines as she presses up onto her toes to pull a glass from the cabinet.

I don’t miss the way her hands tremble as she fills it with water and walks back to me, liquid sloshing in the glass.

The sight of her, usually so self-assured, looking like she’s one second from breaking, has the nerves disappearing from my stomach and determination filling the space they left behind.

Instead of taking the glass she extends, I wrap my hands around hers, steadying them. I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips. Blue eyes catch on mine, wide and unsure.

“Hey,” I say, relieved that my voice sounds calm. I sense she needs that. That her mind is a mess of tangled thoughts and that she needs me to be steady. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Her chest rises and falls as she takes a deep breath.

I watch as her walls seem to build back up, strengthening her, but for the first time, it feels like she’s allowing me inside them.

She’s still holding my gaze when she finally nods, and I let go of her hand, taking the glass of water and draining it, needing the feel of it on my parched throat.

She watches me closely, and when I’m done, she asks, “What are you thinking?” She sounds guarded, hesitant.

I stare at her blankly for a long minute, trying to put all my racing thoughts into words. But there’s one thought that keeps coming to the forefront of my mind, so I say, “I want to know how you’re doing.”

Surprise crosses her features before she blinks it away. Bone-deep relief courses through me when she smiles just the tiniest bit, the expression rueful. “Just as sick as last time, if tonight is any indication.”

That comment makes the relief sour in my stomach.

The reminder that we’ve been through this before is heavy.

We have been through this before. Last year, while still recovering from her injury, but finally seeing some marked improvement, she’d started to get sick.

All the time . We hadn’t been tracking things like before, and it took us days to realize why she was sick.

I remember standing in our tiny bathroom, watching the second the digital pregnancy test had switched from loading to spell out the word Pregnant .

The absence of her morning sickness had been the first clue that something was wrong, although we thought she was finally moving past it. It wasn’t until a few days later that we found out it wasn’t a good sign, and our relief turned into overwhelming grief.

The fear and anxiety of that same scenario repeating itself feels like a noose tightening around my throat. I swallow hard, mouth dry as cotton.

Elsie must watch the way this all plays out on my face, because I see the way her small smile disappears, her eyes falling to the ground. She pushes her boot against the floor, rubbing at an invisible spot. When she finally speaks, her voice is small.

“I’m scared, Beau.”

I don’t think before setting my glass down and pulling her into my arms. The knot of anxiety that’s been forming inside me loosens when she melts against me. This is going to be all right. We are going to be all right.

My hands smooth down her back, her silky smooth hair beneath my fingertips. I know her body better than my own, and the familiarity of having her against me again reassures me even further.

“I know, baby,” I whisper into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple before I can think better of it. I shouldn’t have been concerned, though, because all she does is nestle further into my chest, burying her face there like she’s done a thousand times before.

I’m not sure how long we stand like that, wrapped together in our kitchen, but when Elsie finally steps back, she’s pulled herself together.

Her face is blotchy, stained by tears, and her hair is sticking to the wetness there, but the vulnerable look is gone from her eyes, resolution filling them instead.

I’ve seen this look on her face a thousand times, when her feet are blistered or her ankle is twisted and swollen, but she refuses to quit dancing.

I’ve seen it when she’s rehearsing a particularly hard or dangerous move, and she’s determined to overcome her fear, to push her body to the limit and master it.

I saw it when she asked me to leave that first day and again just a few weeks ago, when she looked ready to break and forced herself to reinforce those steel walls around herself.

My stomach churns seeing it on her face now. And for the first time ever, I feel my own spine straighten at the sight of it. Because tonight, with her eyes hollow from exhaustion and nausea, with my baby in her stomach, I know I can’t leave her again, and nothing she says is going to make me.

For the last three months, I’ve given her the time and space she’s asked for, but the clock has run out.

“We obviously have a lot to talk about,” she says. “But I’m tired and I haven’t had time to process it all, so maybe we can tomorrow…?”

I stare at her for a long moment, wanting to push back, but I bite my tongue when I notice the dark circles beneath her eyes, the exhaustion she’s fighting to hide.

Nodding slowly, I say, “Yeah, okay.” I pause for a moment, square my shoulders.

“I’ll bring my stuff over after work tomorrow and we can then. ”

Her expression changes immediately, eyes widening with surprise. “What?”

I cross my arms over my chest, force myself to meet her stare, and stand my ground. “I’m moving back in tomorrow.” I hope my tone leaves no room for argument.

I should have known better.

Her head starts shaking before I even finish, blond hair swishing around her shoulders, looking like spun gold in the lamplight. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes,” I reply slowly, voice even, controlled. Unlike how I feel on the inside. “I am. I know how sick you got last time, Elsie. I’m not leaving you alone in this house to take care of yourself. And I’m not going to live at Lucky Stars and be fifteen minutes away if you need me.”

My jaw tightens. I don’t want to say the last part, but I know I need to.

“I can stay in the guest room if you want, but I’m moving home.”

She stares at me, unblinking, for a moment, energy charging in the air between us.

We’ve had arguments like these before, where I’ve pushed too hard to try to take care of her, something she’s never been comfortable with.

It’s not surprising, considering the kind of house she grew up in, with a former professional dancer who transferred all her dreams onto her daughter and may have nurtured them but never nurtured her .

My desire to take care of Elsie has always been our biggest friction, and sometimes I’ve pushed too hard, but in the end, I’ve always backed down.

This right here—me standing my ground—is uncharted territory for us, and she doesn’t look like she knows how to take it.

The moment is fraught with all the things we haven’t said, all the time we haven’t spent together over the last few months. The air between us feels tangible, crackling with energy. I hold my breath, waiting for her to respond, to tell me to screw myself and get out of her house.

But she surprises me, her shoulders drooping, a tired sigh shaking out of her. “Fine, but you’re staying in the guest room.”

It’s not the answer I wanted, but it feels like the first progress we’ve had after months of standing still. I feel the relief of it down to my core, making the anxiety knotted inside me loosen just a little.

“Okay,” I say, hoping she doesn’t hear the way my voice comes out shakier than I’d like. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She doesn’t respond as I turn on my heel to head for the door. It feels wrong to leave, but I know tonight will be the last time. I’ll make sure of it.

Right before I reach the door, a thought grips me, and I stop dead in my tracks before striding back to her. Surprise lights over her delicate features when I slip my hand beneath her chin and tip it up to me. But something inside me roars with pleasure when she doesn’t attempt to pull away.

“I just realized I didn’t say it before,” I murmur, staring into eyes more familiar than my own, my throat thick with emotion. “But I’m so ridiculously happy that we’re having a baby.”