What if I’m too much?
I’m still spiraling when the front door bursts open, and my mom’s voice floods the house.
“Was that Ethel’s SUV I saw pulling away? Why was she—Oh my God! Is that my grandbaby!?”
“Ma!” I whisper-hiss, hiking Aurora higher on my shoulder while bouncing her softly. “She’s asleep!”
A second later, two familiar voices echo through the room.
“Look, man, I know you told us to stay away so you could be alone with your sweet, freckled Georgia Peach, but I’m leaving in a few days, and I miss your stupid face,” Wilder grumbles, followed by a thump as he comes to an abrupt halt.
Griffin crashes into his back, both of them staring down at me, eyes wide.
“Holy shit,” Griff breathes. “Is that—”
“Mom? Are you here?” Clementine calls from the hallway. “Colby and I want to—”
“Holy shitballs!” Colby screams, cutting her off. “She’s here!”
My mom whips around, hands on her hips and quietly snaps, “She’s asleep!”
And then they’re all silently barreling toward me, wordlessly crying, cooing, and prancing around like a herd of wild birds.
My too-quiet, too-heavy house is suddenly alive with joy, excitement, and so much fucking love I can barely breathe.
Aurora blinks her eyes open like she can sense all the eyes on her and wiggles around, fist tightening in my beard, and I hold her closer, kissing the top of her head.
I’m not alone.
Not anymore.
I’ve got a baby in my lap, a family at my back, and a future that terrifies the hell out of me—but I’ll fight for it with everything I’ve got.
Chapter Thirty Three
Even If It Breaks Me
Four days of radio silence.
Four days where I stewed, panicked, and spiraled.
Four days where Kade William Archer didn’t say a word to me after I left him sleeping on the couch, snoring quietly, and wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled likeus.
I could have called him, or shown up, but honestly, in those four days, I lost my damn mind.
Because when you’ve spent your whole life learning that love is conditional, that people leave, and that no matter how careful you are, you’re never quite enough.
You learn that silence doesn’t feel like space—it feels like punishment.
And it didn’t matter that he’d kissed me like I was air and he was drowning. Didn’t matter that he’d touched me like I was sacred, murmured things that felt too sweet to be lies, or pulled me into his arms like he wasn’t planning to let go.
The moment I walked out that door and didn’t hear from him? My heart whispered the one thing it always does.
Of course he didn’t call.
Why would he?
Why would anyone fight for the girl who was never chosen? Not as a baby in the hospital. Not in a string of foster homes. Not in relationships, or friendships, or families that always left just enough room for her to feel the edge.
