Chapter 12
Juliette
I flicked the curtain back—his cruiser was still there.
It alternated throughout the week between his truck and that damn patrol car. And every time I saw either one, my stomach fluttered like I was some lovesick teenager.
I dropped the curtain and touched my lips.
That kiss.
It had sucked the air right out of my lungs.
So intense. Hot. Unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
My phone rang, jolting me out of my lust-induced haze.
Grammy Mercer.
“Hello,” I said, smiling despite myself.
“Hello, dear. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. How are you?”
And do you know your grandson is a certified lunatic?
But I kept that part to myself.
“Oh, you know… getting on in age. I’ve never been the same since I lost my Ken.”
“I’m sorry, Grammy,” I murmured, my eyes flicking back toward the window.
“I just wanted to apologise for trying to thrust my grandson onto you,” she continued sweetly. “Are you free to join me for a little party this weekend? It would do these old eyes some good to see you again.”
She was laying it on thick.
But it couldn’t possibly be worse than her grandson stalking my building like I was a criminal.
“Sure,” I said. “That sounds like fun.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have someone text you the address—I’m no good with this phone.”
“No problem, Grammy. Have a nice evening.”
“You too, dearie. I’ve missed seeing you.”
Okay.
She was a sweet old coot.
“I’ve missed your company too,” I admitted, mostly truthfully.
“I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Sunday,” I repeated.
A few moments later, I spotted Kade standing outside his cruiser, phone to his ear. He looked right up at my window like he knew.
I let the curtain drop and backed away, the dark bedroom suddenly feeling smaller.
His insanity was catching on.
?? ?? ??
This was stupid.
Why should I care if he wasn’t out there tonight?
So what if his stupid truck wasn’t parked beneath my window like usual?
What if he got hurt in the line of duty?
What if someone stabbed him?
What if he met someone crazier than him?
…No. That wasn’t possible.
I yanked the curtain open and leaned against the window ledge, squinting into the dark street.
Where was he?
I checked my phone.
Should I call Grammy?
Hi, yes, just wondering if your emotionally unbalanced grandson is okay tonight?
Before I could spiral further, headlights spilled down the street.
Dark blue truck.
His truck.
I squeaked and practically threw myself away from the window, yanking the curtains shut like I hadn’t been perched there like a stalker.
Stalking my stalker.
God, I needed help.
?? ?? ??
My eyes fluttered open—and I froze.
Someone’s hand was on my stomach.
The room was pitch-black, and for a second, I considered sliding off the bed and army-crawling my way to safety.
But then the person shifted.
“Go back to sleep. I’ve got an early shift,” Kade mumbled, snuggling in closer like this was totally normal.
“What the he—”
His hand clamped over my mouth.
“Unless…” he whispered near my ear, “you’d rather do something else since you’re awake.”
I shook my head, wide-eyed.
“Mm. Pity.”
Oh my god.
One of the worst parts?
I wasn’t even scared.
That was the real red flag.
The fact that I’d skipped right over fear and landed squarely in exasperation. Like, Ugh, he’s in my bed.
“I’ve left you a pregnancy test on your nightstand,” he said casually.
I rolled over to glare at him. “Nope. We’re finishing this tonight. I’m going to take that test and prove to you that I’m not pregnant. Then you can end—whatever this is.”
“Sure, sweetheart. You do that.” He stretched out flat on his back, hands folded beneath his head like he was settling in for a nap.
I sat up and switched the lamp on, squinting against the light. “I don’t even want to know how you got into my apartment.”
“It’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.”
The box sat neatly on my nightstand, smug as hell. I grabbed it and marched to the bathroom, trying to ignore the steady pounding of my heart.
I hadn’t bought one myself yet. It was easier to pretend I hadn’t had unprotected sex with the town sheriff over the hood of his cruiser.
My bravado died the second the lock clicked shut.
My period hadn’t come. I had to know.
I tore open the box and skimmed the instructions like they were an exam I hadn’t studied for. Then I followed them—mostly. It was hard to see where my pee was landing, but once I got into the flow of things (literally), I relaxed.
Until the voices started.
Irresponsible.
Unmarried.
How could you?
Why can’t you be more like Jenni?
I squeezed my eyes shut. If I was pregnant, it meant I’d managed to conceive before I’d even fully moved in. He’d basically impregnated me en route.
I reached for the little plastic lid and stuck it on the test before grabbing some toilet paper to set it carefully on the floor. Then I started counting the seconds, cleaning up as I went, heart hammering like it was trying to break out of my chest.
The light knock on the door made me jump.
“You okay in there?” His voice was low, soft.
I nodded, closing my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Juliette?”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice cracked.
He didn’t answer right away, and I assumed he’d walked off—until the door creaked open. His massive frame filled the doorway… and I saw the butter knife in his hand.
“Always breaking and entering,” I muttered.
He placed the knife on the counter and pulled me into his chest.
“Everything’s going to be okay. If you’re not pregnant, I can try harder,” he murmured into my hair as he rocked me gently.
Despite everything, a snort of laughter escaped me.
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl,” I muttered even as my arms circled his waist, even as I tucked my face against the warm line of his chest.
“The whole town thinks otherwise,” he said, voice smug and quiet, one hand stroking my back like I was a skitterish unbroken horse.
I didn’t answer. Just stood there, breathing him in—aftershave, laundry detergent, and whatever soap he used that I recognised.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that—swaying a little, like we were slow dancing in the dark. His palm moved in slow circles. My heart thudded, loud and tired.
Then he patted my back once—twice—and exhaled like it sealed something.
“I knew it,” he whispered, soft and reverent. “We were meant to be.”
That shook me.
I twisted, trying to pull away—not far, just enough to look—and my eyes caught the test lying on the floor.
Two clean lines.
I was undeniably pregnant.
I blinked.
But the result didn’t change.
Before I could say a word, he pulled me back in. Arms tight. Chin tucked over my head like he was sheltering something delicate.
And I let him.
Because if I didn’t, I’d drop to the cold tile floor and cry until I split open.
Because I’d taken a risk.
Because I’d lost.
Because this wasn’t part of the plan.
But he was warm and steady, and he smelled like everything I missed about feeling safe.
When he kissed the top of my head—slow, careful, like he had all the time in the world—it didn’t fix anything.
But it made the truth a little easier to swallow.