CHAPTER FOUR
EDEN
Martha stares at the scan pictures with a huge smile on her face. “I can’t believe you’re growing an actual human,” she says, sniffling into a tissue. She’s feeling much better than she did first thing and decided to meet us at the pub for a celebratory lemonade.
Pete takes the picture and peers closer. “It was surreal to see it moving around,” he tells her.
“And it’s only the size of an avocado,” Tom adds, and we all turn to him. “What?” he asks with a grin. “I looked it up online.”
“We’re all so excited,” Mrs. Wainwright cuts in. “It’s been a while since we had a local baby.”
Martha hugs the scan photo to her chest. “I’m going to frame this. I don’t care if that’s weird.”
Tom raises his lemonade like it’s a pint. “To the tiniest member of the village!”
Everyone cheers, glasses clinking, the little pub erupting with warmth. Even a few regulars glance over and raise their drinks in silent congratulations. It makes my throat tighten in the nicest way.
“I can knit,” Mrs. Wainwright adds proudly. “Booties, blankets, little hats. Tell me colours. Actually, don’t tell me. I’ll make all of them.”
Tom leans forward, animated. “Does this mean I get to be Uncle Tom?”
“You can’t just appoint yourself,” Pete says, rolling his eyes.
“Why not? I’d be great. I’ll buy them their first pair of trainers.”
Martha nudges me. “Look at you smiling, Eden. You deserve this so much.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, my hand drifting to my stomach without thinking. “It suddenly feels real today.”
“Of course, it does,” Mrs. Wainwright says softly. “And this baby is already so loved.”
Pete lifts the scan photo again. “I still can’t believe it waved. It definitely waved.”
“It didn’t wave,” Tom corrects. “It’s too tiny. It probably twitched.”
Martha gasps dramatically. “Don’t ruin the magic, Tom. It waved and that’s that.”
We all laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that loosens something tight inside my ribs, the kind I’d forgotten I was capable of.
Then Martha’s laugh dies mid-breath. It’s sudden, like the air was sucked right from her. The smile slips from her face, replaced with a grimace as her eyes widen, fixed on something, or someone, behind me.
My stomach drops, and I already know I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to see whatever’s sucked the joy from my sister. Because I know there’s only one person who’d give her that haunted look.
My body moves, slow and heavy, like it’s wading through mud. The scan photo is still clutched in my hand, the edges already soft from where I’ve been touching it too much.
And then I see him.
Kade.
Standing in the doorway of the pub like he owns the whole damn place.
Leather kutte unzipped. Hair windswept. His jaw tight.
His chest rises and falls like he’s run here.
Like he didn’t stop to think, just followed something instinctive and reckless straight to me.
And I want to believe it’s true . . . only he’s three months too late.
For a heartbeat, everything else disappears.
The music.
The chatter.
The warmth I’d finally let myself feel.
Gone.
His eyes find mine, and it’s like being hit straight in the chest. I forget how to breathe. Forget how to stand properly. My pulse roars in my ears, loud enough to drown out every rational thought I had about being ready for this moment.
I thought I was prepared to see him.
I wasn’t.
There’s too much there—anger, regret, something raw and aching that makes my throat burn. I hate that it still has this much power over me. I hate that my first instinct isn’t to step back but to step towards him.
Then, his gaze drops.
Straight to the scan photo in my hand.
I see it happen in real time, the second his brain catches up with his eyes. The way his jaw clenches hard enough to make the muscle twitch. The way his shoulders stiffen, like he’s bracing for a hit.
When he speaks, his voice is low, rough. Familiar enough to send a full-body shiver down my spine.
“Guess I’m too late for the scan.”
Every single sound drains from the room, leaving nothing but the hum of my blood and the weight of his stare. My fingers tighten around the photo like it might anchor me, like if I let go, I’ll come undone completely.
This is the man I love. Loved. The man I left. The man who broke me . . . and the only one who ever made me feel safe.
And standing here, with my baby’s heartbeat still echoing in my chest, I realise something terrifying—seeing him hurts more than missing him ever did because now I have to face him.
Every pair of eyes flicks between us like they’re watching a car crash in slow motion.
I swallow, my throat dry, my heart hammering so hard, it hurts. I tell myself not to cry. Not here. Not now. I’ve cried far too many tears for this man.
Kade takes a step towards me.
Just one.
My body reacts before my brain does. My shoulders tense. My fingers curl tighter around the scan photo until the edges dig into my palm.
“Eden,” he says. Not Queenie. “I—” He stops and scrubs a hand down his jaw like he doesn’t trust himself to keep talking. His eyes flick to the photo again then back to my face. “Can we talk?”
The word ‘talk’ feels too small for what sits between us.
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
It comes out quieter than I mean it to but firm enough that he stills.
“Please,” he adds, softer now. Less ‘president’. Less ‘biker’. More of the man I used to curl into at night. “Just for a minute.”
My chest tightens. The pub feels too warm, too loud, too exposed. I feel my pulse in my fingertips, the familiar edge of panic creeping in. This wasn’t how I imagined seeing him again. I didn’t imagine it at all.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, even though that’s a lie and we both know it.
He exhales sharply through his nose. “There is. There’s a lot.”
I glance down at the scan picture, at the tiny shape that changed everything. The thing he wasn’t here for. The thing I carried alone while he disappeared into his club with his guilt and his silence.
“You don’t get to show up here,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts, “and ask for a conversation like nothing happened.”
“I know.” His jaw tightens. “I just—” He stops again, like he’s fighting something inside himself. “I need to talk to you.”
I laugh then. It’s hollow, ugly, nothing like the laughter from seconds ago. “Funny,” I say quietly, “I needed you to talk to me too. But that was months ago, and you weren’t available.”
The sting flashes across his face, and for a second, I see it—the regret, the pain, the shame. It would’ve destroyed me once.
Now, it just exhausts me.
“I’m not doing this here,” I say, pushing my chair back. My legs tremble when I stand, but I force myself to stay upright. “Not in front of everyone.”
Relief flickers in his eyes. “So, you will talk to me?”
I hesitate.
Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to hear what he has to say.
“I’ll step outside,” I say finally. “Five minutes. That’s it.”
He nods instantly. “Whatever you want.”
As I walk past him—close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to smell leather and road and something that still feels like home—my chest aches so badly, I think it might split open.
I stop by the wall, resting my hip against it in a way I hope looks casual. He stops somewhere behind me, still too close. I can still smell him.
“I meant to come sooner,” he begins.
I scoff, the sound sharp. Lies. All of them.
He exhales, slow and heavy, then adds, “You look well.”
I laugh without humour. “Why are you here, Kade?” My voice comes out cold, even though I feel like I’m crumbling inside.
“How did the scan go?”
I turn to face him, and for the second time tonight, he steals the air from my lungs. He looks different, bigger somehow. His beard is trimmed neat, like he’s stopped dragging his hands through it fifty times a day.
“Twenty weeks,” I say bluntly. “So, you can work out the dates.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not why I asked.”
“Isn’t it?” I fire back. “You mean you came all this way and you’re not even a little curious about the truth?”
“You’re upset,” he starts then rushes to add, “and you have every right to be.”
“I’m not fucking upset, Kade,” I snap. “I’m angry.”
He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets, eyes dropping to the pavement. “You should be. I fucked up.”
My frown deepens. The calm, the remorse, it pisses me off more than shouting ever could. “You fucked up?” I repeat. “That’s what you think that was?”
“But I’m here now, Eden,” he says quietly. “I’m here to make it right.”
My eyes widen. “I’m settled here,” I choke. “You have no idea how badly I wanted you to show up. But that was over three months ago.” I swallow hard. “I’ve moved on.”
His head snaps up. “Moved on how?”
“I . . .” My voice falters, then the lie tumbles out before I can stop it. “I met someone.”
I brace myself for the explosion. The rage. The jealousy.
Instead, he just nods.
“Right,” he says after a beat. “Well . . . okay.”
Okay?
The word echoes in my head, hollow and cruel. He’s not angry. He’s not fighting. He’s just . . . okay.
And it hurts all over again. It lands heavy in my chest, dull and bruising, like something collapsing inward. I was ready for rage, for jealousy, for him to lose control the way he always does when something is taken from him.
Not this. Not calm acceptance.
“Okay?” I repeat, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “That’s it?”
He lifts his gaze back to me, and for the first time since I stepped outside, I see it properly. Not anger. Not indifference.
Defeat.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks quietly. Too quietly. “You just said you’ve moved on.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t give a shit. You haven’t in a long time.”
He flinches like I’ve struck something tender. “What should I do, Eden?” he asks. “You want me to tear the place apart? Scare him off? Pretend I’ve still got a claim on you?”
My throat tightens. “That ship sailed,” I mutter.