CHAPTER SEVEN #2
I drop into the chair and groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Tell me everything.”
“It was typical Kade,” I say slowly, “but also not him at all.”
She frowns. “That makes no sense.”
“Exactly,” I mutter. “He’s trying, I can see that, but it’s not enough. I can’t just forgive him and move forward like none of it happened.”
Her eyes narrow as she leans in. “Does he want you back?”
I think about it and realise he’s not said the words. “I don’t know. He never actually said. He did tell me he loves me.”
She pulls a face that tells me she’s feeling sympathy for him, and I let out a weak laugh. “You hated him this morning.”
“Not true,” she says. “I just don’t want him breaking your heart again. What kind of sister would I be if I let him waltz back in here without earning it?”
“He just wants to be part of the baby’s life,” I say softly. “And I don’t blame him. We wanted this so badly, and now it’s happening . . . and it’s nothing like we planned.”
She tilts her head. “What do you want, Eden?”
The question settles heavy in my heart.
“I want it to go back,” I whisper. “To before Liam. Before the trouble. I wish I’d never seen him that night. I wish he hadn’t seen me.” My voice breaks. “Then maybe he wouldn’t have done what he did.”
She smiles sadly. “None of us can change that. God knows we would if we could.” She pauses. “But you can still have the life you planned.”
“Can I?” I ask. “With no trust? With blame sitting on my tongue every time I look at Kade?” Tears sting my eyes. “I hate him,” I admit. “I hate him so much.” My voice drops to a whisper. “But I love him too.”
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” she says gently. “If he’s serious, he’ll prove it.”
I wipe my cheeks and smooth my dress. “He added his name to the antenatal classes I signed up for.”
Her eyes widen. “That doesn’t sound like Kade.”
“It isn’t,” I say with a small, broken laugh. “He was adamant he’d be at the birth. That he wants to learn.”
“And?”
“I told him no.” My voice shakes. “I said I’d already made a birthing plan and he’s not in it.” I swallow hard. “I haven’t. I just . . . I feel this overwhelming need to punish him, to hurt him back.” I shake my head. “I’m horrible.”
She laughs softly. “You’re not. You’re just hurting.”
The urge hits me suddenly, sharp and reckless. I stand, grabbing my coat.
“Where are you going?” Martha asks.
“To the B and B,” I say, already pulling it on. “To apologise for being a cow.” I hesitate. “To give him the chance to prove he means it.”
I stop outside the building and grip the steering wheel, forcing myself to breathe. Why does this feel like so much more than agreeing to a stupid pregnancy class?
Inside, the place is dated—threadbare carpet, tired wallpaper—and I almost laugh at the thought of Kade staying here. He’s not lavish, but even he has standards.
The man at the desk looks up and smiles. “I recognise you,” he says thoughtfully.
“Eden,” I reply. “I work in the bookshop with Mrs. Wainwright.”
“Ahh, of course. How’s the old battleaxe? I really should pop down. She hates me.”
I laugh despite myself. “She likes everyone to think she hates them. Secretly, she’s a pussycat.” I clear my throat. “I’m here to see one of your guests. Kade Blackwell.”
He shakes his head without checking the system. “No one here by that name.”
My frown deepens. “He definitely said he was staying here. His bike’s in the car park.”
“Bike,” he repeats. “Right. Yes, there is a gentleman staying here who rides. Big guy. Beard. Tattoos?”
I smile faintly and nod.
He glances down at the book in front of him. “The room isn’t under his name. My apologies. Ah, here we are. Miss Anika Cole. Does that ring any bells?”
My heart stutters wildly.
Why would he register under a woman’s name?
Unless . . .
The door opens behind me, and as if I manifested my answer, Kade walks in. And right beside him, close enough that her arm brushes his, is her.
The woman from the photo Martha showed me weeks ago.
Everything inside me goes cold.
My mind scrambles, replaying every interaction from the last twenty-four hours. He never said he wanted me back. Not outright. And it took him three months to show up here.
Of course, he doesn’t want me.
Christ, I’m an idiot.
Kade’s eyes land on me, and he visibly pales, like the air’s been punched from his lungs. But she smiles. Slow. Knowing. Almost amused. Like she already knows exactly who I am.
My mouth opens and closes. The room tilts, edges blurring, all the words I rehearsed evaporating like they were never there to begin with.
“Eden,” he murmurs, like he can’t quite believe I’m real.
I shake my head once, hard. “Sorry, I didn’t realise . . .” My voice trails off, thin and unsteady. Then, I panic. “Snacks,” I blurt, hating myself instantly. His brow furrows. “I was just . . . out getting snacks. I was passing. But it’s nothing. It can wait.”
I’m already moving, already stepping past him, fingers closing around the door handle like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“Eden, wait.”
I don’t look back.
I lift a hand in a vague wave over my shoulder, fix my eyes straight ahead, and push out into the cold night air, lungs burning, heart shattering, pride in tatters, as the door shuts behind me.
I don’t stop walking until I reach the car.
My hands are shaking so badly it takes three tries to get the key into the ignition. The second it turns over, I pull away from the curb too fast, tyres screeching in protest as I take off down the road.
My chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself as tears blur my vision, hot and relentless. I swipe at my face angrily, but they just keep coming—thick, choking sobs I can’t control.
In the rear-view mirror, I catch a flash of movement.
Kade.
He bursts out of the building, scanning the street wildly, and then his head snaps up, eyes locking onto my car just as I disappear around the corner.
My foot presses harder on the accelerator, even though my hands are trembling on the wheel. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need away. Away from him. Away from her. Away from the way my heart just shattered all over again.
The road blurs. Streetlights smear into streaks of gold and white, and suddenly, I can’t see properly at all.
“Fuck,” I sob, my voice breaking.
I yank the wheel and pull over sharply a few streets down, barely managing to stop before my hands drop to the steering wheel and my forehead slams forward against it.
I break.
It rips out of me, half sob, half scream, as I beat my fists against the steering wheel over and over, the sound dull and violent in the small space.
“Idiot,” I cry. “You stupid fucking idiot.”
My chest heaves, breaths coming in jagged gasps as I curl forward, arms wrapped around myself like that might hold me together.
I’d been hopeful.
That’s the part that hurts the most.
I’d let myself believe, just a little, that we might fix this. That the awkward dinner, the stupid class, the flowers . . . that it meant something. That he meant something.
That he’d come back for me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as another sob tears free.
“I thought we might sort it,” I whisper into the empty car. “I really did.”
And now, he’s standing in a doorway with another woman at his side, while I sit here alone, shaking, pregnant, and stupidly heartbroken, mourning something I wasn’t meant to hope for in the first place.
I press my palm flat against my stomach, breathing through the ache.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to myself, to the baby, to the part of me that still loved him far too much.
I wipe my face, straighten in the seat, and tell myself the same lie I’ve been clinging to for months.
I don’t need him.
Even as my heart screams that it’s not true.