CHAPTER ELEVEN
KADE
I’ve done many things that have made me question my life, but this is the most nervous I’ve ever felt, ever. Nothing has ever made my knees feel this weak.
The room is dim, warm, humming softly with machinery. Eden lies back on the bed with her hands folded over her bump, guarding something precious. I sit beside her.
Eden nods. “First baby,” she replies.
She squeezes gel onto Eden’s stomach, and I flinch like I’m the one being touched. Eden doesn’t look at me. She’s staring at the screen, breaths shallow, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder.
I place my hand on the bed beside her, not touching but close. Close enough in case she wants it. Because fuck knows I need an anchor right now.
The screen flickers. At first, it’s nothing but shapes, shadows, blurred movement that doesn’t quite register.
And then . . .
“There,” the woman says gently. “That’s your baby’s face.”
My chest tightens.
I lean forward without even realising I’ve moved, my breath catching hard in my throat. There’s a nose. A mouth. Tiny lips that twitch like it’s dreaming.
Something cracks open inside me. Something I didn’t even know was sealed shut.
“That’s . . .” My voice barely works. “That’s real.”
Eden lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes glossy. “Yeah.”
The baby moves, and the sound that leaves my chest isn’t controlled. It’s not tough. It’s pure disbelief.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “It moved.”
Eden chuckles softly, breath hitching, and then her fingers brush mine.
Just a touch.
Then our little fingers hook together, tentative at first, like we’re both afraid to break the moment, then suddenly, I’m clutching her hand without even thinking about it. We don’t look at each other. We just stare at the screen.
The woman laughs softly. “A very active little one.”
I glance at Eden, at the strength in her. The quiet bravery it’s taken to get here without me. The way she’s carried all of this alone.
“Thank you for letting me be part of this moment,” I say. “I hate that I could’ve missed this.”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t pull away.
The screen shifts again, clearer now. The woman points things out—hands, feet, the curve of a spine—but I barely hear her. She asks if we want to know the sex, to which Eden replies no. She’s adamant, and I’m not about to argue. It’s her choice.
I’m still wide-eyed, my vision blurred through tears I didn’t realise were there. “That’s my kid,” I almost whisper.
Eden nods, her own tears slipping free now. “Yeah.”
I swallow hard, emotion clogging my throat. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
When the screen goes dark and the room brightens again, I sit there stunned by the excitement mixed with the loss of everything I didn’t fight for.
We ride back towards town in silence. It’s heavy, weighted with everything we’ve just seen, everything we haven’t said. The road hums beneath us, steady, grounding, while my head spins.
I pull up outside her place and kill the engine.
She climbs off first, slipping the helmet free and shaking out her hair. I watch her longer than I should, committing the sight to memory like it might disappear if I blink.
“Are you free for a coffee?” she asks, her smile unsure.
My heart stutters hard in my chest. She’s asking me.
I nod before I can overthink it, swinging off the bike and tucking my helmet under my arm.
Inside, I take a seat at the table while she potters around the kitchen, the familiar domesticity almost undoing me.
She sets the mugs down and nods towards hers. “Decaf,” she says. “The one thing I miss is caffeine.”
I smile, lifting my cup. “That’s a big sacrifice for you, giving up the one thing you genuinely lived for.”
“Right?” She laughs softly. “It’s weird how you’ll suddenly change anything and everything the second you find out you’re going to be a parent.”
I nod, unsure if she’s digging at me or just making a comment.
She sits opposite, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Earlier, you said, and I quote, ‘Everyone keeps telling me I have to let you lead. Make the decisions.’ What did you mean by that?”
Panic flares in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I can’t quite come up with an answer that lets me avoid it, so I go with the truth.
“I decided to get some help,” I admit quietly. Her eyes stay on me, and she doesn’t interrupt. “At first, it was because I wanted to support you. To understand how to be there without saying the wrong thing.” A humourless breath leaves me. “Because I keep saying or doing the wrong thing.”
I swallow and keep going.
“But the woman I spoke to told me about a group they run. It’s mixed, but mostly men. Learning how to support survivors, partners, families.” I give a short, bitter laugh. “I feel like a fraud even saying that. I’m not really either of those things anymore.”
She doesn’t correct me.
“I haven’t dealt with what happened,” I continue, my voice low. “I know it happened to you. I know that. But there’s this pain,” I tap my chest, right over my heart, “right here. And since the day I found out, it’s been twisting, growing, eating away at me.”
I drag in a breath, my gaze fixed on the table. “I thought working more would help. Ignoring it, burying myself in shit that didn’t matter.” My jaw tightens. “All it did was turn me into a pathetic excuse for a man.”
I finally look up. She’s watching me carefully, but her expression isn’t angry.
“I should have stayed,” I say. The words hurt coming out. “I should’ve sat with you in the dark. Let you be quiet. Let you be angry. Let you be whatever you needed. But I should’ve stayed in all those moments and held your hand.”
My throat burns.
“Instead, I walked away. I shut down. I pretended it didn’t happen.
Pushed it out my head. And I don’t know how to fix that.
I don’t even know if I can.” I shake my head slowly.
“But going to that group, it’s so I don’t become him again.
So I don’t turn into the kind of man who leaves when shit gets tough. ”
I meet her eyes, steady despite the fear.
“I can’t change what happened or the fallout from it. I can’t take away the pain you feel from the attack and from how I handled it. But I can change how I show up from this moment on, and how I show up in the future. For you. For the baby.”
I fall silent, hands clenched around my mug like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
She doesn’t speak straight away.
She wraps her hands tighter around her mug, staring into it like the answer might be hiding in the dark surface. I brace myself, shoulders tight, ready for anger. For tears. For her to tell me I’m too late.
Instead, she exhales slowly.
“I didn’t need you to fix me,” she says at last.
I nod once, because she’s right.
“I needed you to stay,” she continues quietly.
“Even when I didn’t know how to explain what was wrong.
Even when I didn’t want to be touched. Or talked to.
Or looked at.” She lifts her eyes to mine, and I see the tired honesty shining in them.
“I needed you to love me when I thought I was unlovable.”
My jaw clenches with emotions I’m desperately holding back.
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she adds. “And I know you were scared. But every time you pulled away, it felt like I was being punished for something I didn’t choose.”
The pain in my chest intensifies.
She shifts in her chair, one hand unconsciously drifting to her stomach. “I’ve worked really hard to feel safe again, Kade. In my body. In my own head. And letting you back in . . . it scares me.”
I force myself not to reach for her, not to interrupt.
“I see that you’re trying,” she continues. “I really do. And I’m glad you’re getting help. I’m glad you want to understand.” Her voice wavers slightly. “But wanting to be better and actually being better aren’t the same thing.”
I swallow. “I know.”
“I can’t promise you anything,” she goes on.
“Not us. Not how this ends. I don’t even know what I want half the time.
” She lets out a shaky breath. “But I won’t shut you out of the baby’s life.
That was never my plan. So, if you want to come to antenatal classes and doctor appointments, you’re welcome to.
And if you want to be at the birth, that’s fine too. ”
I sag in relief. “Thank you. That means so much.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, searching.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” she says finally. “That’s all I can give you right now.”
EDEN
There’s a pause after I finish speaking, the kind that hums between us. The air feels heavier, like it always does when something important is being said.
I trace the rim of my mug with my thumb, not quite looking at him. My heart is thudding too loudly in my ears.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” I eventually say.
“Anything,” he replies, nodding once.
“The woman at the B and B,” I say carefully. “Your business associate. Is that . . . really a thing?”
He shakes his head straight away. “No. I told you, she showed up uninvited.”
“Why would she do that?”
He lets out a long breath, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “I think she . . . no, I know she wanted more.”
“Right.”
“But I made it clear I’m not interested,” he adds quickly. “More than once. She was persistent. I didn’t ask her to come here. I actually told her to stay away.”
I lift my eyes to his. “So, nothing happened between you . . . ever?”
He holds my gaze and doesn’t so much as flinch. “No. Never. There’s been no one else.”
Something in my chest flutters, something small, traitorous. “Not even a club girl?”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Especially not a club girl.”
Silence settles again, softer this time, until he clears his throat.
“I said some shitty things back then, when I thought you’d cheated,” he says, “Made you think I’d fuck around just to get back at you.
I wouldn’t have,” he says clearly. “I was angry, and I let that speak for me. But I’d never have gone through with it. It’s only ever been you, Eden.”
When I don’t reply, he asks, “What about you?”