28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ethan
W hat?
My jaw is fighting not to drop as I stare at Natalie. She’s all shades of angry—with one hand on the door, ready to slam me into oblivion, the other on her stomach, and her eyes blazing.
When I was driving here from my office, trying to beat a nonexistent record, the only thing I could think about was hearing her voice again. I’d forgotten what it sounded like, for the most part, and it almost drove me crazy.
It didn’t matter that I was disheveled and I had hardly wiped the slobber from one of the directors off my hands— he begged so much he started to foam at the mouth— I needed to see her.
Natalie.
Natalie.
It drove me past cars, changing lanes like traffic rules didn’t apply to me. The world sped up until everything rode by in a blur, a mash of dull colors that needed her to give it light.
Then she opened the door… and time slowed down until it began to tick again. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Didn’t want to.
It was all I could do to keep from yanking her against my chest and crushing my lips to hers. Her scent— god, the smell of sugar and sweet—felt like heaven’s soft clouds to my senses.
I wanted to catch her lips with mine and kiss her slow and deep. I wanted to strip her of the flimsy tee she had on and trail my hands down her body until my desire bled into her skin and her warmth seeped into mine.
Her nipples, poking through the shirt, begged for my mouth. For my tongue. For my attention. For worship.
And her feet.
Who knew that penguin-themed socks could be so sexy? I would’ve gone on my knees if she asked and gladly offered my shoulders for her feet while my face made home between her thighs.
But the shock on her face was quickly replaced by something else, and I knew if I’d stepped any closer, my cheek would’ve borne the mark of her fury. If she could, I know Natalie would’ve wished me into nonexistence.
But her question, the one she posed with her voice clipped and her tone venomous, leaves me tongue-tied for the longest time.
“‘Killed your parents?’” I echo. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t know why I told her that I killed Anthony. It sort of fell out—the same way my confessions have slipped out in the middle of the night, every last one carrying her name.
“You,” she says tightly, pointing an accusing finger at me. Her voice rings with something familiar. I know it because I tasted the same venom when I thought of revenge. I drank it willingly when I took out my revenge.
“You’re the mafia. I saw it all over the internet. You ordered the hit on the neighborhood where my parents were killed.”
Oh.
“I—”
Natalie shakes her head. “No. If you’re going to give excuses and tell me that it was who you used to be, then don’t. I don’t care for it, and frankly,” she exhales sharply, “I don’t care for you.”
She doesn’t mean it.
Even as her words, heavy with finality, and the silence that follows build a wall between us, I refuse to believe Natalie truly meant them.
I’ve been with enough women to know the difference between fleeting desire and something deeper, something unshakable. My hands have traced the secrets of her body, memorized the delicate curve of her spine.
Then again, if she didn’t mean it, maybe she should.
I’ve done terrible things. Things I won’t apologize for. The Cross legacy demands sacrifices, and I’ve made them without hesitation. Regret won’t change who I am. It doesn’t matter that everyone I’ve crossed paths with had it coming.
It doesn’t matter who her parents were. If she said I murdered them, then I possibly did.
Something flickers across her face. Doubt clinging to the frayed edges of hope. Doubt shattering when it finds nothing to cling to.
“You killed them?” Her voice quivers, each syllable fragile as if saying the words out loud will make them real. Her hand drifts protectively to her stomach, and she swallows a sob.
“I—I thought you were going to deny it. God—I—” She turns away, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“How could you?” I hear her pain, raw and torn, as it drives a knife into my heart. “How could you? They were in Fairhill to visit friends. They didn’t deserve it!” She whirls on me, eyes wild. “We don’t deserve this!”
Fairhill?
Something about the name drop tugs at the edges of my mind, searching for a connection. I never ordered a hit in Fairhill—it wasn’t an active business area for us.
But—
Anthony did.
I remember it clearly now. One of his reckless mistakes dragged us into pointless gang wars. One of the many times I had to step in to clean up after him and clip his wings before he burned everything down.
I didn’t kill them.
My cousin did.
But what difference does it make? The thought is bitter as I catch the pure hatred in Natalie’s eyes. Anthony and I may not have been the same person, but he was a Cross. His sins are my sins now. His blood is my blood.
And indirectly, I’ve caused the greatest pain to the woman I love.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, the weight of it sinking into my bones. My knees threaten to buckle under grief, under the realization that no apology will ever be enough. The words barely hold any life, but I give them to her anyway. “I should’ve stopped him long ago. I should’ve stopped him. I didn’t know.”
I turn away.
“You said you should’ve stopped him,” she speaks, her voice thin, unraveling. “Who? Anthony?”
I look back at her. My throat tightens, but I nod .
She takes a breath, but it’s shaky and uneven like she’s trying to hold herself together. “He was the one who killed my parents?”
“Yes.” The word is heavy. Final. It doesn’t take away my guilt, though. It doesn’t lessen the burden either.
Natalie’s eyes search mine, desperate, grasping for something to hold on to. I don’t want to give it because I don’t deserve her, but she finds it anyway.
“Is that why you killed him?”
“I’m no saint, Natalie,” I say quietly, the weight of my words settling deep in my chest. “My cousin killed your parents because I let him go unchecked. I might as well have been the one who pulled the trigger.”
She doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t run.
Instead, she steps forward, refusing to let me escape this. Her presence consumes me, her warmth just within reach, and I breathe her in like a dying man desperate for one last taste of salvation.
“Tell me you haven’t killed anyone who didn’t deserve it,” she murmurs, her voice raw, searching. Her fingers brush against my chest, tentative yet unyielding. “Tell me you never let someone else take the blame for another man’s sins.”
I catch her hand, holding it tight against my heartbeat—against the part of me that has always belonged to her. “I swear it, Natalie.” My voice doesn’t waver. “I am not my cousin. I never was.”
Her eyes search mine, endless depths of grief and pain. There’s also strength shining through. Keeping me from falling apart.
“I know,” she whispers, her soft voice curling around the darkness I brought to her doorstep, bringing light to the heaviness in my heart. For a moment, I let myself indulge… I allow myself to believe that there’s a world where her pureness isn’t tainted by the evil things I’ve done .
That Anthony has done.
Natalie touches her hand to my cheek, our fingers intertwined, and I inhale slowly. Then, gently, she guides my hand lower, pressing it to the soft curve of her stomach.
It takes a moment—one breathless, earth-shattering moment—for the meaning of her gesture to sink in. My mind stumbles, grasping for understanding as my heart slams against my ribs.
“You’re…” The word catches in my throat, tangled with the storm of emotions threatening to consume me. My hands shake as I reach for her, afraid to hope, afraid to believe. “You’re pregnant?”
Natalie nods, a soft, breathy laugh escaping her lips. “Yeah,” she whispers, her voice laced with a thousand unspoken things. “Yeah, I am. I wasn’t going to tell you… not after you disappeared. But you’re here.” Her eyes search mine, hope flickering in their depths, fragile yet unwavering.
I don’t let her wait another second. I pull her into my arms, wrapping her in everything I am, everything I should have never left behind.
“I’m here,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to hers and feeling the warmth of her breath against my lips.
My fingers trace the curve of her face, memorizing, revering. I cradle her cheek in my palm, letting my thumb brush against her skin as if grounding myself in the reality of this moment.
“I was stupid to leave,” I confess, my voice hoarse with regret. “Reckless to think I could live without you.”
“Why did you go?” She asks.
“I thought I was protecting you,” I murmur as my hand curves along her spine, rounding her stomach. I still can’t believe it—the awe. “Anthony sent me pictures of us, and I thought it was someone else. I was scared they’d hurt you because of me. ”
“You could’ve said something,” Natalie tilts her chin, gazing at me. “It might’ve taken a while, but I would’ve understood.”
I don’t answer—not with words. Instead, my lips find the curve of her neck, tracing warmth against her skin, nipping gently as she exhales, her body melting into mine. We’re pressed against the door, out in the open, but I don’t care.
I’ve waited too damn long.
“How?” I whisper against her skin. “How could you have understood everything I am?”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her fingers drifting to my chest, resting right over my pounding heart. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged before her lips curve into the faintest smile.
“Love,” she says, her voice steady. “Love has a way of making even the darkest truths a little easier to carry.”
Her fingers rest lightly over my heart, steady and sure, as if she can tame the wild rhythm beneath her touch. I search her face, looking for doubt, some sign that she doesn’t truly believe the words she’s offering me.
That I’m not worth the chance she’s giving to me.
But there’s only certainty in her eyes.
A shaky breath escapes me as I press my forehead against hers. “You’re amazing. You know that? So fucking amazing, Natalie Monroe.”
She grins proudly, pressing the briefest of kisses to my forehead. “I know. But a single compliment’s not going to make up for lost time, Ethan Cross.”
A low sound rumbles in my throat, something raw, something desperate. My hands tighten around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Only her. Only this .
I exhale, tracing my fingers down her jaw, memorizing every inch of her. “I don’t deserve you.”
Natalie smiles softly, pressing her palm a little firmer against my chest. “Then stay and prove me wrong.”
We stumble into her bedroom, shirt coming off and sweats hanging at her knees. I gather Natalie into my arms, carefully dropping her on the bed. The bump I didn’t notice before is there now—a slight roundness that brings a deep exhale from within.
I never thought about having a child… not in a way a man fathers one with the woman he loves. But Natalie makes me dream of things.
A home.
Hearth.
The woman I love. The bond we’ve created. The children we cherish.
“What are you thinking about?” She says, kicking off her sweats. My eyes sweep over her naked body hungrily, from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her stomach… perfection.
“You,” I climb on, finding room in her arms. “You,” I repeat as I kiss her again, drawing her in slowly and deliberately, relearning and willingly giving. I press kisses across her collarbone, sighing as she threads her fingers through my hair.
“I love you, Natalie Monroe.”
Her gasp is caught between a sound of happiness and pleasure as my mouth closes over her nipple and my hand runs between her thighs, sinking into her. She rides my hand, rocking and arching with moans that fall like soft rain around us.
When she reaches for the buttons on my shirt, I let it fall willingly, grunting when her hands go lower, reaching into places where skin meets skin. Where nothing matters but the sound of her moans that fuel a hunger from deep within.
“So fucking good, “ I murmur, marking her with my breath hot against her skin. “ God, Natalie.” I exhale shakily, pulling back to look into her eyes.
My voice is a low growl as my gaze rakes over and drinks her in. Marvels at her presence in my arms. “You’re a dream that shouldn’t exist in reality.”
“I’m here, though,” she whispers, her eyes bright with love—that I still don’t deserve—and arms wrapping around my neck, gently wrapping me in her embrace.
She is.
Despite everything, Natalie is here. A pure beacon of light washing over me.
I sink low, kissing every inch of her skin, palming her curves, and spreading her thighs to pleasure her. She buckles under my touch and back arches off the bed as she comes… hard and breathless.
In her, I find warmth.
Home.
Hearth.
Three things I never thought I could own. I thought the darkness was mine to dwell in—closed drapes and shut doors until I caught a glimpse of her that day. Now she’s everything I need. She’s the light at the end of the tunnel, the place I want to come home to.
Stepping away from the bed, I strip off the last shred of clothing I have on. A soft, pleased smile curves Natalie’s lips, and she rests on her arms, gazing at me.
“Have I ever told you that you look so handsome without clothes on?” She asks.
I climb onto the bed, settling between her legs that welcome me close, my eyes blazing with intent. “I love you,” I murmur, rough against her ear .
Then I’m inside her, moving with a primal urgency that sends both of us into stillness before the rush pushes us over the edge.