Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
I want to give you the fucking world
Carina
Iwake to the sound of a low, persistent buzzing.
For a second, I think it might be the echo of Reid’s hands still on my skin from earlier, but when I roll over, the bed is empty. The covers are still warm, but he’s not here.
His phone buzzes again on the nightstand.
I blink, trying to reassemble the timeline. His hands, his mouth. The fucking shower. My legs still feel like cooked spaghetti, but all I can do is smile to myself as I sit up and reach for the phone.
It’s some kind of alarm with a deeply annoying and unhelpful tone. I fumble with it, still half asleep, thumb sliding uselessly over the glass.
“Okay, rude,” I mutter.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand, the phone still buzzing in my hand. My muscles protest lazily as I pad toward the door and step into the hallway, trying to silence the alarm again.
The screen lights up under my thumb as I walk down the stairs, a calendar alert flashing once, then disappearing. I expect to see the clock, maybe a message preview, or an app still running in the background. Instead, I’m staring at the Notes app.
And at the top, the title: Havoc.
My heart stutters, and I know I should lock the phone again, put it down, and leave it alone.
But I don’t, because it’s not just a singular note, it’s dozens, stacked one after another.
Things she likes: ginger peach tea, raspberry danish, the good honey and that song with the cello intro that plays when she’s cooking. Her hair stroked as she falls asleep (don’t overdo it).
Wednesdays = pediatric rotation. Hard on her. Chocolate helps.
Don’t tease about the plant graveyard. research ones that can survive. pothos? peace lily? snake plant. Ask Harry.
tell her I’m proud of her. She should be told more.
My thumb shakes on the screen as I keep scrolling.
nail polish = plum shimmer. toes only.
sleep habits: fights it until she can’t anymore. Clips and unclips her own hair when she’s trying to calm down.
Burger word I need more of: havoc (always havoc).
The ache builds in my throat like pressure under a bruise, and I blink, but it doesn’t stop the sting.
book recs: Cribsheet, the one Jake mentioned with charts. Ask Charlie which ones are bullshit.
don’t say she looks tired, she already knows.
Tell her about the rainbow I saw on Thursday
My vision blurs and the phone trembles in my hand, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip. Each line is a record of being seen for the first time in years. He’s remembered all of it. All of me.
The small things no one ever mentions, the offhand comments I didn’t think he was even listening to. The days that drain me, the foods I crave. The way I hold tension, and the way I drop it when he touches me and holds me.
I don’t know what to do with the knowing. With the care. With the love I haven’t let myself call love—not until now.
A tear slips hot down my cheek, then another.
And another.
I scroll to the top again, just to see it. Just to make sure it’s real.
Havoc.
It’s me, exactly as I am.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it behind my eyes. I make it to the bottom of the stairs and pad barefoot into the hall, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“Reid?”
It’s a broken whisper, but if he’s near, he’d hear it. There’s no response, so I dip my head into the living room. Tap lightly on the bathroom door. He’s not in the office, not in his downstairs gym.
The door across the hall is ajar, one of his guest rooms.
I push it open, and am met with boxes against the walls. One is half open, revealing soft green swaddles and an unopened baby monitor. There’s a crib still in plastic wrap, a folded-up stroller, a mobile with tiny forest animals.
Everything is new and untouched.
I press a hand to my mouth and try not to fall apart, but it’s too much. The notes. These boxes. The fact that I hadn’t asked for any of it, and he did it anyway. Quietly, tenderly, without any push.
As though he’s been silently preparing and waiting for me to catch up.
The sob hits before I can stop it, and I stumble back into the hallway, trying to keep quiet, but my throat’s closed up.
I make it into the dining room in some kind of daze, past the kitchen, past the fridge where he keeps the good yogurt just for me, and out the back doors, barefoot onto the cool stone.
It takes me a second to find him, but I do.
He’s down by the hives, crouched with a smoker in one hand, checking a frame in that careful, focused way of his. His forearms are bare, covered in smudges of pollen and smoke, and his hair’s still damp from the shower. There’s a small jar of fresh honey resting near his foot.
The bees are loud, and the world feels too bright, too full for my heart that’s lodged in my throat.
I’m halfway across the grass, tears streaking hot down my cheeks, when he finally glances toward me.
It happens all at once. His head snaps up on a double take, body going rigid, eyes locking on me like something instinctive just tripped.
“Carina?”
He’s already moving. The frame forgotten and clattering softly against the stand as he crosses the yard at a dead run. Our distance closes fast, his boots thudding against the grass, face sharpening with every step
By the time he reaches me, dropping the jar of honey to the grass beside him, I’m shaking.
“Carina—what happened?” His hands are on me, gripping my arms then shoulders then face like he’s checking for blood, or injury, for something he can fix. “Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Is it the baby?”
I shake my head, but the movement is useless because my chest caves in on itself and the sob punches free.
“No—no, I’m okay, I just—” My voice fractures. I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t even breathe right.
“Hey.” His grip softens instantly, palms warm and solid as he pulls me closer, forehead dipping to press to mine. “Hey, talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
“I didn’t mean to look,” I choke out, clutching at his shirt. “Your phone buzzed, and I was trying to make it stop, and it just—I opened—and I swear I wasn’t snooping, I didn’t mean to, Reid, I just—”
He frowns.
“My phone?”
I nod, swiping at my cheeks with the heel of my hand, which does absolutely nothing. “It was already open. On the Notes app, the one called Havoc.” I laugh, but it’s broken and wet. “You named a whole ass essay after me.”
His breath leaves him in a slow, stunned exhale.
“You saw that?”
“I saw all of it.” My voice hitches. “The lists and the reminders. The stupid little things about… My tea, and nail polish. The way I sleep. ” I look at him, eyes burning. “You remembered everything.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.
“And then I was looking for you.” I keep going, words tumbling out.
“Because I couldn’t find you and I needed to see you, and I opened the guest room and there were boxes, Reid.
Of baby stuff. You’ve been… preparing.” My voice drops to a whisper.
“You’ve been doing all of this without asking anything from me. ”
“I didn’t want to push,” he says quietly, swallowing hard. “Didn’t want you to feel cornered.”
The love in me crests, too big and too much to hold.
“You’ve been seeing me when I didn’t even know how to let myself be seen.” My hands curl into his shirt, fingers digging in. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to earn space, trying to be useful enough to deserve it. To be remembered and loved, and you just—” My voice breaks. “Gave it to me.”
“Because you’ve given me everything, baby.” His eyes are glassy now. “And I want to give you the fucking world.”
“I love you.”
My words land between us, and Reid goes utterly still, as though the world has paused around him. The bees, the breeze, the distant hum of the house behind us. His hands tighten on my arms just enough to anchor himself.
“You…”
“I love you,” I repeat, quieter but steadier. “And I have for a while.”
Something breaks open in his expression, and he exhales like he’s been holding the air in his lungs for months. Then a soft, almost disbelieving laugh escapes him as he drops his forehead back to mine.
“Jesus,” he murmurs. “Havoc.”
His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching a tear, and then he lifts his gaze to mine.
“I love you too,” he murmurs, voice breaking a little. “I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”
The ache in my chest splinters wide open.
“I’m sorry you had to wait.”
“I would’ve waited forever.”
“I love you,” I whisper again, just to feel it land.
“I love you too, Carina. So fucking much. I’ve been falling since the day you told me to take my piercings out, and I was an asshole about it.”
I laugh against his throat, wet with tears and shaking. “You were a bit of an asshole.”
“Still am,” he mutters. “But you love me anyway.”
His lips find my temple, then my cheekbone, then the corner of my mouth, kissing me as though he’s trying to memorize this moment.
“I’m not great at letting people in,” I admit.
“You’re better than you think,” he says. “You let me in, and that’s the most important one.”
“Don’t get smug about it.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes a dark navy blue, mouth twitching like he’s biting back a smile.
“Too late.”
I sniff, still tear-streaked. “God, I’m a mess.”
“Yeah,” he says softly, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “But you’re my mess.”
And then he’s bending, a hand reaching to grab the honey jar off the ground before he dips forward, catching me behind the knees.
I let out a quiet gasp as he lifts me clean off the ground.
“Reid—”
“Shut up a minute,” he rasps. “I need to make a proper mess of you.”
He carries me across the lawn and lowers me onto the outdoor couch that curves around the unlit firepit. The cushions are soft beneath my thighs, the kind of plush you can sink into and never want to leave.