17. Kane
Chapter 17
Kane
G race's words slam into me like a wrecking ball, obliterating every thought in my head.
I’m pregnant.
For a long second, the world blurs out. The only thing I can see is her—standing in my kitchen, chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers curling around the hem of her shirt like she’s bracing for me to explode. But I don’t explode. I can’t.
Because my mind is still playing catch-up.
I stare at her, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Say that again.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I’m pregnant.” Her voice is steadier this time, but I can see it—she’s bracing herself for my reaction. “From the first time we had sex. Not from this morning…obviously.”
My hands flex at my sides. My first instinct? To haul her against me, press my hand over her stomach, to claim this—her, the baby—as mine.
Instead, I say, “You’re sure?”
She doesn’t hesitate. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper, then thrusts it toward me. I take it, unfolding it with careful hands .
The black-and-white image stares back at me.
I don’t know a damn thing about ultrasounds, but I know what I’m looking at. A tiny form, barely distinguishable, but there. Real. Ours.
Something deep inside me shifts. Not fear, not hesitation, but something certain.
Grace crosses her arms, watching me, and for the first time since she spoke, I notice how pale she is. How exhausted. The stubborn line of her jaw, the way her shoulders hunch in on themselves.
I should say something. Do something.
She exhales, rubbing her temples. “I have to take a shower,” she mutters. “I’ve got vomit in my hair.”
I blink, lifting my gaze from the picture. That was not what I expected her to say next.
She turns, already moving toward the stairs, but I catch her wrist. “Grace.”
She tenses but doesn’t pull away.
I take a breath, the scent of her filling my lungs—smoke from the almost-fire, a hint of something floral beneath it, and her. Always her.
“We’re not done talking about this,” I say, voice rough.
A wry chuckle leaves her lips. “Yeah, I figured.”
Her hand slips from mine, and she walks away, leaving me standing there, gripping an ultrasound picture with white-knuckled fingers, trying to process how my entire life just changed in an instant.
I don't know how long I stand in the kitchen, staring at the tiny, grainy image in my hand.
Long enough to hear the shower turn on upstairs.
Long enough to realize that nothing I had planned for my life matters anymore.
Because this —this little shape on the ultrasound—is the only thing that matters now .
I let out a slow breath and press my fingers against my eyes. Shit.
I’ve fought fires that burned so hot they turned steel into molten liquid. I’ve walked through buildings where the smoke was so thick, the only way out was by memory alone. I’ve seen people take their last breaths in my arms; felt the way life can just slip away in an instant.
None of that compares to this. To what I feel looking at this damn picture.
I drag my hand down my face and force myself to move.
Because the woman upstairs—the one who just turned my world inside out—she's waiting for me to figure out where we go from here.
And I’ll be damned if I let her walk through this alone.
I take the stairs two at a time, moving with purpose, my blood humming with an unfamiliar mix of shock, excitement, and something deeper. Something permanent.
The door to the guest suite bathroom is slightly ajar, steam curling out into the hall, thick and heavy with the scent of vanilla and something distinctly her .
I step inside without knocking, without thinking, because she’s mine, and if she’s in pain, if she needs me—I need to fix it.
Through the glass of the shower, I see her, her back to me, her hands pressed against the tile as water cascades down her body. Her shoulders shake, and it takes me all of half a second to realize— she’s crying .
My chest clenches tight, my gut twisting.
I don’t hesitate.
I strip out of my clothes, kick them aside, and step into the shower, the hot water hitting me like a punch to the back.
She stiffens the second she hears me, her hands balling into fists against the tile.
“Go away, Kane,” she says, her voice raw, wrecked.
Not happening .
Instead, I step closer, close enough that I can see the way her spine trembles, the way water glides down her skin.
“Not gonna happen, Gracie,” I murmur, my voice low as I slide my hands over her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She shakes her head, her breath hitching. “I just need a minute.”
“You get as many minutes as you need,” I tell her, pressing my chest to her back. “But you’re not taking them alone. Not anymore.”
A shudder wracks her body, but she doesn’t pull away.
So I wrap my arms around her, splay my hands over her stomach—our baby—and just hold her .
She grips my wrists, squeezing hard, like she’s holding on for dear life.
“I was so scared,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rush of water. “With the fire, with all the smoke—I thought…” Her breath shudders out, and she swallows hard. “I thought something might’ve happened to the baby.”
My throat tightens. Fuck.
I turn her in my arms, cupping her face, making her look at me.
“You’re both okay, right?” I murmur, brushing my thumbs over her cheekbones. “That’s what matters.”
She nods, but fresh tears spill down her cheeks, mixing with the water. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. “You should’ve told me.”
She lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, well, I was a little busy trying to figure out how the hell I ended up pregnant with a firefighter’s baby after spending the last year and a half avoiding you.”
Despite everything, I chuckle because damn it , that’s Gracie .
“I guess fates got a sense of humor,” I say, my lips brushing against hers.
She sniffles, her fingers curling into my sides. “You’re not freaking out?”
I meet her gaze, steady, unwavering. “I’m shocked . I’m terrified . But mostly?” I pause, pressing a slow, lingering kiss on her forehead. “I’m excited , Gracie.”
Her breath catches, her fingers flexing against me. “You are?”
I slide my hands down her sides, spreading my fingers over her lower belly. “Yeah. I am.”
Her chin wobbles, and I can see it—that crack in her armor, the part of her that’s been holding onto this alone for too damn long.
I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’ve loved you since the day we met.”
She stills, her lips parting, eyes wide.
“I didn’t always know what to do with it,” I admit, brushing my nose against hers. “Didn’t always know how to handle you.” I let out a low chuckle. “Hell, I still don’t. But this?” I slide my hands back up to cradle her face, holding her like she’s everything . Because she is . “I’m all in, Grace Fletcher.”
She blinks up at me, something shifting in those dark eyes of hers, something raw and vulnerable.
“You love me?” she whispers, like she doesn’t believe it.
I exhale, tilting my head, letting my lips brush hers. “Yeah, Gracie. I love you.”
She lets out a shuddering breath, her hands skimming up my chest, around my neck.
I don’t wait. I kiss her.
Deep. Slow. Desperate.
Her fingers dig into my back, her body pressing into mine like she’s trying to crawl inside me, like she needs this just as much as I do.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist, her back pressing against the shower wall.
She gasps, arching into me. “Kane?—”
“I’m right here,” I murmur against her lips. “Always.”
Her breath shudders out, and when I look at her, her eyes are glassy, her expression unreadable.
Grace's hands roamed over my chest, her touch electric, as if she is trying to memorize every inch of me. My body responds, my desire for her flaring to life, a familiar heat pooling in my groin. I lower my lips to hers, deepening the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, a slow, sensual dance that leaves us both breathless.
Grace's fingers dig into my shoulders, her body pressing against mine, a silent plea for more. I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist, her back pressing against the shower wall. The hot water continues to cascade over us, a sensual backdrop to our passionate embrace.
“I need you,” she demands.
I growl low in my throat, my hands gripping her thighs, holding her in place, “I’m here, Gracie. Always.”
Our lips meet again, a feverish kiss that leaves us both wanting more. My hands roam over her body, my fingers exploring every curve, every inch of her soft, wet skin.
Her breath quickens, her body arching into my touch, a silent invitation. I respond, my hands sliding down to cup her breasts, my thumbs teasing her nipples, now hard and erect.
She moans, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Please, Kane.”
My control snaps, my desire for her overwhelming. I lift her, bringing her to the edge of the shower bench, her legs still wrapped around me. With a gentle thrust, I enter her, filling her in one smooth motion.
Grace cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body trembling as she adjusts to my size. I instantly worry I’m hurting her. “Are you okay?”
The sinister smile she gives me tells me she’s doing just fine. “Oh, yeah. Don’t stop.”
I begin to move, my thrust slow and deliberate, each one elicits a soft moan from her. The steamy air, the sound of the water, and the feel of her body beneath me heightens my senses, driving me to the brink of ecstasy.
“Kane, please,” she begs.
I oblige, my pace quickening, my thrusts becoming more urgent, more primal. I’m claiming her and our baby.
Grace’s moans turn to cries, her body trembling as she nears her peak. “Come for me, Gracie. Let go.”
Her body convulses around me, her release a powerful wave that send me over the edge with her. I thrust two more times before spilling into her, my own release a shuddering, exquisite surrender.
We remain entangled, our hearts pounding, our breath mingling in the steamy air. I hold her close, my lips pressed to her temple, my body still buried deep within her. “I love you, Gracie. Always have, always will.”
The wedding rehearsal should be simple. Walk down the aisle, stand in the right spot, don’t mess up Hudson and Kate’s big moment. I’ve fought fires, been trapped in burning buildings, seen my fair share of close calls. This? This should be a breeze.
Except it’s not .
Because Grace is right over there, and she looks incredible.
She’s standing across the room, laughing at something Kate just said, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over one shoulder, her lips full, her eyes bright. She looks happy , and damn if it doesn’t hit me right in the chest.
I should be focusing on what the wedding planner—Riley, who I’m convinced, was a drill sergeant in a past life—has been repeating for the last ten minutes, but my brain has officially checked the hell out.
Because all I can think about is Grace.
The way she felt in my arms last night. The way she broke in the shower, letting me see that soft, vulnerable side she guards so damn fiercely. The way she let me in.
The way she’s carrying my baby .
I adjust the collar of my dress shirt, already feeling the heat creeping up my neck. I’m not a suit-and-tie guy, but Kate insisted we dress at least semi -formal for the rehearsal. “Look presentable, Kane. Don’t make me regret putting you in my wedding party,” she’d said.
I was fine with all of this—until I saw Grace in that dress.
It’s not anything extravagant. A simple navy-blue number that clings to her curves, stops just above the knee, and makes my mouth dry as hell. The fabric stretches across her chest in a way that has my brain short-circuiting, and when she shifts, crossing one leg over the other, my jaw locks.
Fuck me.
I have zero focus left.
“Okay, listen up!” Riley claps her hands together, pulling me from my very un-wedding-appropriate thoughts. “We’re going to start the processional walkthrough. I sent your processional pairings in the group text, so if you haven’t checked your phone, now would be a good time!”
Grace’s head tilts as she checks her phone, then she lifts her gaze, her eyes locking onto mine.
Oh, hell.
Kate grins like she planned this. “Oh, this is going to be fun. ”
Grace exhales loudly, striding over to me. “Guess we’re partners,” she says dryly.
I take in the long line of her legs, the slight sway of her hips. “Guess so.”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?” I lift a brow, my voice a little rougher than I mean for it to be.
She shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
And yet, she slides her arm through mine like it’s second nature. Like she belongs there.
“Alright, lovebirds, let’s go!” Riley calls, motioning for us to line up. We take our place in line behind Declan and Riley, and I hear the Walking Ladies —a group of nosy older women who somehow know everything—whispering from their places in line as the flower girls.
“That boy has trouble written all over him.” Joan whisper-yells.
“Grace better be careful. He looks like the type who leaves panties and broken hearts wherever he goes.” Betty laughs.
“That’s exactly why I like him.” Joan says back.
I nearly laugh.
Grace groans under her breath. “I swear, they have nothing better to do.”
I glance down at her. “They’re not wrong, you know.”
She arches a brow. “About what? The panties or the broken hearts?”
I grin. “Both.”
She shakes her head, but I catch the flicker of a smile before she schools her features.
We fall into step as Riley instructs us on how to move down the aisle, and despite everything—despite the fact that we’re standing here at someone else’s wedding rehearsal, despite the fact that she’s pregnant with my kid and still hasn’t fully let me in—something settles in my chest .
Because for the first time, it hits me.
This is what I want .
I want her.
And I’ll be damned if I let anyone else think otherwise.
I should be in a good mood now that we’re at the rehearsal dinner and all the practicing of walking down the aisle is over with. The wedding is next week, finally.
Hudson’s buying drinks. The food’s decent. Everyone’s laughing, celebrating, and for once, there’s no talk of work, of arson cases, of people almost dying.
But I’m not in a good mood because this jackass waiter won’t stop flirting with Grace.
The guy is young, too young. Some fresh-out-of-college pretty boy with an easy grin and a name tag that reads Trevor, and for some reason, he’s decided that Grace is his for the evening.
I try to ignore it. I really do, but then he leans in and touches her shoulder. Then he laughs a little too hard at something she says, and just like that, every ounce of patience I had evaporates. I set my beer down hard, pushing back my chair.
Hudson’s eyes flick to mine. “Oh, hell.”
Kate huffs. “Kane?—”
Too late; I’m already moving.
Trevor—poor, clueless Trevor—is still talking when I step up behind Grace’s chair, resting a very possessive hand on the back of it.
The kid notices me immediately, straightening like he feels the shift in the air. He has to look up at least a foot to see my face. I must outweigh him by forty pounds.
Grace tenses, glancing up at me. “Kane, what?—”
I don’t take my eyes off Trevor .
“You got a problem, Trevor ?” I ask, voice low. Controlled.
Trevor blinks. “Uh…no?”
“Well, from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re hitting on my woman.”
Grace chokes.
The table goes dead silent.
Trevor’s face drains of color. “I—uh?—”
I tilt my head. “You gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna take our order and move the fuck on?”
He nods so fast it’s comical. “Right. Got it. I’ll—I’ll be right back.”
He turns and bolts as I settle into the chair next to Grace, reaching for my beer like nothing just happened.
Silence.
Then Kate leans forward, eyes glinting. “So. Your woman?”
Grace is still gaping at me, her cheeks flushed. “Did you just—” She cuts herself off, dragging in a sharp breath. “Did you just tell an entire restaurant I belong to you?”
I take a slow sip of my beer, meeting her gaze.
“Damn right I did.”
Her lips part, eyes blazing. “You’re an asshat.”
Across the table, Hudson grins. “Well, at least we don’t have to wonder where you stand on the whole ‘claiming Grace’ thing.”
Trevor, the other one—my buddy, not the waiter—chuckles. “I’ll be honest. That was kind of satisfying to watch.”
Grace huffs, grabbing her water glass. “You’re all insane. Every last one of you.”
I lean in, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “I mean it, Gracie.”
Her fingers tighten around her glass. “Kane?—”
“I love you,” I say, cutting her off before she can argue. “I’m done pretending I don’t.”
Her throat works, her eyes flickering with something unreadable, and for the first time, I see it. She’s scared . Not because she doesn’t feel it, but because she does.
And that’s enough for now because whether she’s ready to admit it or not, she’s mine, and I’ve never been one to walk away from a fight.
The ride home is quiet . Too quiet.
Grace has been staring out the passenger window for the last ten minutes, arms crossed, body stiff. I can feel the storm brewing, crackling in the space between us, pressing against the windows of my truck like a living, breathing thing.
I’m not surprised. Hell, I expected this. Doesn’t mean I regret what I did. Not for one damn second. I meant every word. Grace is mine. She’s carrying my child. I don’t give a damn who hears it.
But I also know Grace—know the way her mind works. She’s spent so long convincing herself she doesn’t need anyone, that she can handle things alone , that the idea of someone stepping in, claiming her, wanting her, loving her…It scares her.
She exhales sharply, breaking the silence. “What the hell was that back there?”
I keep my eyes on the road, gripping the wheel tighter. “Be specific.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Are you kidding me, Kane?” She shifts in her seat, fully turning to face me. “You publicly declared I was yours in front of the entire wedding party— hell , the entire damn restaurant!”
“I wasn’t aware that was a bad thing,” I say evenly.
Her jaw clenches. “You cornered that poor waiter. ”
I grin. “You mean the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself?”
She groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You growled at him.”
I shrug . “He got the message.”
She glares at me, her chest rising and falling in sharp little bursts. Damn , she’s beautiful when she’s pissed. That fire in her eyes, the way her body vibrates with barely contained frustration… It’s like a drug.
I should ease up. Be gentle. But I don’t want to be. I want her to feel this the way I do.
“I don’t belong to you,” she says, voice softer now, but still laced with something sharp.
I shift gears, my jaw tightening. “Then why haven’t you walked away?”
She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“You could’ve left anytime Gracie.” My voice is low now, steady, controlled. “You could’ve moved in with Kate. Could’ve told me to back off. Could’ve said no every time I touched you.”
She doesn’t respond.
I grip the wheel tighter. “But you didn’t.”
Her breath hitches, and fuck , I hear it—feel it—like a bullet to my chest.
I ease the truck onto my street, pulling into the driveway. I put it in park, kill the engine, but neither of us moves. The silence is louder now.
“Why are you fighting this?” I ask, voice rough.
She shakes her head, staring straight ahead. “Because it’s not real, Kane.”
My gut twists. “The fuck it isn’t.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, “But it’s not real. It’s broken. We don’t work together. You know that. ”
I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Then explain it to me. Explain why, after all this time, you still can’t let me go. Why you let me hold you. Kiss you. Fuck you like you need me.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.
I tilt her chin up further, my thumb brushing over the rapid pulse in her throat. “Explain to me why you didn’t tell me about the baby sooner.”
Her eyes flicker with something vulnerable, something raw, and fuck, it wrecks me.
“You terrify me, Kane,” she whispers.
I inhale sharply. “Why?”
“Because you mean it,” she says, voice thick. “Every word. Every promise. You mean it, and if I let myself believe it… if I let myself have this…” Her hand waves between the two of us. “What happens when you wake up one day and regret it?”
Something in my chest snaps.
I cup her face, my hands shaking. “That’s never going to happen.”
Her breath is ragged now, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress like she’s holding herself together. “You can’t promise that.”
I lean in, my forehead nearly brushing hers. “Yes. I can.”
She lets out a soft, disbelieving sound. “Kane?—”
I press my lips to hers, cutting off whatever argument she was about to throw at me. It’s not gentle—not soft. It’s raw, desperate, a clash of tongues and teeth, my grip tightening on her face like she might vanish if I let go.
She melts into me like she always does. Like she wants to.
I slide my hands down, gripping her waist, dragging her across the seat until she’s straddling me, her dress bunching around her thighs. My hands roam—her back, her hips, that perfect little curve where her ass meets her thighs.
She whimpers against my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders .
I tear my lips from hers, trailing kisses down her jaw, her throat. “You’re mine,” I murmur against her skin. “Say it.”
She gasps as I nip at her collarbone. “Kane?—”
“Say it.”
Her body shudders, and then, barely above a whisper— “I’m yours.”
My grip tightens.
“You and this baby?” My voice is raw now. “You’re my everything, Gracie, and I’ll spend the rest of my damn life proving it to you.”
She sucks in a shaky breath, her fingers curling into my hair.
I rest my forehead against hers. “You’re not alone anymore.”
She shatters in my arms.
No more running. No more fighting.
Just us.
Breathing hard. Holding on.
And finally, finally facing this together.
I kiss her one last time, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze.
“I’ll protect you,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her lips. “You and our baby.”
Her eyes shine with something I’ve never seen before—something like trust, and fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I grip her face. “For the rest of my life, Gracie.” I press a kiss to her temple. “No matter what.”
And this time she doesn’t pull away.