39. Chapter 39
thirty-nine
Sadie
Isaw him come into the bedroom with something in his hand.
He stopped just inside the doorway, like he was deciding how to play it.
“Amy brought a bunch of stuff to help out,” he said finally. “Crackers, soup, ginger ale. You know… all that stuff.”
But his voice was off, tight, careful. It made me sit up straighter against the pillows.
“And what aren’t you sharing, Diesel?”
His jaw worked for a second, and instead of answering, he stepped forward and set something in my lap.
A pink and white box.
The air in my lungs stalled.
“Is there a chance?” he asked, his voice low but steady. His gaze locked on mine, and it wasn’t just a question. It was a searchlight, peeling back all the ways I wanted to deflect.
In his deep gray eyes, I saw a whole universe shifting—worry, hope, fear, protectiveness—all colliding in the space between us.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the cardboard as if it might answer for me.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, the words tasting strange in my mouth. Because it was the truth. We hadn’t been careful about anything, not really, and now all the what-ifs I’d been ignoring were pressing hard against my ribs.
His jaw flexed, like he’d been expecting that answer but still hated hearing it.
“Then I guess there’s only one way to find out, huh?”
I nodded, but my throat had already closed up around the lump forming there. My chest felt too tight, like every breath had to fight its way in.
I didn’t even notice I was twisting the box in my hands until his fingers brushed mine, stilling the motion. His touch was light, but it grounded me just enough to meet his eyes again.
Those gray eyes weren’t cold or distant. They were locked on me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. And for a second, I thought I saw him ready to say something else, something big, before he caught himself.
“Sadie,” he said quietly, “whatever it says, I’m not going anywhere.”
I nodded, resolve hardening in my chest, and swung my legs off the bed. Diesel was already there, a steady hand at my elbow, guiding me like I might shatter if he let go.
I gave him a look that was half gratitude, half warning not to smother me, and he didn’t flinch. Honestly, I don’t think I could’ve made my feet move without the anchor of his touch.
“Thank you,” I murmured, leaning in to press a kiss against the rough stubble of his cheek. His jaw tightened under my lips, but he didn’t move, didn’t breathe until I pulled away.
The box felt heavier in my hand as I turned toward the bathroom, resolve in my shoulders but a storm in my gut. The sound of my footsteps seemed too loud in the quiet.
Behind me, I felt his gaze like a hand at my back.
I shut the door softly but didn’t lock it.
Diesel
I was not a pacer. I was not a fidgeter. But right now? My boots had worn a line in her rug. Every turn I made felt too sharp, my hands restless at my sides.
She was in there, the soft hum of the bathroom fan the only sound between us.
Could I go in and just… be there? Would it make it easier for her—or for me?
My gut told me I should that I needed to.
I walked to the door, knuckles brushing the wood before I knocked lightly. “Do you want me to… join you?”
It came out rougher, more uncertain than I liked. I cleared my throat, forcing the words I really meant out into the quiet.
“I’d like to… if that’s okay with you.”
For a long moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, the sound of the box being set down on the counter.
“Come in,” she said, her voice so soft it barely made it through the door.
I stepped inside, shutting it behind me, and the world shrank to four walls, the scent of her vanilla shampoo, and the small plastic stick sitting on the counter.
She was perched on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows on her knees, fingers knotted together so tight her knuckles were pale. That little stick might as well have been a live grenade.
“We have to wait five minutes,” she murmured.
I crouched until I was eye level with her. “Hey.” My voice was steady, even though my pulse wasn’t. “I meant what I said before. No matter what it says, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallowed hard. My chest felt too tight, like the words were caught between my ribs, but I forced them out anyway. “Sadie…” I waited until her eyes lifted, until the blue of them locked on me. “I love you.”
She flinched like I’d touched a bruise.
“You don’t mean it,” she whispered. “You just think you have to say that with everything going on.”
“No.” The word came out rough. “I almost said it before all this. I wouldn’t pretend. Not with you. Not with anyone. That’s not how I do things.”
Her hands twisted again, restless, and I had to fight the urge to cover them with mine, pin them still against my chest until she felt the truth beating under my skin.
“It’s hard for me to believe that,” she said, barely audible.
“Yeah.” I huffed out a breath, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “I know it is. I didn’t exactly make it easy.”
Her gaze flickered, just a little.
“When you saw the tattoo…” I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have brushed it off like that. That was on me.”
I leaned forward slightly, closing some of the space but not forcing it.
“It’s not just a tattoo.” My voice dropped. “It never was.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re it for me, Sadie.”
Sadie’s gaze dropped to her hands, fingers twisting together before slowly going still.
“I know,” she said softly.
I frowned. “Know what?”
Her lips pressed together for a second before she looked back up at me.
“I know you’re not just saying it.”
That hit me square in the chest.
Her eyes flicked away, like even admitting that felt too big.
“You’ve been here,” she continued, quieter now. “Every day. You don’t push. You don’t ask for anything. You just… show up.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t interrupt.
“You take care of me without making it feel like I owe you something for it,” she said, her voice wavering just slightly. “Do you have any idea how rare that is?”
I exhaled slowly. “Sadie—”
She shook her head, cutting me off.
“That’s what scares me.”
The words landed between us, heavier than anything else she’d said.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, holding on like she needed something solid.
“Because I see it,” she admitted. “I see you trying. I see you being there. And I…” She swallowed hard. “I feel it.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“And I don’t trust myself with that yet,” she whispered.
That stopped me cold.
“Every time I’ve felt something like this,” she went on, “I’ve poured everything I had into it. I gave and gave until there wasn’t anything left of me that felt like mine anymore.”
Her gaze lifted, locking onto mine—steady, even if her voice wasn’t.
“I don’t know how to do this halfway,” she said. “I don’t know how to fall a little. When I do this… I jump.”
Yeah. That tracked.
“And if I’m wrong…” Her voice cracked just slightly before she steadied it. “If I read this wrong, if I let myself believe this is as real as it feels…”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know if I could put myself back together again after that.”
The room felt too small. Too quiet.
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” she added, softer now. “I’m saying… I’m trying to believe this is something I can actually hold onto.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to my arm—then back to my face.
“Because that?” she said quietly. “That means something. You mean something.”
My pulse kicked hard.
“But I need to know I won’t disappear in it,” she finished. “That I won’t wake up one day and realize I built my whole world around something that wasn’t as solid as I thought it was.”
I knew nothing I could say would change that for her. I just had to keep showing up and keep proving it. And I would. I would do anything for her. So I just nod.
She gives me a small smile.
The silence between us swelled. Somewhere behind me, the wall clock ticked. I didn’t dare look at it—didn’t want to see how slow those minutes were moving.
The air was warm in here, heavy with her perfume and the faint sweetness from the bakery clinging to her clothes. I wondered if she could smell the oil and metal still on my skin, if it reminded her that I came straight here because she mattered more than finishing the job I was on.
My mind kept flipping between pictures I couldn’t stop thinking about. One with her, with a rounded belly, laughing despite her nerves. Then one with her without it, relief written all over her face, maybe even disappointment. Either way, I knew I’d be here.
One minute down. Four to go.
Her thigh brushed mine when she shifted, and every muscle in my body went tight. It would’ve been so easy to reach for her, to pull her in, but right now wasn’t about me.
Three minutes.
She glanced at the counter like the test might jump up and answer before it was ready. I followed her gaze, then went back to watching her instead—her lashes low, her mouth pressed together like she was holding back words she’d never say unless I pulled them out of her.
Two minutes.
I finally let my fingers touch hers, just barely, like a question. She didn’t pull away.
One minute.
The clock ticked loudly enough to hear over our breathing.
I didn’t know what the test would say, but I knew one thing for sure: if she let me, I was in this for the long haul.
Her lips trembled like she was on the verge of saying something, but she only shook her head, blinking hard.
I reached up, curling my hand around the side of her neck, my thumb brushing just under her jaw. “I don’t want to scare you off,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m not taking it back either.”
She let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I said, my mouth curving, even though my chest still ached, “and you like me that way.”
We stayed like that with me on my knees in front of her, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter, until the timer on her phone went off. The sound made her jump.
“You ready?” I asked.
“No.” She blew out a breath. “But we have to look.”
I rose to stand beside her, and when she reached for the test, I caught her hand. “We’ll do it together.”