Chapter 9 #2
"Heard you might need this," he says, hauling it out of his truck.
Cage helps him carry it inside. "Where'd you get this?"
"My cousin's kid outgrew it. It's solid. Safe. Figured you could use it."
"How much?" Cage asks, already reaching for his wallet.
"Nothing. Consider it a baby gift."
"Caleb—"
"Take it, Cage. Let people help."
They set it up in the room we've designated as the nursery. It's small, barely fits a crib and changing table, but it's enough.
After Caleb leaves, Cage stands in the doorway staring at it.
"It's real now," I say, coming up beside him.
"Yeah."
"Scared?"
"Terrified."
"Me too." I lean against him. "But we've got this."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I believe it."
He wraps his arm around me. "I hope you're right."
"I'm always right."
"That's not true."
"It's true often enough."
He kisses the top of my head. "Fair enough."
That night, we're lying in bed when I feel it. A flutter so faint I almost miss it.
I grab Cage's hand and press it to my stomach. "Wait."
"What?"
"Just wait."
We lie there in silence. And then it happens again. A tiny flutter, like butterfly wings.
"Did you feel that?" I whisper.
"I don't know. Was that it?"
"I think so."
"The baby?"
"Yes."
His hand spreads across my stomach, covering as much area as possible. We wait, barely breathing.
It happens again. Stronger this time.
"Holy shit," Cage breathes. "I felt it."
"That's our baby."
"That's our baby."
He moves down the bed until his face is level with my stomach. "Hey in there," he says softly. "I'm your dad. And I'm going to do my best not to screw this up."
My eyes fill with tears. "Cage."
"I mean it. I'm going to protect you. Both of you. No matter what."
I run my fingers through his hair. "I know."
He presses a kiss to my stomach, then moves back up to hold me. We fall asleep like that, his hand on my belly, feeling for more movements.
The town adjusts to us being together faster than I expected.
Ma treats Cage like one of her boys, constantly making sure he's eating enough and giving him unsolicited advice about babies.
Nora at The Summit House starts knitting baby clothes before we even know the sex.
Even Elsie backs off on the gossip. She still knows everything about everyone, but she's gentler about it now.
Wyatt Flynn stops by one afternoon with a first aid kit. "For the baby," he says. "You can never be too prepared."
Grizz, of all people, gives Cage a handmade wooden rattle. "My grandfather made it," he grunts. "Family heirloom. Figured your kid could use it."
Cage is speechless, turning the rattle over in his hands.
People in Iron Peak take care of their own. And apparently, we're their own now.
One evening, we're sitting on the porch watching the sunset when Cage says, "I want to marry you."
I turn to look at him. "What?"
"I want to marry you. Not because of the baby. Not because it's what we're supposed to do. Because I want you to be my wife."
My heart is pounding. "Are you proposing?"
"Not yet. I don't have a ring. And I want to do it right." He takes my hand. "But I'm telling you now. So you know. So you can think about it."
"I don't need to think about it."
"India—"
"Yes."
"You don't even know when I'm asking."
"Doesn't matter. The answer's yes."
He stares at me. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"You're supposed to make me work for it. Make me sweat."
"Why? I know what I want. And I want you."
He pulls me close and kisses me. Deep and thorough and full of promise.
"I love you," he murmurs against my lips.
"I love you too."
We sit there as the sun sets behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. His arm around me. My hand on my belly. Our future stretching out ahead of us.
"We're going to be okay," I say.
"Yeah," he agrees. "We are."
And for the first time since I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, I actually believe it.
Not because everything is perfect. It's not. We still have moments of fear. Moments of doubt. Moments where the weight of what we're doing feels too heavy.
But we have each other. And we have this tiny life growing between us. And we have a town full of people who, despite their gossip and their opinions, genuinely want us to succeed.
That's enough.
More than enough.
"What are you thinking about?" Cage asks.
"How lucky I am."
"Lucky?"
"Lucky I moved back here. Lucky my truck broke down that day. Lucky you stopped."
"That wasn't luck. That was inevitability."
"Inevitability?"
"We were always going to end up here. One way or another."
I look up at him. "You really believe that?"
"Yeah. I do."
I settle back against his chest, watching the last rays of sunlight fade. The mountains are dark silhouettes against the sky. Stars are starting to appear, bright and sharp.
This is my life now. Our life. Cage and me and the baby and this little cabin in the mountains.
It's not what I planned. Not what I expected. But it's exactly what I needed.
"Thank you," I say.
"For what?"
"For choosing me. For staying. For being brave enough to try."
His arms tighten around me. "Thank you for giving me a reason to."
We sit there until the stars fill the sky and the temperature drops enough that we need to go inside.
Tomorrow, Cage will wake up early and make coffee. I'll stumble out of bed and find breakfast waiting. We'll talk about doctor's appointments and nursery paint colors and all the mundane, beautiful details of building a life together.
But tonight, we're here. On this porch. In this moment. Together.
And that's all that matters.