Chapter Thirty-Five
Zane
The baby was tiny. Wrinkled and pink with a copper fuzz on her head that was all Sean and a scrunched, furious expression that was pure Zadie.
“She looks pissed off,” I said.
“She gets that from me.” Zadie was glowing, propped up in the hospital bed.
Caleb was asleep in the chair beside her, folded into a position that would cripple him by morning. One hand dangled off the armrest. The other rested on the edge of the bassinet, fingers curled around the rim like he was standing guard even unconscious.
I’d brought grocery store carnations because the gift shop was closed and planning ahead had never been my thing.
“Her name is Hope,” Zadie told me.
Of course it was.
I looked at my cousin—twenty-one, engaged, asleep beside the woman he’d chased for months with a newborn daughter who wasn’t biologically his but was already one hundred percent his.
He’d built this. Brick by stubborn brick. While the rest of us were still figuring out what we wanted, Caleb had found it, fought for it, and refused to let go.
Something prickly scratched under my skin. Not jealousy. Something quieter. The gnawing recognition of a void I’d been filling with parties and hookups and noise, hoping no one would notice it was still empty.
I was twenty-six. I had a bar, a house too big for one person, more money than I knew what to do with, and a talent for making sure everyone around me had a good time.
It wasn’t a bad life.
But standing in that hospital room, watching Caleb’s hand on that bassinet, I felt the distance between good enough and something more stretch wide enough to swallow me.
I wouldn’t fall into it. Not today. I had a weekend to plan, and zero intention of examining anything deeper than Saturday’s playlist.
“Tell him I stopped by,” I said.
“Zane.” Zadie caught my hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Once resort staff, always resort staff.” I squeezed her fingers and let go. “It’s in the handbook.”
“There’s no handbook.”
“Of course there is…I can’t believe you haven’t read it.”
The air was warm. Summer was coming. There’d be parties, long nights at the resort, crowds of tourists flooding Copper Ridge for the season. Life would keep moving the way it always did—fast, loud, and uncomplicated.
I pulled out my phone and texted the group chat.
Baby’s here. She’s tiny and angry. Caleb’s asleep. Zadie looks like a goddess. Name’s Hope. Drinks on me tonight.
That was enough.
It had to be.
Thank You for reading Wild Devotion!