Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nick
The second I step out of the elevator, I move fast.
Sara’s door’s down the hall, and I swear the floor’s getting farther away with every step, the whole building holding its breath along with me.
Triplets.
The word’s been echoing in my head ever since I got that text. I read it. Reread it. Waited for some punchline that never came.
Three versions of her smile. Or mine. Or some combination of both. Hell, maybe something entirely new. God help them.
My stomach’s in knots, but my hands? Steady as ever. When I knock, it’s without hesitation.
A second later, the door opens.
Sara stands there in leggings and an old T-shirt, hair tied up, her expression unreadable.
Her eyes flick over me. She’s weighing whether to slam the door or let me in.
She doesn’t say anything, so I do.
“I’m sorry.”
Her shoulders tighten just slightly, but she steps back, letting me in.
I walk past her, into the apartment I used to know better than my own. It’s the same and different, all at once. A memory that changed without warning.
Meatball lifts his head from the couch, eyes narrow, then lets out a disgruntled huff before flopping back down. Not forgiven. Fair enough.
Sara closes the door softly and leans against it, arms crossed.
I turn to face her. “You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have walked out.”
She nods. “I know that, too.”
The silence between us is thick, heavy.
Finally, I exhale, my breath coming out ragged. “Triplets.”
Her eyes fill with just the slightest shimmer, but she nods.
My chest tightens. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she whispers, voice soft, fragile. “But I’m trying.”
I take a step closer. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I was scared,” she admits. “I didn’t know how. I thought… if I said it out loud, it would change everything. And then Laura said it before I could, and Nick, the look on your face…” She stops, swallowing hard. “You looked at me like I broke you.”
I close my eyes. “You didn’t. You didn’t break me. I broke myself.”
Her silence is louder than anything else in the room.
I open my eyes again. “Three babies,” I murmur, softer now. “Shit, Sara. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I.”
“But I want to learn. I want to try.”
She searches my face, eyes flicking over me. “Even after everything?”
I step closer. “Nothing matters more than this.”
“Nick…”
“No. Listen to me.” I run a hand through my hair, tension crawling up my spine. “This whole week’s been a mess. And I’ve handled it all wrong. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Her lip trembles. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“It’s not,” I say honestly. “I’m terrified. But I’m more terrified of not being here. Of not being with you through this. Of not meeting them. All three of them.”
A laugh escapes her, soft, broken. “They’re the size of jellybeans, and they’re already wrecking my whole life.”
I smile, just a little. “Sounds about right for Ashfords.”
Her expression softens.
I step closer again, watching her face the whole time, giving her time to stop me if she wants.
She doesn’t.
“I want to be there, Sara. Appointments. The scary stuff. The messy stuff. All of it.”
“What if it gets worse?” she asks, her voice small. “What if the media doesn’t stop? What if the board fires you? What if we crash and burn again?”
I take a step closer, not backing down. “Then we figure it out. Together.”
She holds my gaze, and I see the war inside her, the fear battling against hope, the pain fighting the possibility.
Finally, she exhales, a soft breath of surrender. “You really want to do this?”
I nod. “Yeah. I do. All of it. You. Them. This insane, upside down, terrifying life.”
She doesn’t cry this time.
She just steps into me, her arms finding their way around my waist, and lets me hold her.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, something inside me settles. Because I don’t know how we’re going to do this. But I know we will.
Together.
We stand there for a long time, the world shrinking down to just us. Her arms around my waist, my chin resting on the top of her head, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. Finally, I can breathe.
But it doesn’t last. It never does.
Eventually, she pulls back a little, her eyes still cautious. “You said you needed to see me. That there was something you wanted to talk about.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to break this fragile peace we’ve managed to find, but I can’t avoid it any longer.
“Yeah,” I say, “there is.”
I reach into my coat pocket, pull out the flash drive, and hold it between us.
“This showed up at the office today. Security handed it to me without saying much. Just told me I needed to see it.”
Sara’s brows furrow. “What is it?”
I walk with her to the couch, pop open my laptop, and slide the flash drive into the port. It takes a few seconds for it to load. Then the screen fills with grainy footage. The timestamp’s on the corner. The lobby view.
Sara leans in.
Then, she stills.
The figure on screen is hooded, unremarkable. But there’s something about the way she moves. Purposeful. Quick.
She lingers near my office door, just outside the frame, then shifts back into view, walking calmly toward the elevator as though she hasn’t just crossed a line she shouldn’t have.
I fast-forward, switching to another angle. This one’s clearer.
Her face lifts briefly toward the camera. I freeze the frame.
Sara inhales quickly. “I’ve seen her before.”
“You have?”
She nods, her expression twisting into something akin to confusion, or maybe dread. “She was in the lobby. Then maybe at the gala?”
“Do you know her name?”
Sara hesitates. “I don’t. But what if it’s Isla?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as she catches the same thought I had. “Isla Vale?”
Sara’s voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe. I mean, she’s a journalist, right?”
I glance at her, and my chest tightens all over again. She looks tired. Fragile in ways she shouldn’t be, but there’s something in her eyes now, sharper, fiercer. Stronger in a way I didn’t expect. But I should’ve known. She’s never been weak.
“I’ll find out who she is,” I promise. “And what she wants. But for now…” I let out a breath. “I think you need to come and stay with me. Somewhere I can keep an eye on you.”
Sara stiffens immediately. “No.”
I blink. “No?”
“I’m not moving in with you just because things are scary now.” She crosses her arms, her jaw set, defiant. “I’m not some damsel you need to rescue, Nick.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I sit back, biting down on the instinct to argue. That fire in her, the way she stands her ground, it’s one of the things I first fell for. But right now? It’s standing between her and safety.
“Sara, this isn’t about pride. Someone stole from my office. They leaked private photos. Now they’re lurking outside buildings like they’re casing the place. And you’re carrying three babies.”
Her eyes flash. “I know exactly what I’m carrying.”
“I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself,” I say, soft but firm. “But I can’t sit in my penthouse knowing you’re here alone with Meatball and a deadbolt that looks like it came from Home Depot’s clearance rack.”
She opens her mouth, probably to throw that independence back in my face, but she doesn’t get the chance.
Because just then, Meatball bolts upright from the couch, snarling. His ears are up, his body tense, and he’s staring through the blinds at something we can’t see.
Sara freezes.
I’m across the room in an instant, my heart already racing. I glance out the window. I don’t see anyone, just the faint shimmer of movement near the alleyway. But it’s enough.
“That’s it.” I turn back to her, my voice hard. “Pack a bag.”
“I…”
“No,” I say, cutting her off. “I’m not asking.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “This isn’t about you needing help. It’s about me not walking away from you again. It’s about keeping you and them safe.”
Them.
The weight of the word hangs between us. And in that moment, it hits me. The depth of this. What I’m fighting for.
Sara’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her eyes flood with emotion, shock, pain, maybe even relief. And before I can say another word, she’s moving into me, her arms wrapping around my neck.
This time, she does cry.
Really cry.
Messy, broken sobs that shake her whole body. I feel the wetness against my shirt, and I just hold her tighter. My hand slides to the back of her head, my lips brushing her temple, offering her what little comfort I can.
I don’t say anything, because what the hell could I say that would mean more than this?
“I can’t do this without you,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to,” I assure her. “Not ever again.”
We stay like that, wrapped around each other, as Meatball stands sentry at the window. And I realize that I’m not just fighting for control of my company or my name anymore.
I’m fighting for my family.
And I’m not losing this one. Not a chance in hell.