Chapter 22
Knox
She’s still asleep.
And curled into me, back pressed to my chest, me breathing in her lavender-scented hair, her breathing soft and slow against my arm.
We’re tucked so close, so natural, which makes it too damn easy to imagine a version of life where this is our every morning.
Eventually, she’ll shift to face me, sleepy-eyed and smiling, kiss me good morning, and I’ll want to keep her in bed all day.
But for now, I don’t move. Don’t breathe too hard. Hell, I barely blink.
Because if I do, the spell might break, and I’m not ready yet.
Last night is still mapped across my skin in echoes and exhales. Our world shifted. Grew closer.
And with Cami, it’s never just been sex. Even when we swore this fling would be.
It’s always felt like something more from that first night on the beach and every single moment in between. Every laugh, every touch, every quiet morning chipped away at walls I didn’t know I’d built.
I want her non-freaking-stop.
How could I not?
Gorgeous face. Breath-stealing eyes. Long, beautiful legs. Perfect tits. Great ass.
That slick, tight pussy that grips me like her body’s even decided I’m hers.
I mean, the woman’s fucking stunning from head to toe.
But it’s not only her beauty or her body that has me hooked.
I love how she moves with me, unafraid to tell me exactly what she wants.
When she wraps her legs around me like she needs the closeness as much as I do.
And, fuck, I get lost in the way she looks at me when I’m deep inside her, eyes locked with mine like she’s drawing me closer to what she keeps guarded.
This is more than simple pleasure.
In fact, being with Cami feels a lot like making love.
And every time, it wrecks me a little more.
My chest aches with everything she told me. And the part of me that never stops calculating risk? It’s gone mute. Guess it got the memo not to interrupt…whatever this is.
Her. Me.
Wrapped in each other like we’re home.
Deep gray softens to silver-blue beyond the curtains, tide humming low and steady, same as the beat in my chest. Stripe and Shadow are still nestled in their playpen, mercifully silent. There’s a stillness; even the floorboards are afraid to creak and ruin the moment.
And maybe I am, too.
Because what the hell do I do with all this feeling?
When Cami told me she doesn’t want to go back, I almost asked her to stay.
Why doesn’t that scare the shit out of me?
I’m not stupid. This is a bubble.
But it’s not insulated.
And I’ve lived long enough to know you don’t get many nights that crack you open and stitch you back together in the same breath.
Closing my eyes, I let the rise and fall of her breathing settle into me, and here, together in the quiet, I always feel free.
A tiny mew breaks the spell.
Then another.
Of course.
Fur babies always wake up hungry.
Slipping out of bed, I do my best not to wake Cami.
Last night, she mentioned feeling dizzy—once on our walk back from Millie’s, then again before we fell asleep.
Probably all the wine. But I did say if her head’s still spinning today, we’re going to the doctor.
As I scoop up Stripe and Shadow from the playpen, Sleeping Beauty stirs, barely.
“You rest, Bubble Girl,” I whisper, brushing my mouth over hers. “I’ve got the chaos crew. Then I’ll go grab us bagels and coffee.”
“From Seaport?” she asks, still groggy.
“Where else?”
Hauling the kittens downstairs, I carry one under each arm. Stripe lets out a pitiful warble while Shadow climbs my shirt like it’s her personal jungle gym.
“Relax, gremlins. Food’s coming.”
We’re weaning them off bottles, mixing formula into mush that we call Kitty Gourmet.
Cami swears Stripe’s the bold one, but they both still trip over their own paws when they get too excited, all wobbly legs, no coordination, and enough attitude to rival their foster mom.
After setting them in the pop-up playpen by the kitchen, I scoop a spoonful of the fancy wet stuff into their bowls. They dive in like tiny sharks. Shadow makes a sound like she hasn’t eaten in days even though they had bottles at midnight.
Figures.
Morning light creeps through gray-streaked curtains, laced with gold. Quiet. Peaceful. Almost enough to make me forget the world outside this house still exists.
Leaning on the counter, I watch Shadow and Stripe snort and slurp like wild things, my mind drifting back to thoughts of what will happen with these two when summer ends.
A shuffle behind me snaps me out of the moment.
I glance back, and Cami’s wrapped in one of my button-downs, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep.
Her skin looks pale, and she’s moving slowly, like her limbs haven’t quite caught up with the day.
“You okay?”
“Went to the restroom,” she mumbles, rubbing her temple. “But, I don’t feel so great.”
She takes a step forward. Then crumples like her strings were cut.
I’m lunging, arms catching her right before she hits the floor.
“Cami—”
Fluorescent lights hum overhead.
Cami lies pale beneath a hospital blanket, the rise and fall of her chest the only thing piecing me together.
She’s awake now. But I’m still stuck in the seconds between her collapse and that first breath she took in my arms.
I can still feel the weight of her head against my shoulder. Still hear the silence that followed her collapse. Still hear what she’d shared weeks ago, soft and serious, about her mom’s heart condition.
About the six-month checkups.
Just in case.
God, please.
The room is quiet again, save for the rhythmic beep of the monitor and the slow rustle of hospital sheets.
A nurse enters, tablet in hand.
“Vitals are looking good. Blood pressure’s stabilized. EKG was normal. Bloodwork’s clear. No signs of infection, anemia, or dehydration.” She scrolls, then adds, “We’re still pending one more result: your serum beta hCG.”
Cami blinks. “Sorry—my what?”
“Your pregnancy test,” the nurse says, her fingers gently tapping at the screen. “We run it routinely in cases of fainting with an elevated heart rate. Covering all bases.”
Cami shifts slightly. “I-I have an IUD.”
The nurse nods. “Totally understand. We do see surprise positives more than you’d think. Just being cautious. Results should be back shortly.”
Cami starts to speak—then stops herself, nods once instead, her fingers tightening around mine.
After a beat, the nurse steps out, and suddenly, the words pregnancy test suck up all the oxygen in the room.
For a second, I let the thought in.
Her. Me. A baby. Not the furry kind.
This was supposed to be a fling.
A place to land after the fallout in New York.
And yet the idea of her having my child doesn’t scare me. Doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels unexpected. Like someone cracked open a future I hadn’t let myself picture, and now I can’t look away, a surprise what if I can’t shake.
Squeezing her hand, delicate, warm, trembling slightly, I brush my thumb over her knuckles.
“They’re being thorough,” I offer, trying to sound steady. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
Cami nods, eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles like they hold answers she hasn’t asked for yet. “Yeah. Just…processing.”
I know this woman well enough by now to recognize the shutdown mode she slips into when scared. When it’s easier to think logically than feel anything at all.
Shifting in the chair, I lean closer, ducking my head so she has to meet my gaze. “You scared the hell out of me when you passed out.”
Her lip twitches. “I didn’t mean to be so dramatic.”
“Yeah, well. Next time you want attention, all you gotta do is ask. I’ll still show up, no theatrics required.”
She shifts slightly, brows furrowing. “Are Shadow and Stripe okay?”
“Yep. Being spoiled by the Trouble Triplets,” I say, brushing her knuckles.
Millie was already on the deck, sipping coffee in her robe, when I carried Cami out. I told her what happened, and she waved me off, told me to hurry, and said they’d look after their babies.
Cami lets out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, but it’s something. “I don’t think it’s the wine.”
“Yep. Me neither,” I say carefully. “So, what do you think it is?”
She hesitates. “I’ve been having heart flutters out of nowhere. And then yesterday and this morning, the dizziness whenever I stood.”
My jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Honestly thought those flutters were all you; the giddiness inside our bubble.” She smiles, trying to find humor. “And yesterday…with the dizziness, well, I didn’t want to be the reason our bubble popped.”
Maybe those flutters were from the excitement of us. But I don’t want me or us to be the reason she ignored it.
“Cami,” I say, low and steady. “If something’s wrong, it’s not your fault. And it sure as hell wouldn’t ruin anything. You being okay? That’s what matters. The rest can wait.”
I let the weight of that hang between us. Because this thing we’re doing, whatever it is—it’s already way past temporary.
The door clicks open, and that same nurse steps in, a neutral expression coloring her face.
“Results came back,” she says. “Negative.”
A weight lifts so suddenly, it leaves me shaky. Though, a tiny, traitorous part of me wonders what it would’ve meant if her test results hadn’t come back negative.
Cami exhales hard and sinks deeper into her pillow, a flicker of tension easing from her jaw. She lets out a shaky laugh. “That would’ve been one hell of a plot twist.”
The nurse steps out, and for a beat, we just breathe.
But then, the door opens again.
This time, a doctor enters, mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair, a calm presence that says she’s seen every kind of worst-case scenario and still believes in the best ones.
She checks the monitor by the bed, then smiles kindly at Cami. “I’ve reviewed your labs and vitals. Overall, things look reassuring. No signs of anemia, dehydration, or acute cardiac distress.”
Cami starts to sit up a little, her expression hopeful. But the doctor doesn’t hand out a clean bill yet.