Epilogue #3
For one suspended moment, nothing happened -- the twins still, the room quiet. Then one of them rolled beneath his palm -- a distinct, slow movement that traveled from one side to the other, the outline of a spine or shoulder pressing against the place where his hand rested.
His jaw tightened, then released, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble along his cheek. His attention stayed on his hand, on the point where life was happening beneath his palm.
Before either of us could speak, the second baby -- the boy -- kicked, a sharper movement that made my breath catch and Nitro’s fingers flex slightly against my skin.
Nitro’s hand stayed where it was -- palm flat against my belly, fingers spread wide, the map of calluses and scars telling a story I was still learning to read. His gaze moved from his hand to my face and back again, his expression giving away nothing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and certain, the same register he used when he had made a decision and meant every word of it.
“I’m going to give them the best life I know how to build,” he said, each word landing between us, ringing with truth.
“You and the babies both. Not a perfect life. Not a life without risk or complication.” He paused.
“But everything I have, every day I have it to give.”
The promise hung between us -- direct, uncompromising.
I looked at his face while he said it -- this man I’d run from, come back to, and finally, fully chosen -- and I believed him.
Not because I needed to. Not because the alternative was too much to carry.
But because I knew him well enough now to know that when Nitro made a promise, he kept it.
No qualifications. No exceptions. No space between what he said and what he meant.
Nitro’s gaze held mine for another long moment before his hand slid from my stomach to my hip. “Come here.”
He guided me off the couch without rushing, one palm steady at the small of my back as we moved through the darkened house. The television had long since gone silent, leaving only the muted creak of old floorboards beneath our feet and the distant hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
When he pushed open the nursery door, warm lamplight spilled across us both.
The room smelled faintly of fresh paint and clean laundry, soft shadows stretching across the half-finished shelves Nitro had spent the afternoon installing.
Folded baby clothes waited in the corner chair beside unopened boxes of diapers and blankets, small pieces of a future that no longer felt distant.
He led me over to the cribs and placed his hand on my belly.
I covered his hand with mine, threading my fingers through his carefully, holding on to the warmth of his skin and the steady weight of him beside me.
The babies shifted again beneath our joined hands, smaller movements this time, restless and alive and real in a way that still stole my breath when I let myself think about it too long.
“You scare me sometimes,” I admitted softly.
His gaze sharpened immediately, attention locking onto me with the same instinctive focus he brought to every threat. “Why?”
“Because you mean everything you say.” My fingers tightened slightly against his. “There’s no halfway with you. No pretending. No escape hatch if things get hard.”
A slow breath left him through his nose. His thumb brushed once against the underside of my wrist, rough skin catching lightly against my pulse. “You still looking for one?”
“No.” The answer came too fast to question. Too honest to soften. “I think I stopped looking a while ago.”
Something in his expression eased then. Not dramatically. Nitro wasn’t a man built for open displays of emotion. But I saw it anyway -- the quiet release around his eyes, the faint shift in his mouth as he leaned closer and pressed his forehead gently against mine.
“Good,” he murmured.
The babies moved again beneath his hand, another slow roll followed by a sharp little kick that made me laugh quietly under my breath.
Nitro’s attention dropped instantly back to my stomach, like nothing in the world could have pulled his focus away from them in that moment.
Wonder flickered across his face so briefly I might have missed it if I hadn’t already learned how carefully he guarded every softer emotion he possessed.
Nitro shifted behind me, one arm sliding more securely around my waist while his palm stayed spread protectively over the twins.
The movement was instinctive, unconscious.
Possessive in the gentlest way I’d ever experienced it.
Not ownership. Not control. Just the quiet certainty that we belonged together now.
Nitro lifted his head slightly, his eyes meeting mine again. “What?” he asked quietly, catching whatever had crossed my face.
I smiled before I could stop myself, then I leaned up and kissed him slowly, one hand still tangled with his over the curve of my belly while our children moved safely beneath our joined palms.