Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Blythe
At thirty-seven weeks and four days, I am officially a walking countdown.
Everywhere I go, I get the same questions.
“How are you feeling?”
Like my body is stretched beyond its limits, like every inch of me belongs to someone else now—someone tiny, demanding, and currently using my bladder as a pillow.
It’s the blessing and the curse of living in a beautiful but very nosy small town.
“Any signs she’s coming soon?”
If constant kicking, Braxton Hicks contractions, and an insatiable craving for crushed ice count, then yes.
“Are you nervous?”
That’s easy to respond though.
I’m beyond nervous. Terrified.
But also . . . ready.
At least, I think I’m ready to meet this little one.
The reality of her arrival feels closer now, pressing into my ribs with every shift and stretching inside me.
Everly. Our daughter.
Atlas’s tiny obsession and my entire world, already.
Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night to find him rubbing my belly, murmuring to her in that low, reverent voice that makes my chest squeeze.
He tells her about his day, about the stars outside her window, about how much he loves her already.
She has him wrapped around her little, unborn fingers.
It still hits me sometimes—the whiplash of where I was six months ago.
Hiding. Running. Fighting for a future, I didn’t even know I could have.
And now?
Now, I’m home.
Not just safe—but somewhere that feels like it was built just for me.
With a man who would burn the world down for me and a daughter who is already stealing all his sleep.
“You shouldn’t be carrying that.” Atlas’s voice grumbles behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I glance up from my spot in the baby store, holding a bag with the softest onesies I could find.
“Atlas, it’s literally a few ounces.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Before I can protest, he’s already taking it from me, stuffing it into the cart.
His brow is furrowed, mouth set in that stubborn line that should annoy me, but only makes my heart do something ridiculous.
Across from us, Nysa smirks, whispering loudly, “He’s been like this all day, hasn’t he?”
Simone hums in agreement.
“If you let him, he’ll probably carry you out of the store too.”
Atlas does not deny it.
I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I rub a slow circle over my belly.
I love being pregnant and close to her, even when she’s pressing against my bladder every two minutes.
“You ready to go?” I ask, glancing between Nysa and Simone.
Simone raises a brow.
“More importantly—are you? It’s almost time.”
She doesn’t mean shopping.
She means her.
Everly.
Atlas’s hand finds mine, his fingers warm, grounding in a way only he can.
Am I ready?
For labor.
For her. For everything that comes after.
I swallow past the knot in my throat and nod.
“I’m ready.”
“Good, because tomorrow is the big baby shower in town. All the ladies are ready to welcome the new baby,” Simone continues.
“Have you noticed how they’re starting to forgive the Timberbridge brothers for . . .whatever the fuck their father did to piss them off?” Nysa adds.
“It’s you,” Simone states.
“The wives and fiancées are the ones convincing everyone that they’re not assholes like their father—well, not all of them.”
She means Keir, of course.
Keir, her not-really ex, who was a friend with benefits, and .
. . there’s a long story between them that makes me sad for her.
I haven’t met him because this town is beneath him, but if he ever comes, I wonder if he’ll want to be part of the family.
If it’ll be awkward to have Simone and him in the same room.
“Keir won’t be coming any time soon. Somehow, he’s insisting that we sell the fucking lumber company,” Atlas states.
“We’re not sure what’s going on with him, but if he does and you want me to fuck up his pretty face, I’ll be happy to do it.”
Simone grins.
“I knew I liked you best, Timberbridge.”
Back at home, I sit in our daughter’s nursery, staring at the crib Atlas finally put together.
It’s beautiful, a deep, rich wood that matches the rest of the room, sitting beneath the hand-painted mural Atlas insisted on creating himself.
The lake where he used to escape, the place where we fell in love, frozen in time on the wall above our daughter’s bed.
A new beginning.
Atlas stands in the doorway, watching me.
He doesn’t say anything—just takes me in.
“You’re staring,” I murmur, running my fingers over the soft edge of the crib.
“You’re beautiful.”
The air becomes electrifying.
The only way it does when he’s .
. . flirting, when he’s making me feel like the only person in the world.
His world. It’s not just the words; it’s the way he says them.
Like I’ve wrecked him.
Like I’ve always been meant to be here.
My throat tightens. “You’re just saying that because you have a thing for pregnant women.”
He moves toward me slowly, like he’s stalking a confession out of me.
“No,” he says, voice low, warm.
“I’m saying it because it’s true. And just for the record, my kink is only for my pregnant woman.”
I shiver, watching as he drops to his knees in front of me.
His hands spread over my belly, palms wide, warm.
“She’s almost here.” His voice is reverent, awed.
I brush my fingers through his hair.
“She is.”
His thumb moves in slow circles, his breath warm against my skin.
Atlas presses a slow kiss to my belly, lingering there, breathing her in like she’s already the center of his universe.
When he looks up, there’s something raw in his gaze—something that steals my breath and leaves me suspended in the moment.
He cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek, his touch reverent.
“We’re gonna be the best parents ever.”
A laugh catches in my throat.
“You sure about that?”
His lips curve, but his eyes don’t waver.
“I do. You fought to give her a new life.” His thumb traces the edge of my jaw, his voice dropping to something rough, something full.
“And I want to spend the rest of mine fighting for you.”
My heart stumbles.
He shifts, reaching into his pocket, and when he pulls out a small velvet box, the world tilts beneath me.
My breath stutters, my pulse pounding in my ears as he flips it open to reveal a ring—simple, timeless, breathtaking.
“Marry me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
“Not because of her. Not because of what we’ve been through. But because you are the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. Because you are the light of my life, and I don’t want another day without you knowing it.”
Tears burn my eyes, my chest tightening with something too big, too overwhelming to contain.
“Atlas?—”
“I love you.” His fingers tighten around mine, his voice low and certain.
“I have for longer than I’ve known how to say it. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you let me.”
The ring gleams between us, but it’s his eyes that undo me.
The way they hold nothing but certainty, nothing but devotion.
A sob-laced laugh breaks free, and I nod, barely able to find my voice.
“Yes, of course, I want to marry you.”
His exhale is shaky, his relief palpable as he slides the ring onto my finger, his hands trembling as much as mine.
And then he’s kissing me.
Slow and deep, like he’s sealing a promise.
Like he’s branding his soul into mine.
Like he’s never letting go.
And I hope he never does.