Chapter 50
fifty
AIDAN
I’m sitting here with a woman who loves me, a daughter who’s already dreaming about this new little life, and a sense of wonder so big it nearly swallows me whole.
For once, I’m not trying to fight it. I just let it in.
I’ve always prided myself on being a practical man. Someone who doesn’t waste time wishing the world were different, just takes it as it comes. Second chances don’t land in your lap often, though. And when they do, you’d be a damn fool not to hold on with everything you’ve got.
Isla’s plotting out her big sister duties, Lucy’s soaking up every word, and my heart feels like it could burst. Something shifts, slides into place with a click so sure it leaves no room for doubt.
This is it.
And I know, with absolute certainty, exactly what I want next.
I need Lucy to be my wife.
The thought hits me with such clarity that I almost say it aloud. She fits into all the jagged, broken parts of me, and somehow, makes them whole again. She loves without condition.
I glance at her hand resting on her stomach, the other smoothing Isla’s hair as she listens to every wild idea she has. She catches my eye and smiles.
I love her so fucking much.
I’ve never been one for grand gestures. Lucy, though… She deserves the whole damn sky if I could give it to her. She deserves a memory so good she’ll still be laughing about it when we’re old and gray, bickering over whose turn it is to make the tea.
“Hey,” she says softly, catching me staring. “What’s that look for?”
I school my expression, though it’s useless. She reads me better than anyone. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how lucky I am,” I say simply, because it’s true, even if it’s not the whole truth.
That night, when Isla is finally asleep, Lucy finds me standing on the back porch, staring at the stars. I feel her before I hear her, a warmth leaning into my side like I’m gravity and she’s just happy to orbit me. Her hand fits into mine like it was cast for this single reason.
She leans her head against my shoulder. A long time passes before she says anything, and I think I know what’s spinning in her mind even before she says it.
“Did you ever think you’d have this?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Not once.”
Her arms slide around my waist, pulling me closer, her fingers lacing together behind my back. She’s warm and soft, and when she looks up, the moonlight is caught in her eyes.
“I didn’t either,” she confesses. “Sometimes I still think I’ll wake up and it’ll be gone.”
I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “It’s not going anywhere.”
She grins. “Swear it.”
And even though I’ve never been the praying type, I do. I swear it. On my own life, on every bit of future tucked between us. I’m never letting go. Nothing on this earth could make me.
The chill of evening seeps through my shirt, but she’s flush against me, grounding me to the earth and sky and all these ordinary, magical things that are suddenly, impossibly, mine. I close my eyes, breathing her in, and for the first time, I believe it. I’ve made it home.
Home’s not a place. It’s her. All of her. Now and always.
She tips her face up, studying me with that precision she uses when she wants to see all the way inside.
“Can I say something weird?” she asks, voice nearly lost in the wind.
I laugh, pressing my lips to her temple. “Always.”
She hesitates. “I think the baby’s a boy.”
The idea never scared me until now. A boy. A little one with her eyes, my stubbornness, a shot at becoming something braver and brighter than I ever was.
“Yeah?” I say, softer than I mean to. “You been dreaming about him?”
She shrugs, almost shy. “He’s always thumping around in there like he’s trying to break free. I feel like I already know him.” She presses my hand to her stomach, and I swear I can feel him too. Not just the flutter, but something determined, alive.
I want to tell her I never really pictured myself as a father to a son. I feel as if I was barely a passable dad the first time around, but Isla… She made it so easy. She was quiet, sweet, eager to love and be loved. She allowed me to learn as I went.
A boy feels like…duty. I’m supposed to teach him all the important things, when most days I wake up just hoping I won’t fuck up what’s already in my hands.
Then Lucy puts her head on my chest and steadies my heart, and I know, whatever this kid needs from me, I’ll find a way to give it to him.
She’s quiet for a long time, letting me get lost in my useless worries. Then she tips her chin up, her voice all lilt and promise, and it guts me with how honest she is.
“I don’t care what the baby is, Aidan,” she says. “Boy, girl, doesn’t matter. I want you to know, no matter what, I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am of you.”
Hearing that, I realize every single thing I’ve ever been afraid of—losing her, failing us, ruining what we’ve built—none of it has ever mattered as much as her trust and conviction. It’s the most terrifying and beautiful kind of faith.
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I need,” she whispers against my chest.
I hold her tighter, breathing in the scent of vanilla and lavender that always surrounds her. “Come inside,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s getting cold.”
She lets me lead her back through the house. We check on Isla—she’s sprawled across her bed, claiming every inch of it, one arm dangling off the side.
Lucy catches my eye and grins.
Back in our room, she climbs onto the bed, settling against the headboard. I strip off my shirt, and when I look up, I stop dead.
She’s sitting there with her hair falling loose against her shoulders, one hand absently resting on the curve of her stomach. It’s like I’m seeing her for the very first time, all over again.
I want to bottle this moment and tuck it somewhere safe so I can come back to it again and again. The way the moonlight paints her skin, the way her teeth catch on her bottom lip when she realizes I’m staring.
“What?” she asks, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Nothing,” I rasp. “Just…you.”
I cross the room in three strides and sit beside her on the bed, my hand finding the curve of her stomach. Our son—if Lucy’s right—shifts beneath my palm, a flutter so faint I might have imagined it.
She gasps, her hand sliding over mine. “Did you feel that?”
I nod, throat too tight for words. I can’t stop staring at her.
“He knows his da,” she says, eyes glowing with a certainty I don’t think I’ll ever deserve.
I lean in until our foreheads touch, my lips brushing hers as I breathe the only words that matter. “I love you,” I whisper. “Both of you.”