Page 76 of Deceit & Desire

PLAYLIST: “NEVER GROW UP” BY TAYLOR SWIFT

ZOE

NINE MONTHS LATER

The room hummed with life—abeautiful cacophony of voices mingling with laughter, the soft beeps of monitors underscoring the chatter.

My body felt heavy, every muscle reminding me of the hours I’d spent bringing Harrison into the world. Exhaustion clung to me, weighing down my limbs and tugging at the edges of my thoughts, but it didn’t matter. Every ache, every drop of sweat was worth it as I looked over at Roman cradling our newborn son.

Roman sat beside me, his large hands impossibly gentle as he rocked Harrison in his arms. The sight of him—the fierce, unshakable man who’d fought beside me through so much—now so tender, holding something so small, made my heart ache in a way I didn’t know was possible. My chest felt too full, stretched tight with love and awe. My eyes burned with the force of my emotions, and I blinked the moisture away.

Harrison’s tiny, perfect face was scrunched up in a way that seemed to say he was already judging the world he’d entered. I smiled despite the tightness in my throat, my emotions a tidal wave I couldn’t possibly hope to control.

This was it. The moment I hadn’t let myself fully imagine before. Not when there was always another hurdle, another fight to get through. And now, here we were—together, whole, with this tiny, perfect boy asleep in his father’s arms. It didn’t feel real, and yet it was the most vivid thing I’d ever experienced.

My dad stood near the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest in his usual stance, but there was nothing usual about the look on his face. Softness. Pride. A quiet peace that I hadn’t seen in years. He looked like he was holding back tears, his jaw working as if he couldn’t quite trust himself to speak. “PawPaw,” as he’d insisted we call him, looked like he’d been handed the universe wrapped in a blue blanket. And in a way, I guess he had.

For a moment, my chest tightened, and not just from the overwhelming love radiating from him. I couldn’t help but think about Mom. She should’ve been here. She should’ve been standing beside Dad, fussing over Harrison, already trying to plan what his first Christmas would look like. Mom would’ve loved him. I could see her holding him, cooing over how much he looked like Roman or debating whether his nose was more hers or mine. It was a bittersweet ache, the kind that started small but grew, spreading into every quiet corner of my heart.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to cry, but it was a losing battle. That sadness would always be a part of me. I knew that now, but it didn’t drown me the way it used to. It wasn’t all I felt. Because as much as it hurt that Mom wasn’t here, I looked around the room—at Dad, at Roman and Harrison, at Kat hovering nearby—and the sadness didn’t consume me. The love I had for them, for this moment, somehow balanced out the ache, like two sides of a scale that had finally evened out. I never thought I’d feel this way. I never thought I could. But here I was.

I watched Dad, trying to imagine what this moment felt like for him. This was the man who’d walked me through my darkest hours, who had stood as steady as a mountain when I thought my world was falling apart. Now, he stood here, looking at the baby who carried his name. And despite the ache, there was peace. There was joy. And there was gratitude.

Kat hovered at the foot of my bed, her blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming through the window. She wasn’t trying to steal the spotlight for once, her sharp tongue tempered with something that looked an awful lot like love. She leaned forward to peer at Harrison, a grin spreading across her face.

“Look at that little face,” she said, her tone playful but full of affection. “I mean, Zoe, you did good. He’s adorable—and I’m not just saying that because I’m his honorary aunt.”

Her words pulled a laugh out of me, soft and raspy, my throat still raw from hours of labor. “Of course, I did good. I mean, look at his dad. And me. The kid didn’t stand a chance of being anything less than perfect.”

Roman chuckled, the sound low and warm, rumbling through the room as he adjusted Harrison’s swaddle. His hands moved with a care that made my chest tighten. Seeing him like this—so steady, so tender—was a new kind of joy, one I wanted to bottle and keep forever.

“He’s got his mom’s stubbornness already,” Roman said, his smile soft as he looked down at Harrison. “Came into the world screaming like he owned the place.”

I smirked, brushing my fingers over the edge of the blanket covering my legs. “That’s my boy.”

Miss Smith, who had been hovering in her usual professional way, stepped closer to my dad. Her hand rested lightly on his arm as she checked his pulse. Her clinical demeanor softened, and she smiled wryly.

“You look about ready to pop with pride yourself, PawPaw. Everything okay over here?”

Dad nodded, his gaze locked on Harrison, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m fine. Better than fine. My grandson’s here, and my treatments are going well. I’ve got every intention of sticking around to see this boy grow up.”

“Damn right, PawPaw,” Kat said, nudging him with her elbow, her grin mischievous. “Harrison’s going to need you around to spoil him rotten.”

Dad’s lips twitched into a small, almost-smile, the kind he didn’t give away easily. But it was there, and it felt like a promise—unshakable and solid. He’d been through hell and back this year, but I could see it in the way his shoulders straightened, in the way he watched Harrison like a lifeline—he wasn’t going anywhere.

The thought sent a wave of relief through me, warm and soothing. I didn’t realize how much I’d needed to hear him say it until the words settled in my chest, grounding me. My dad wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t giving up. We were all still here, still fighting.

It was hard not to think about how terrified I’d been when I first came back to Montana. I’d told myself I was coming back for the ranch, for the business, but deep down, it had been about him. About Dad.

Watching him struggle with his health had been like watching the ground crack beneath my feet, threatening to swallow everything whole. I had spent so many nights lying awake, terrified that I’d lose him before I even had the chance to fight for him, for us. The idea of losing him had made me feel like a child again, powerless and small.

But now, looking at him standing tall, his eyes filled with pride as he watched Harrison, I felt that fear loosen its grip. He was still here. He was still fighting. And he intended to stick around as long as he could—for me, for Roman, and for Harrison. Thank God.

My gaze drifted to Harrison, sleeping soundly in his PawPaw’s arms, and I felt something settle inside me, something solid and warm. Everything we’d fought for—the late nights, the hard decisions, the sacrifices—it was all worth it. The ranch was safe. My dad was helping Roman and me run it, and one day, it would all be Harrison’s. Our family’s legacy had been protected—Roman and I had protected it together—and now it could be passed on. One day, Harrison would walk its fields, ride its trails, and know the strength and history that came with our land.

And Dad would be there to teach him. I could already see it—Harrison toddling after PawPaw, clutching at his jeans as Dad showed him how to mend a fence or saddle a horse. The thought filled me with a kind of hope I hadn’t dared to feel in years. It wasn’t just about the ranch, or the land, or even the name. It was about the people. The family. The connections that made it all mean something.

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of it all pressing against my chest in the best way. This was what I’d fought for. For the people I loved, for the life we were building, for the future we could finally believe in.

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