Page 66 of The Convict Gets His Girl

Jewel winced, but Hunter chuckled. "I know, and you go right ahead. But you'll leave Chase and Jewel to figure out how they want to parent and be a family."

Family. With Chase. The room spun, and she felt like she was going to tip sideways until Chase's knee nudged her own. Her spine straightened.

Hunter turned to his brother. "Why don't you two go to the cabin and have a nice, long talk, away from prying eyes and ears. Figure out the logistics of parenting, maybe FaceTime Destini and let her know before anyone else finds out."

Jewel groaned, her hands on her cheeks once more. "Oh God, Destini's going to flip."

Chase stood and nodded. "That's a good plan. I'm open to a discussion if you are."

He offered Jewel his hand, and she looked up at him with her big doe eyes. She bit her lip, then took it, letting him help her up.

She pushed in her chair, her feet wobbly. She shook her head and turned away, shoulders slumping in defeat. Together they went out the front door, Chase's hand on her lower back a welcome comfort.

ChapterTwenty-Four

The rain hammered against the cabin's tin roof like a thousand restless fingers, each droplet a sharp percussion that matched the tension coiling inside Chase's muscles. He watched Jewel as she strode to the bathroom, water dripping from her hair and clothes onto the hardwood floor.

Why was she here? The sadness in her eyes spoke volumes—a complex language of hurt and uncertainty that he'd never fully deciphered. Her wet shirt clung to her body, revealing the outline of her form, but Chase wasn't thinking about desire. Not right now.

"Are you upset that she's mine?" His voice sounded rough, uneven.

Jewel didn't immediately respond, simply paused in the doorway to the bathroom, her shoulders hunching forward as she hesitated. "I don't know, I'm just processing," she said, her words wooden and hollow, uncertain and so unlike the Jewel he knew.

Her back to him, she looked over her shoulder—not quite meeting his eyes, but close enough that he could see the shimmer of something—pain, maybe. Resignation.

She stepped inside but didn't shut the door. Chase moved to the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel but froze while drying his hair. He was frozen in place, water still dripping from his own clothes, creating small puddles on the cabin's wooden floor.

He watched her undress like some perv but couldn't bring himself to move.

The shower started, creating a white noise that filled the silence between them. She hadn't answered the question really, but her body language screamed volumes—shoulders tight, hands slightly trembling as she took off her shirt, not even caring that he could see into the bathroom.

They both knew the truth now. The weight of that revelation pressed against his chest like a physical force, making each breath feel deliberate, calculated. His body focused on the physical while it was on autopilot as his mind scrambled with the raw reality they both now faced.

Jewel stepped out of her pants, tossing all her clothes into the hamper. The steam from the shower began to curl around Jewel's form, transforming her into something ethereal, almost untouchable. And yet, he wanted to touch her, to understand her, to heal whatever fracture had formed between them and either move forward together or apart.

He couldn't keep wondering if she would take a chance on him. She'd run away after their first kiss, then had come back and they'd slept together. Only to not talk for weeks as she avoided him again.

He had to know, if not tonight then before she left in the morning, whether this was all they'd have together. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that this night—right here, right now—would change everything.

She stepped forward, her movements deliberate but slightly unsteady as she opened the shower door. Pausing, she turned back to him, their eyes meeting across the room.

It was inevitable. The pull between them, the unspoken history, the raw truth of Destini—all of it converged in this moment. Slowly, he moved toward the bathroom, each step deliberate as she watched him steadily.

As he stepped into the bathroom, his heart clenched—she was crying, silent crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled, the slight hitch in her breathing, the lost look in her eyes… She needed him, whether she admitted it out loud or not.

He stripped, tossing his clothes and stepping toward her. Silently, she opened the shower door and led them both inside. The water was hot, comforting, washing him free from his past so he could step out into his new future as a father.

Jewel turned, her eyes glistening—not just from the water, but from tears. "Chase," she whispered, the name catching somewhere between a plea and a confession.

He opened his arms, and she collapsed into them, her wet body pressing against him, her tears turning to sobs. Last time, he'd been the one broken and crying in the shower. This time, it was her.

His heart ached with a painful knowledge—these tears were about Destini. About the daughter he now knew was his. He'd never felt so unworthy, so utterly unlovable.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. He was sorry for going to prison, for the accident, for not being there for her and Destini for the past fifteen years. His words weren't enough and never would be, so he just rocked her softly, gently from side to side and let her cry.

When her sobs finally slowed and he felt the tension in her shoulders shift, he tried to pull away—driven by a misguided sense of preserving her modesty perhaps—but she moved with lightning speed. Her hand tightened on his back, fingers digging into his skin.

"No," she said, the word sharp and immediate, her head pulling back and chin tipping up to look at him. He was captured in her baby blues, glittering with tears on her long lashes. Desperation flashed, but underneath was something more, something she'd long buried and continued to hide.

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