Page 68 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"There's a lot about me that might surprise you." He slipped into the tub behind her, his hand gentle on her shoulder as she started to rise. "We can share the bath. Stay. Talk. Just let me hold you."

The words hung in the steam-filled bathroom, vulnerable and raw. No demand or expectation. Just a simple, profound desire for connection with her. The warmth of the water, the soft scent of lavender bubbles, created an intimate cocoon around them. With practiced care, he pulled her back, settling her between his legs.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Her body tensed momentarily—a reflex that he recognized. Years of guardedness didn't dissolve instantly, but he was patient. Or rather, for her, he'd learn to be.

"There, now isn't this nice?" His voice was a low rumble against her ear. His arms encircled her, not to restrain, but to cradle and protect.

She fit perfectly against him. Her wet hair—still slightly tangled—brushed against his chest and neck. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid at first, then slowly synchronizing with his own.

"Yeah, it's nice." She sighed. Her body, which had coiled with tension again, began to relax. Millimeter by millimeter, she softened against him. Not quite a surrender but an understanding that he accepted as a victory.

The bubbles shifted around her, tiny white peaks breaking and reforming.

"We have to talk about Destini," she said quietly, her words weighted with emotion.

Chase's arms tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry it's me," he said. "I know you wanted him to be her dad."

"I'm not sorry you're her dad, Chase. That's not why I was crying," she said, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "Are you sorry that she's yours?"

"No, I'm excited. I've already been thinking about her like she's mine, like my soul knew all this time the truth of it. I'm sorry I missed all her firsts though, missed raising her."

The apology was genuine—sharp-edged with regret, soft with tenderness. He wasn't apologizing for the fact of his daughter's existence, but for the years of absence. The missed moments.

"If you're not sorry she's mine, then whywereyou crying?" he finally asked.

Jewel's fingers traced idle patterns on the porcelain tub's edge. Her silence spoke volumes—a landscape of uncertainty, of maternal protection so fierce it could shatter glass.

"When I saw her a few weeks ago, we had a few really tough conversations," she finally said, her voice catching. "When I told her about you and needing the DNA test, when I told her about how serious my Lyme was, she became… distant. Closed off. Like she couldn't wait for me to leave on Sunday."

Chase waited, not pushing, but just wanting to be present for her, the kind of presence that invited vulnerability without demanding it.

Her breath hitched. Not quite a sob. More like a dam preparing to crack. The bathroom's steam seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see if she'd cry again or talk through her feelings.

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"I didn't want to push and add too much information too soon, then demand an action. I'm terrified that if I push her to come to Crimson Creek, she'll push back. Hard. And it might break us for good."

Chase's hand moved, settling over hers, anchoring her in the present and offering his support like a lifeline. "What makes you think that?"

Jewel sighed, the sound heavy with a mother's heartache. "She used to tell me everything. Now? It's like talking to a stranger wearing my daughter's skin."

Her voice carried a tremor—part fear, part mourning. The grief of a mother watching her child slip away, not to distance, but to something more complicated. Emotional territory where love and resistance intertwined.

Chase remained silent, his breathing steady. A counterpoint to her turbulent emotions.

"If I force her to move to Crimson Creek," Jewel continued, "she'll resent me forever, and that's the thing that could break us. I—I don't want her to count down the days 'til graduation like I did, then leave without looking back. I don't know if I could handle only seeing her two or three times a year like I did with Dad and Gemma." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I can't—I won't—lose her. But I don't know how to get her to open up or how to move our relationship beyond this impasse we're at now."

The steam seemed to pulse with her vulnerability, with a mother's unbreakable love.

"Let's go see her," he said into her hair, running his hand up her arm. "Maybe her hesitance in coming to Crimson Creek has nothing to do with you."

Jewel snorted, "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Hear me out," he said, watching goosebumps pebble on her skin. "When I went to prison, I was scared out of my mind, shaking in my shoes so much I couldn't even talk. Maybe she's just scared of the unknown like I was. If I meet her, that's one less major thing that'll be unknown."

Jewel's nipples rose in the water, bubbles clinging to the little buds. His hand absently traced her shoulder and down her chest, making her breath catch in her throat.

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