Page 62 of Forsaken Vows

But there I was—grown, tattooed, built like a man who’d spent years in the gym—wiping my face with the hem of my T-shirt while the ultrasound tech pointed at the blurry image on the screen like it was something miraculous.

“She’s measuring perfectly,” the tech said. “Nice strong heartbeat.”

Her voice sounded distant, muffled beneath the rush of blood in my ears. Everything was blurry. The room, the sound, the weight of Zane’s hand in mine. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until Zane turned to me, her lips forming the words,You okay?

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m good.”

But the truth was,gooddidn’t come close. I was stunned. I’d helped make a child. We had. Me and her. On some romantic type shit. I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

After the appointment, we walked out hand in hand, her belly starting to show.

“Janet signed the papers,” I said as we waited at the crosswalk.

Zane raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

“Yeah. Guess she finally believed I was serious. Especially after the hundred grand I dropped into her account.”

She laughed. “That’s all? I thought she’d hold out for more.”

I smirked. “She thought it was half my money.”

Her mouth fell open. “She seriously thought that was half? With how much you work?”

“Yep,” I said, chuckling. “Didn’t even question it. Didn’t ask for lawyers. That and the house was enough.” I didn’t even have to mention the camera in the house or what the private investigator found.

Zane leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I still can’t believe you gave her the house. That’s a nice house.”

“Didn’t want it,” I said simply. “Too many memories I’m not carrying forward.”

She nodded, quiet.

I glanced down. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”

But she didn’t sound sure. I knew she was probably thinking about Mark not signing his papers. I was going to give it a few more weeks before I knocked on his door.

I let it be, though—opened the car door for her and helped her inside. We were headed somewhere I knew would lift her mood: the house.

Her house.

Or at least, the one she’d always described to me. A wraparound porch, blue shutters, a kitchen big enough for a long table and too many chairs. She’d mentioned it once, not even thinking I was paying attention. But I’d written it all down after she fell asleep that night, then found a place that matched it exactly.

“Where are we going?”

I kept my eyes on the road. “To view the property you wanted.”

The house sat forty minutes outside Clearwater. It was old but solid, recently renovated, full of possibility. Just like her.

“You really think we can get it?” she asked as we pulled into the gravel driveway.

“Already made the offer,” I said. “We just need to walk through it one more time, make sure you love it.”

Out of my peripheral, I saw her watching me. She stared at me like she didn’t know what to do with the way I loved her. And that shit made my soul feel funny as fuck. I knew it was my soul because that feeling didn’t sit in my chest or my gut—it settled deeper, like something ancient and quiet had been sparked inside me.

I parked the car and killed the engine in the driveway of what would become our home together, but neither of us moved right away. The house stood in front of us, bathed in late afternoon light. Zane’s fingers tightened around mine just slightly, like she was afraid if she let go, this might all disappear.

“We are really doing this?” she asked softly—not a question.

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