Page 41 of Saved By The King's Gamma

“There should be a master key in the kitchen somewhere from memory. Do you need anything?” Liam asks.

“No, I’ll be fine with her. I just don’t like that she locked the door.” I stride toward the kitchen, searching through the drawers. My hands are shaking slightly as I rummage through the contents.

“What’s going on back home? Do I need to return?” I ask him.

“The usual, oh, I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I say, opening another drawer.

“I’ve got some news. Maybe telling her might help give her something to hold on to, something to be excited about.”

I find the key and grip it tightly in my hand. “What news?” I ask, my voice distracted as I hurry back toward the bathroom.

“Azalea’s pregnant.” Liam’s words hit me like a freight train, momentarily stopping me in my tracks. “We have another royal brat on the way,” he chuckles. “Clarice is so excited. Maybe Abbie hearing that will help her. She loves Azalea—she’ll be happy for her.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this news will give Abbie a reason to keep going, something exciting for her when everything feels hopeless.

“I’ll tell her,” I say quietly before cutting off the mindlink.

Key in hand, I jam it in the lock and unlock the bathroom door, pushing it open. Steam billows out, and I immediately spot Abbie sitting on the shower floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest as the hot water cascades over her. She looks so small, so fragile, and my heart clenches painfully in my chest.

“Abbie,” I say softly, stepping inside. She flinches at the sound of my voice, shrinking back against the wall, but I ignore it. I know it’s an automatic reaction, a reflex born from everything she’s endured. I’m not going to take it personally.

Without a word, I begin stripping off my clothes, leaving only my boxer shorts on. Abbie’s eyes widen in alarm, and she immediately tries to stand, to leave the shower, but I block her path.

“Stay,” I say firmly, but gently.

Her breathing quickens, her eyes darting around the small space as panic sets in. “Gannon, please?—”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” I remind her quietly, keeping my voice calm and steady. “I’m not going to hurt you, Abbie. I would never hurt you.”

She shakes her head, her whole body trembling. “I… I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can.” I cage her in gently, placing my hands on either side of her to prevent her from fleeing. Slowly, carefully, I take her trembling hands in mine and place them on my chest, right over my heart. “Feel that? My heart only beats for you.”

Her hands tremble against my skin, but she doesn’t pull away. I let her feel the steady rhythm of my heartbeat, hoping it will help ground her, help her see I mean her no harm.

Reaching for the soap, I lather it in my hands before gently running them over her arms. She stiffens at first, but gradually, she relaxes under my touch, her breathing evening out as the tension drains from her body.

“Azalea’s pregnant,” I say softly, working the shampoo through her hair. “You’re going to be an aunty.” My lips tug up at the thought. It makes me wonder if Abbie wants kids, though I know that would be far off in the future if ever.

Abbie freezes for a moment, tilting her head back slightly to look at me, her eyes wide as she processes my words. Slowly, a faint spark of something—hope, maybe—flickers in her eyes. “She’s… she’s pregnant?” she whispers, and I can tell that, for the first time in a long while, she feels something other than pain.

“She is,” I confirm, rinsing the soap from her hair. “And she’s going to need you. We’re going to need you.” I tell her and she chews her lip, returning her gaze back to the shower wall.

“Abbie?” I ask, rinsing her hair.

“I’m going to be an aunty,” she whispers and I press my lips to her shoulder.

“Yes, you are.”

19

The sound of boots being pulled on jolts me awake. Blinking a few times, I try to shake off the haze of sleep, the warmth of the blanket wrapped around me making it hard to summon the energy to move. I rub my eyes, glancing toward the door where Gannon is crouched, tightening the laces of his boots.

“Get dressed, love,” he says without looking up, his voice low but carrying that firm, steady tone I’ve come to associate with him. “I want to take you somewhere.”

I sit up slowly, still half-asleep and unsure of what he means. “Where are we going?” My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat.

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