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“Still nothing?” I hear Ivy’s voice ask from the speaker phone.
“No,” Angie whispers, her tears spilling over as I lock my eyes with hers.
“Okay. It’s time to go then,” Ivy says, and I know she’s worried too, but she’s trying her best to stay calm and reassuring.
I pull Angie off the couch, reluctance and urgency fighting for dominance in my body. “Let’s go,” I say, trying to keep my own voice even, but failing.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Cora says. “We’ll bring an overnight bag just in case.”
Angie is holding my hand so fiercely, I don’t even bother putting her shoes on because I don’t want to break contact. I simply lower myself to grab a pair of her shoes and head to the door. I’m already thinking about the best route to the hospital to avoid World Series traffic, when Angie screams.
“Wait!” We stop midway on the outdoor steps. “I think I felt a kick,” she says with wide eyes and her hand glued to her bump, the other holding mine tight.
My other hand attaches to her belly and we both wait another few seconds before we feel it.
A single kick.
Another.
Another.
“Is that both of them?” I huff, my heartbeat entirely too loud for me to hear over.
“I think so,” she laughs in relief. “Yes. It’s both of them!”
Without another thought, without hesitation, I take her in my arms and hold her tighter than ever. My tears seep into her hair as I absorb every molecule of her—of them—and I vow right then and there that I will do everything in my power to love and protect them for the rest of my life.
“I love you, Angel,” I confess. “I love you more than anyone. I want to be with you.”
“What?” she asks, pulling her head away just enough to look up at me, the gaslight glow flickering against her tear-stained face.
My whole body trembles as I stare at her. “I’m such an idiot and I’m so sorry. You were right, I was treating you like a partner, but I was too stupid to realize that I love you the same way. I thought loving someone was supposed to be hard work, but it’s never been that way with you.”
I can feel Angie’s heartbeat racing against my chest as I stand there holding her. Her chin trembles as she says nothing. Fuck. She wasn’t expecting this, I know. Have I missed my chance? Did I throw it all away when I couldn’t put words to my feelings last week? When I didn’t understand what was really holding me back? Did I really lose to Holloway again?
“Please don’t tell me I’m too late,” I beg. “I—I don’t care if something happened between you and Jared. Please,” I pause, barely able to think through my thrumming heartbeat. “It’s me and you. I love you,” I repeat. “Te amo. You’re everything to me. I don’t want to be casual. I don’t want an arrangement. I want to be yours and only yours. I want us. It was always meant to be us, baby.”
“Raf,” she cries, but it's a tender, sweet cry as her hands snake up my back. “You’re not too late. I love you, too.”
Relief washes over me and I’m soaring. Her words lift me to a plane of existence I’ve never been before.
I fucking won.
I gently cup the back of her head as I place my other hand firmly on my future, and I lower my face to capture her lips with mine.
And it’s different.
And it’s the same.
And it’s new.
And it all makes sense. It all fits perfectly.
Her salt-kissed lips mingle with mine and her little whimper makes me melt as I hold her. When she opens her mouth for me, I let my tongue dance with hers—slow, steady, and promising.
“I’m yours,” I murmur against her soft lips.
“You’re mine.”
