Page 156 of Keller

“Quinn.”

I hold his gaze. The firelight reflects in his glasses, softening the sharpness that used to undo me.

“I need to say something.”

The fire cracks and settles between us, embers glowing low.

“I’ve had time to think,” he says. “About how I handled everything.”

I don’t interrupt.

“When I found out about your role in the investigation, I reacted.” His voice is steady. “I let the shock and hurt of it dictate what I did next.”

The baby shifts beneath my hand.

“I didn’t stop to separate what was your job from what was us.” He exhales slowly. “I didn’t give either of us the space to work through it, instead making a decision in anger, and I treated it like it was clarity.”

That is the most humble and kind thing he's said since all of this blew up.

“There were things coming up for me that had nothing to do with you. Old stuff about my mom. About trust. About whatI thought betrayal looked like.” His voice remains steady. “I let that bleed into us. That wasn't fair to you.”

He doesn’t look away. My throat is suddenly sandpaper, so I take a sip of my water.

“You were doing what you believed was right. And instead of standing in it with you, I walked.”

The fire pops softly between us.

“I know I can’t change that,” he continues.

There is no defensiveness in his voice, which is so goddamned endearing I could cry. It's the hormones. It's got to be the hormones.

“But I don’t want to avoid something good because I’m afraid of sitting in hard things,” he says quietly. “I’d like to try again. Not because of the baby. Because I miss you. Because what we had was real. And I think it’s worth doing better.”

He glances toward the fire for a moment, then back at me.

My chest tightens, not with longing but with recognition. He is not defending himself. He is not minimizing what happened. He is owning it.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “For saying that clearly.”

He nods once.

“Keller, I just don't think I can go backwards. We shared something truly magical. And every second of it was real. But it was marred by my job, and for that, I regret how it tore us apart. You had every reason to be upset. It was an impossible situation for both of us.”

His expression does not change. He does not argue or push. He simply listens.

"My life is calm, Keller. Finally. The baby is coming soon, and I'm focused on stability right now. On building something solid for her." I turn the water bottle between my palms. "We don't need to be a couple to raise her well."

The fire pops. Somewhere behind us, a staff member stacks the last of the folding chairs.

"I want you fully present as her father. I want you to be consistent. I need to know you're going to show up for her, not because of what we had, but because she's yours." I look at him directly. "I'm not willing to rebuild something fragile weeks before giving birth. It's just too much. The timing isn't right."

He absorbs this without flinching.

"I understand. I do."

He picks up his beer again and takes a slow drink. "I'd like be there for the delivery, if you don't mind. Whatever you need before, during, or after, I want to make sure you have it."

Relief loosens something in my shoulders. This is what I hoped for. Partnership without pressure. Respect without romance.