There’s a few seconds of silence before he says, "Should I be worried?"
"Probably. But I'll bring good snacks to soften the blow."
"That's not reassuring."
"I have other qualities. I'm an excellent cook, for one."
"You've brought me takeout every visit."
"Ordering is a skill, Kai. That’s curation, knowing which restaurant, which dish and sauce on the side. Most people fumble it."
"You ordered me a salad last."
"You needed vegetables. Your body is recovering and you’re treating it like a dumpster."
He laughs. "What else?"
"I show up. When it matters, I don't overthink it. I just go."
"You showed up at a hospital in the middle of the night for a man who didn't remember your face. I’d say that qualifies."
"Yeah, well… nobody told me what I was walking into. I would have brought better snacks."
"Ava."
"What?"
"Take the compliment."
"Fine. Compliment taken. Receipt acknowledged. Moving on."
That's the problem, Kai. If you keep treating me like this, I won’t be able to stop my feelings for you.
I press my forehead against Biscuit's. She blinks up at me with her big brown eyes.
"You're dangerous, you know that?" I murmur.
"I'm a hockey player with brain damage. I'm the least dangerous person you know."
"That's exactly what a dangerous person would say."
“Or do you mean I’m dangerous in bed?” he asks in a mischievous tone.
My breath hitches. I’m not going to think of that night in the lake house.
“Goodbye, Kai.”
He chuckles. “See you tomorrow, then."
The phone goes dark.
Biscuit lifts her head, looks at me, and yawns so wide I can see every tooth she owns.
The kitchen is quiet. The ultrasound printout is folded in my purse on the counter. It’s a grainy photograph of a baby whose mother's blood is already waging a war against it.
Tomorrow, I'll tell Kai Donovan he's going to be a father.
Cool, terrifying relief washes through me, because the silence is almost over. The secret that's been crushing my chest for weeks is going to land in his hands and I won't be able to take it back.