Page 150

“But she created the path.”

The thought has been bothering me since we found the notebook.

“She helped people because they needed help,” I say. “I don’t think she expected anything to come back from it.”

“That’s why it matters.”

I glance over.

Emma’s hand rests against her stomach again. “She helped those women, then you kept helping the same organizations because you wanted to keep your promise to her. Somewhere along the way, people helped you back.”

I look at the road because answering becomes harder than it should be.

For years, I’ve treated Wolf Shield as proof that I rebuilt my life after Celeste. Now I’m starting to understand that the company may exist because the life she built before she died kept reaching forward without either of us realizing it.

“I never expected you to become part of my life after I left,” I tell her. “I didn’t build Wolf Shield so I could come back and impress you, and I didn’t spend the years waiting for Spencer to lose you.”

“I understand.”

“I still thought about you.” Her thumb moves across my knuckles. “More than I should have.”

She turns toward me. “I thought about you too.”

Her admission catches me harder than I expect, and I bring her hand to my mouth before resting our joined hands between us again.

Manhattan grows larger through the windshield her thumb moving slowly across my knuckles, and when her other hand returns to her stomach, I have to drag my attention back to the road.

I spent those missing years believing leaving was the only decent choice I had, without knowing where it would take me or whether Emma would ever be part of my life again.

I couldn’t have imagined driving home with her beside me, our children growing inside her, especially after finally telling her the truth I’ve avoided for years and discovering that it hasn’t damaged what we’ve built.

Emma squeezes my hand as the traffic carries us closer to home, and I hold on to her, knowing I have no intention of walking away from this life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Emma

JULY 25TH

Bane barely gets the penthouse door closed before I grab the front of his shirt, pull him toward me, and kiss him.

Surprise catches in his throat against my mouth, but his hands close around my waist before I can question whether ambushing him inside his own front door is a reasonable response to everything he told me in the car.

He kisses me back and draws me closer until my back meets the door, and I bunch his shirt beneath my fists and finally stop trying to work out what I’m supposed to do with the knowledge that he wanted me long before either of us could act on it.

The dressing room has stayed with me for years because Bane was the only person who looked closely enough to understand how unhappy I was, and knowing that night changed things for him too makes me pull him closer.

I need him here with me instead of trapped inside another conversation about the years we lost, and the familiar care in the way he holds me only makes that need harder to ignore.

Bane eventually draws back far enough to look at me, though his hands stay around my waist. “Emma, what are you doing?”

I stare at him because the evidence seems fairly conclusive. “You really need me to explain?”

One corner of his mouth lifts, giving me the restrained version of amusement I’ve learned means he’s enjoying himself far more than he’ll admit. “I prefer complete information.”

“Of course you do.” I slide my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down again. “You’d probably request supporting documentation if I gave you enough time.”

His mouth brushes mine as his fingers tighten at my waist. “Depends on the documentation.”