I expect him to argue, and there’s a little part of me that wants him to throw me over his shoulder the way he did that day Luke and I hid from him. He slapped my ass and laughed, but this time he gives me a terse nod, and my stomach sinks.

He slams the door and pats the hood as I woodenly twist the keys in the ignition. I suck in a deep breath before shifting into drive. I pull away, feeling shaky and teary and totally lame for leaving him there after dropping that bomb.

I see his outline standing in the driveway even as I round the corner.

And my last thought before I lose sight of him is that he deserves better than being back here again. Because he’s so damn honorable that he’ll stick himself with me and this baby.

Even if it’s not really what he wants.

32

Cade

Cade: Willa is heading to your place. Can you let me know when she’s there safe, please? She’ll need the guest room.

Harvey: What did you do to her?

Cade: Why is that the first place your head goes?

Harvey: Because you have a knack for ducking things up.

Cade: Ducking?

Harvey: Duck off. You know exactly what I mean.

Cade: My fingers are broken. Thanks for your concern.

Harvey: My only concern is about possible brain damage since you let your girl walk out. She’s here safe.

Cade: My brain is fine.

Harvey: Could have fooled me.

* * *

I don’t need a night alone to gather my thoughts at all. But I could tell by the expression on her face that she did. I’ve seen that look before—a deer caught in the headlights.

Willa prides herself on going with the flow, but now she hit the rapids and she’s freaking out. A lot has changed for her in a very brief time. I remember this feeling well, but it’s different this time around.

I’d rather she freaks out with me, but I also know better than to smother someone as independent as her, which is why I let her drive away.

But I jump in my truck and follow her to the main house, not about to sit at home alone when she and Luke are both under one roof.

Where they go, I go. It just feels right.

I pull up and kill my engine, eyes locked on the guest room window. When the light turns off, I get out and make my way inside through the front door. I should probably be thinking about a new baby—and I will—but right now, all I can think about is Willa. Soothing her. Holding her.

Keeping her.

When I step into the dimly lit living room, I catch sight of my dad in his deep leather recliner, a glass of bourbon in his hand.