“Good morning,” I say, my throat scratchy.

  Their eyes snap in my direction. Dad stands, relief crossing his expression when he sees me. He closes the space between us in four large strides before carefully wrapping me in his arms.

  “You okay, Kenny?” He kisses my temple.

  I nod, hugging him as tightly as I can.

  His hand flattens in the center of my back, grounding me. Reminding me that whatever comes next, he’s here. Him and Mav.

  I pull away and walk over to Maverick. He holds out an arm, wrapping it around me and tucking me into his side. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Okay,” I murmur, breathing him in. “What’s going on?”

  Mav helps me slide onto a barstool while he moves toward the stove. “Tea?”

  I nod.

  He fixes me a green tea with honey while Dad sits across the butcher block island. I quirk an eyebrow.

  Dad grins. Then, his smile falls.

  I lean closer, my brows knitting together.

  Dad shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be smiling. It’s awful news. But it’s helpful to your case.”

  I lift my eyebrows, waiting.

  “Bran was arrested last night,” Dad says.

  “They never should have released him in the first place,” Mav mutters.

  I gasp, surprised. Then, I shake my head, confused. I thought his father wasn’t posting his bail. At my bewildered expression, Dad continues.

  “His cousin Eric posted his bail,” Dad explains, flicking a wrist. “He’s running for office and, from what I gathered, thought it would be best to deal with this situation quietly. He wants to keep it out of the media.”

  “Stand-up and honorable, my ass,” Mav scoffs.

  “The Burtons will be changing their strategy after Branson’s most recent arrest,” Dad says dryly.

  “What happened?” I ask, giving Mav a grateful smile when he places the hot mug down in front of me. His hand rests on my back and I like the weight of it; I like knowing he’s anchoring me to this moment and more. He’s my steady in the storm we’re both wading through.

  “Well,” Dad says, looking at me. “Remember when I told you about Isabel?”

  “Yes,” Mav says. “Kenny explained your history with Bran’s mother.”

  Dad sighs. “When Isabel moved to Massachusetts, she was pregnant with Bran. She was a housekeeper for a family friend of the Burtons here in Boston. Last night, not even twenty-four hours after Eric posted Bran’s bail, Bran was arrested for stalking. And the woman who reported him is the granddaughter of the man whose home Isabel kept when she moved to Massachusetts all those years ago.”

  “You’re kidding,” I hiss.

  “I’m not,” Dad states. “Bran is on some sort of vendetta. Once I figured out the link to Isabel, I knew his attack on you was personal. But I can’t figure out what the hell his motive is. Is he lashing out for attention? Is he doing this to ruin his father or for his mother’s memory? What the hell is his reasoning? But for him to attack and hurt you, again, and now to be caught stalking Kaitlyn, it’s personal. There are too many connections for it not to be.”

  “And that helps your case,” Mav says quietly.

  “Jesus,” I breathe out, shocked to my core. I didn’t see any of this coming. I couldn’t have predicted this outcome if I had a magic eight ball at my disposal. Too many twists and turns and connections. “This is insane.”

  Dad snorts. “Yeah, it’s something all right.”

  “So, Bran is currently in jail?” I ask, taking a sip of tea to ease the dryness in my throat. It feels a little better each morning. “Really in jail?”

  “Yes,” Dad replies. “They’re holding him, most likely without bail since your attack and Kaitlyn being stalked happened so close together. I doubt anyone from Bran’s family will try to pull strings or bail him out now either. His father is good family friends with Kaitlyn’s parents so that’s another complication.”

  “We need to talk to Laura,” I whisper. “We need to know what our next move is.”

  Mav nods. “I agree.”

  “I’ll call her now,” Dad says, pulling his phone from his pocket. While he dials the law office, I cradle Mav’s hand in mine and swivel on my barstool, thinking.

  I glance down at my abdomen, envisioning my little baby growing there.

  Everything is different now.

  Mav pulls me into his side and kisses my cheek. “I love you, beauty.” His words cause tears to spring to my eyes.

  “I love you, too,” I murmur, hoping he truly knows how much his support means to me. And I hope he still feels that way when he learns about our baby.

  NINETEEN

  MAV

  Helpless is a feeling I’ve experienced a lot over the past year. When I couldn’t save Mckenna from her demons and ended up smothering her. When I lamented my existence during my early days in rehab. When I learned that Bran put his hands on my beauty, again.

  But there is a particular type of helplessness that washes over a man when he watches the woman he loves vomit. Repeatedly.

  She’s stressed. That has to be it. She’s a nervous wreck, wondering how this thing with Bran is going to play out. I thought his being behind bars would put her mind at ease, but instead, Mckenna’s been restless, distracted, and…sick.

  “You okay?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe as she closes the lid to the toilet.

  She drags the back of her hand across her mouth and meets my gaze.

  Her eyes are midnight as she nods. “I’m fine.”

  I sigh, knowing she’s not fine but not wanting to press her on it either.

  “Want some tea?”

  She rises unsteadily and I reach out, grasping her under one arm to keep her knees from knocking. I keep a hand on her while she brushes her teeth, fixes her ponytail, and meets my gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

  We stand like that—me slightly behind her, Mckenna gripping the underside of the vanity’s ledge, our eyes holding—for a long moment.

  Until dread snakes through my veins and fear drips down my spine. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

  Mckenna bites her bottom lip and I pull in a breath, mentally preparing for the worst while physically keeping my expression neutral.

  “We need to talk,” Mckenna says.

  Fuck.

  My nostrils flare as I drop my head.

  She wants me to move out. Bran hurt her more than I know. She can’t create a future with me right now.

  My mind spins at the speed of light.

  Mckenna turns in front of me, resting her back against the vanity. She cups my cheeks in her palms and lifts my face until our eyes meet.

  “I love you, Maverick.” Her voice is resolute. Unwavering.

  My hands find her hips and my fingertips grip at the soft cotton of her sleep shorts. God, I don’t want to let her go. I wish I could stay connected to her forever. “Is it enough?”

  “Can we relocate to the kitchen? Or living room?” Mckenna glances down to where our toes touch and smiles. “I don’t want to have this conversation in the bathroom.”

  What conversation? I want to scream. But smiling is a good sign, right?

  Instead, I sigh. “Okay. Of course.”

  I help her down the stairs and settle her into a corner of the couch.

  “Does this conversation call for tea?” I try again, wanting to make sure her stomach is settled. Wanting to delay this conversation nearly as much as I want to know what the hell it’s about.

  But I know it’s about to flip my world upside down.

  Fuck. I can’t lose Mckenna.

  I don’t wait for Mckenna to reply before I busy myself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle. My head continues to whir.

  Does she want to move to California? Or New York?

  Did she get a job offer that requires a permanent move or frequent travel?

  A job offer would be great. It would certainly bolster her confidence.

  Is this about Bran? Or us? Or her?

  “Shit!” I hiss as I burn myself with scalding fucking water.

  “You okay?” Mckenna calls out.

  “Yep,” I bite out, flipping on the faucet and jamming my hand beneath the cool, rushing water.

  I need to get a grip. I’m losing it over…what? I don’t even know what I’m losing it over.

  I pull in another breath, hold it in my lungs, close my eyes, and…count. It’s an old trick I learned in therapy. Or rehab. And as I visualize the sandy beaches of Costa Rica, the rolling waves, and the changing tide, I start to relax. My heart rate levels out, my breathing steadies, and the nerves hopping through my veins dissipate.

  This is me and Mckenna. Whatever it is, we can handle it. We’ve been through fucking hell together and are still…here. Fighting. Trying. Loving.

  Whatever she needs, I’ve got her.

  Resolved to not freak the fuck out, I pour two mugs of peach tea, clasp the handles, and move toward the living room.

  I pass a mug to Mckenna. She shifts, tucking her legs underneath her body, before placing the mug on the side table.

  I frown. She doesn’t want tea?

  “Okay,” she breathes out, clasping her hands.

  “Okay,” I repeat, placing my mug down too. I don’t want it anymore either.

  “Maverick.”

  “Mckenna.”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “Hit me.”

  She frowns. “What?”

  I motion with my fingers for her to give me whatever she’s got. “I’m ready. Give it to me.”

  “Okay,” she exhales. Cracks her knuckles.

  Fuck. There goes my blood pressure.

  “I’m pregnant,” Mckenna says.

  My heart skips a beat.

  “I—what?” I must’ve misheard her.

  “I’m pregnant,” she repeats, her expression severe. She watches me carefully, as if clocking every emotion flitting across my face.

  But it’s fucking relief that rocks through me.

  Relief that she’s okay and Bran didn’t hurt her.

  Followed by…fucking agony.

  Bran didn’t hurt her, did he?

  “Mckenna, did Bran⁠—”

  “No!” She holds up a hand. “Mav, it’s yours.”

  “Oh, thank fuck!” I cry out, my relief flooding back so strongly, swiftly, it makes me dizzy.

  It’s followed by pure fucking joy.

  I grin at Mckenna. “We’re having a baby?”

  Tears streak down her cheeks as she nods.

  “Holy shit, beauty. That’s the best fucking news I’ve ever heard.” I reach for her, wrapping her in my arms, and kiss the top of her head. “We’re having a baby.”

  “You’re really not…mad?”

  “Mad?” I pull back to stare at her. “Do you have any idea how incredibly fortunate I feel to have a baby with you, Mckenna? Maybe even luckier than our kid.” I place my hand on her abdomen, stretching out my fingers. I keep the pressure light as I know her ribs are still bruised but—fuck. Our baby is growing right under my palm.

  She closes her eyes as a sob escapes. She drops her hand over mine and presses my fingers against her skin.

  “Why are you crying, beauty?”

  “I’m just so…relieved,” she admits.

  I nod, feeling my emotions swell to the surface. “Me too.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. This is the best news you could have told me after saying we need to talk,” I admit. “And honestly, the only thing I didn’t see coming.”

  She chuckles. “But you said you weren’t ready for kids.”

  I shrug. “It wasn’t something I considered because it wasn’t a position I’ve ever been in. But I promise you, I couldn’t be happier, or prouder, or love you or our baby more.”

  “But do you think we’re…confusing things?” she asks, scrunching her nose.

  I shift our weight so I can read her expression. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if I wasn’t pregnant or we weren’t facing this situation with Bran…”

  “Don’t say his name,” I beg.

  “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “Things between us are always so big, Mav. So intense and…serious. If this wasn’t the situation we were in, would you still be happy?”

  “Yes. One hundred percent. And you’re right, things between us always seem big and intense and complicated. Even messy. But goddamn, Mckenna, it’s also beautiful. There is no woman for me but you. I don’t give a fuck if we do it in a different order than most or if the timing is always off. Because it’s me and you. I love our story because it’s ours. And that’s all that matters.”

  She presses her forehead against mine, closing her eyes. “Oh, Mav, I never knew I could feel so whole even while my world seems to be falling apart. It’s the most insane thing and yet, from the second I learned the truth, I’ve been ecstatic. Everything changed, my entire perspective, in the space of a heartbeat. I’m going to be a mom, Mav.”

  “The best mom.”

  “You’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

  “We’re a family, Mckenna. No matter what, we’re a family,” I say, before dropping my lips to hers.

  And she’s right. In the matter of a heartbeat, my entire perspective has shifted. The world has changed in a fundamental way.

  And I’ve never been fucking happier to feel so goddamn terrified.

  TWENTY

  MCKENNA

  Maverick and I decide to keep our news a secret until we’ve had some time to process it before it blows up on social media and in the press.

  “How are you feeling?” Mav asks, pressing a kiss to my temple as he collapses next to me on the couch.

  “Good.”

  He frowns, studying me closely. “Nauseous? Hungry? Tired?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No. Today I feel good.”

  “Good.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel tonight’s game?”

  “Mav! I’m pregnant. I can still bowl.”

  “I know. But we’re meeting with the DA’s office in a bit and that could be draining…”

  “Thank you for looking out for me. But I don’t want to cancel tonight’s game. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Even if you’re feeling pukey?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Pukey isn’t a word.”

  “It should be. It sounds exactly how one feels before they barf.”

  I gag. “I hate that word.”

  “Pukey or barf?”

  “Both.”

  “Sorry.” He dips his head.

  I snuggle closer.

  “I don’t want you to push yourself. You’re still healing and now, with the baby, the meeting with the DA…your body needs rest, Mckenna.”

  “Amateur bowling is hardly pushing my body.”

  Mav pulls back. “It’s not that amateur.”

  I laugh. “I’m good. I want to bowl tonight. And get dinner afterwards.”

  “As long as you’re still feeling that way after the final frame.”

  “I will.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Mav says, not pointing out that I’ve fallen asleep before eight p.m. every night this week.

  But today is one of the first days that I haven’t vomited and I want to celebrate that.

  Even if it’s at a bowling alley with chicken wings and ginger ale.

  I pull in a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax, and focus on the feel of Mav’s hand on my back. We’re meeting with the DA. I shuffle into the conference room behind Laura and May, swinging my hand behind me, my fingers searching for Mav’s.

  He instantly pulls his touch from my spine to link our fingers together. Squeezing his hand for reassurance, I cling to the warmth of his skin.

  Dad couldn’t attend today’s meeting. Partly because I was only allowed one moral support person in addition to my Victim Witness Advocate, May. And because of his involvement in cutting a deal with Mr. Burton, Laura thought it best that he skips this introductory meeting.

  When I enter the room, I note the formidable man standing to the side of a circular table. He’s in his mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair at his temples, a stern, yet stylish, pair of square-frame glasses perched on his nose, and a warm grin.

  I manage a small smile in greeting as my eyes dart around the room. Light beige walls wrap around us. They’re adorned with framed photographs of local landmarks. Cold bottles of water are set in clusters on the table along with yellow lined legal pads and black pens for note taking.

  I note the details: the scent of coffee, the hum of nearby voices, a folder with my name on the tab—Mckenna Byrne Tate. I reach out and grip the back of a cushioned chair and slowly, relax. I can do this. I’ve been waiting months to have this conversation, to move forward after years of feeling stuck, and it’s finally happening.

  Here, in a nondescript office in the courthouse.

  Mav and I take two seats together as May extends a hand toward the DA. “Mckenna, this is District Attorney Cooper, and he’ll be prosecuting your case.”

  “Good to meet you, Mrs. Tate.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “And please, call me Rob.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Rob,” I reply. “Please call me Mckenna. And this is my husband, Mav.”

  Introductions are made, coffees and teas are offered, and the usual bit of polite chitchat occurs. Once we’re all seated around the conference table, Rob begins the meeting.

  “Mckenna, now that Branson Burton is in custody, he cannot contact you directly. However, indirect methods are always a concern and I’d like to remind you and your family to remain vigilant and report anything out of the norm.”

  I nod, clearing my throat. Beside me, Mav slides his hand onto my thigh and I press my palm on top.

  “Because Branson Burton is in jail, the substance of our discussion today has changed. We won’t be talking about safety as much as I’d like to begin discussions about your case and developing a strategy for prosecution.”

 

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