Page 85 of Promised to the Cowboy

Without arguing, she kneels. The zip rasps through the silence.

I don’t help her. I don’t move.

I watch her take out a sweater. Jeans. The little bag that somehow holds every bathroom thing a woman needs. She carries them to the dresser one armful at a time. Each drawer slides open. Each one closes again. Slowly and deliberately, as if she’s trying to prove something.

She pauses, then pulls something flat from between two folded T-shirts.

The ultrasound picture.

Her thumb brushes across it before she sets it carefully on the nightstand beside my bed.

My chest tightens painfully.

She finishes emptying the bag, folds it flat, and leans it against the wall.

Then she turns to face me. “It’s unpacked.”

I look at the empty bag, then back at her. “It is. But I still woke up reaching for you and found an empty bed.”

She drops her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes. God. She sounds so broken. For one stupid second, I want to cross the room, pull her against me, and tell her none of it matters.

But it does.

When I open my eyes again, she’s still standing there, twisting the ring on her finger.

“Were you?”

Her head jerks up. “I?—”

“Were you sorry when you climbed out of bed? Were you sorry when you grabbed the bag you never unpacked? When you picked up your keys? When you walked downstairs?”

Evie flinches as each question lands between us.

I shake my head. “Or were you only sorry because Maggie stopped you?”

The following silence presses against my ribs.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“I know.” I do. That’s the problem. I take a slow breath that doesn't do a damn thing to loosen the knot in my chest. “You were trying to protect me.”

She nods, a tiny movement of her head.

“And you never stopped to ask whether I wanted protecting.”

“I thought?—”

“I know what you thought.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “You thought you’d leave before your father could hurt us. You thought you’d make the hard choice so I wouldn’t have to.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “Yes.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “And not once...” My voice catches. “Not once did you ask me what I wanted.”

Her shoulders sag. “I know.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think you do.”