Raven’s POV
Consciousness returns in fragments.
Muffled voices. The smell of antiseptic. A hand wrapped around mine, warm and steady. I fight through layers of fog, eyelids heavy as lead, body feeling like it belongs to someone else.
I force my eyes open.
My bedroom ceiling swims into focus. Familiar cracks in the plaster. The water stain in the corner shaped like a rabbit. I'm home. At the ranch. In bed.
Theron sits beside me, his hand gripping mine, his face pale beneath his tan. Dark circles shadow his honey eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.
"Hey." He breathes the word when he sees me stir. "There she is."
I try to speak, but my throat feels stuffed with cotton. He reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand, helps me take small sips.
Movement in my peripheral vision. Weston paces by the window, back and forth, back and forth, wearing a track in the floorboards. His shoulders are rigid, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
He doesn't look at me.
"What happened?" My voice comes out a croak.
"You collapsed." Theron's grip tightens. "Scared the hell out of us. Doctor's been here—local guy, discreet. He's talking to West outside right now."
As if on cue, the bedroom door opens. Weston enters first, followed by a gray-haired man with kind eyes and a worn leather medical bag.
The doctor checks my vitals. Shines a light in my eyes. Ask questions I answer on autopilot.
Fine. Yes. No. I don't know.
The whole time, I feel Weston's gaze burning into me. Feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
The doctor finishes his examination and turns to the brothers. "Can I speak to you both outside?"
They file out. The door clicks shut.
I lie there, heart hammering, staring at the ceiling. Muffled voices filter through the thin walls—the doctor's calm murmur, a sharp intake of breath, then silence.
Too much silence.
The door opens again.
Weston enters first this time. His face is carved from stone, but his eyes—God, his eyes. They're shattered. Devastated in a way that tells me everything I need to know.
He knows.
Theron follows, looking equally wrecked. He reclaims his seat beside me, takes my hand again, but his grip is different now. Tighter. Almost desperate.
The silence stretches until I want to scream.
"Someone say something."
Weston stops pacing. Plants himself at the foot of my bed. His jaw works for a moment before the words come out, flat and final.
"You're pregnant."
Not a question. A confirmation.
I close my eyes. There's no point lying anymore. No point hiding. The secret I've been carrying for weeks is out, exposed, impossible to stuff back into the darkness.
"Yes."
The word falls into the room like a stone into still water. Ripples spreading outward, touching everything.
Theron's hand spasms around mine. "How long have you known?"
I open my eyes. Force myself to meet his gaze. He deserves that much. They both do.
"Weeks. Since before my father showed up." My voice breaks. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"Weeks." Weston's voice is hollow. "You've known for weeks and you didn't say anything."
"I was scared. I didn't know what to do—"
"So you just let us—" He stops himself, running a hand through his hair with vicious frustration. "Jesus, Raven."
"I'm sorry." The words feel pathetically inadequate. "I wanted to tell you. I tried so many times. But every time I opened my mouth—"
"Is it mine?"
Weston's question cuts through my excuses. Sharp. Brutal.
I flinch. This is the moment I've been dreading. The question with no good answer. The truth that could destroy everything.
"I don't know."
Theron goes very still. "What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I mean—" I force myself to look at both of them. "That night. We all—it could be either of you. There's no way to know without a test."
The silence that follows is devastating.
Weston turns away, bracing his hands against the windowsill, his back a wall of tension. Theron stares at me, emotions flickering across his face too fast to read—shock, hurt, confusion, something that might be hope.
"Either of us," he repeats slowly. "So it could be mine."
"Yes."
"Or West's."
"Yes."
Weston makes a sound—half laugh, half groan—and drops his forehead against the window glass. "This is insane."
"I know." My eyes burn with unshed tears. "I know it's impossible and complicated and I've made everything worse by not telling you sooner. But I was terrified, okay? Terrified of how you'd react. Terrified of what it meant." My voice breaks. "Terrified of losing both of you."
Weston pushes off the window and heads for the door.
My heart plummets. "Weston, wait—"
He doesn't. The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot.
I stare at the empty doorway, something cracking open in my chest. He left. Of course he left. This is exactly what I feared—the moment I stopped being a person and became a problem. A complication. Another woman carrying a baby that might destroy him.
Theron hasn't moved. His hand still holds mine, steady and warm.
I turn to him, expecting the same shuttered expression. The same retreat behind walls.
Instead, I find him watching me with something soft and fierce in his honey eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The words don't register. "What?"
"I said I'm not going anywhere." He lifts my hand to his lips, presses a kiss to my knuckles. "I know this is complicated. I know there's a chance that the baby isn't mine. But I don't care, Raven. I'm here. Whatever you need. Whatever happens."
Tears spill down my cheeks. "How can you say that? How can you just—"
"Because I love you."
He says it simply. Like it's obvious. Like it's been true for so long that stating it aloud is almost redundant.
"I love you, and I'm not running. Not now. Not ever."
I break. Sobs tearing through me, ugly and raw. Theron climbs onto the bed, gathers me into his arms, lets me fall apart against his chest. He doesn't shush me. Doesn't try to fix it. Just holds me while I cry, his hand stroking my hair, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.
When the sobs finally quiet, he pulls back enough to look at me. His thumb brushes tears from my cheek.
"We need to talk. Really talk. About everything—the baby, my brother, your father." He pauses, something vulnerable crossing his face. "But first, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest."
I nod, bracing myself.
"Do you love him? Weston?"
The question hangs between us.
I think about lying. About protecting his feelings. About saying what he wants to hear. But Theron has never asked me to perform. Has never wanted anything but the messy, complicated truth.
"Yes," I whisper. "I think I do."
The hurt flickers across his face, quick and sharp. But before he can pull away, I grab his hand tighter.
"But Theron—I love you too."
He goes still. "What?"
"I love you too. That's the problem." The words tumble out, raw and desperate. "I love how you make me laugh. I love how you see me without trying to fix me. I love that you stayed when he walked out. And I love him—his wounds, his walls, the way he looks at me like I might be his second chance."
My voice cracks. "I love both of you in completely different ways. And I can't figure out what that means. I don't know how to choose. I don't know if I even can."
Theron stares at me for a long moment. Something complicated moves behind his eyes.
Then, slowly, a sad smile tugs at his mouth.
"Well," he says quietly. "That's a mess."
"I know."
"A beautiful, impossible mess." He lifts my hand to his lips again, presses a kiss to my palm. "Okay. Then we figure this out together. All of us. No matter how complicated it gets."