Theron’s POV
I drive her to the hospital the next morning.
Doctor's orders—the local guy did what he could, but she needs proper prenatal care. Bloodwork. An ultrasound to make sure everything's okay after that collapse.
Weston is conspicuously absent. Left before dawn again, his truck gone, a note on the kitchen table that said nothing except "checking the north fence."
Coward, I think, then immediately feel guilty. My brother isn't a coward. He's terrified. There's a difference, even if the result looks the same.
The drive takes forty minutes. Raven sits in the passenger seat, pale and quiet, her hands folded over her stomach in a gesture I suspect has become unconscious. She's wearing one of my flannels—not Weston's, mine—and something warm blooms in my chest at the sight.
Petty, maybe. But I'll take what I can get.
"Jonathan's still in town," I say, breaking the silence.
"I know."
"He tried to come by this morning. I told him to leave or I'd call the sheriff."
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "My hero."
"Damn right." I reach over, squeeze her knee. "Whatever happens today, I'm right here. Okay?"
She nods, but her eyes are distant. Lost in whatever storm is raging behind them.
The hospital is small but clean. A tired-looking nurse leads us to an exam room, takes vitals, asks questions I pretend not to hear. When she leaves to fetch the doctor, silence settles between us again.
Raven sits on the exam table, paper crinkling beneath her, looking impossibly small in her borrowed shirt. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her.
"I understand why you didn't tell us before," I say quietly. "You were scared. Thought if you had more time, you'd figure out how to say it."
She looks up, surprised I'm not pushing for more.
"What I want to know is different." I push off the wall, cross to her. "What happens after today? After the ultrasound and the bloodwork and all the medical stuff. What do you actually want your life to look like?"
She blinks. "I don't understand."
"Everyone keeps asking you questions about the baby. About paternity. About your father." I tip her chin up until she's looking at me. "But no one's asked what Raven wants. Not the actress. Not Jonathan Lockwood's daughter. Just you."
Her mouth opens. Closes. For a long moment, she just stares at me like I've asked her something in a language she doesn't speak.
"West asked me something like that once," she finally whispers. "I didn't have an answer then. I was still running. Still too scared to want anything."
Her gaze drops to her hands. To the slight swell of her stomach beneath them. When she speaks again, her voice is small but certain.
"I want to keep the baby. Or babies, maybe—I don't know yet." A shaky breath. "I want to stay at the ranch. I want to learn guitar. I want to write songs that mean something." She looks up at me. "I want a life that's mine. Not a performance. Not a transaction. Just... mine."
"And us? Me and West?"
"I want you both." The confession comes out raw. "I know that's impossible. I know eventually I have to choose. But right now, in this moment, I want you both in whatever way I can have you."
I take her hands. Hold them between my own.
"Okay," I say. "That's enough for now."
She stares at me. "Okay? That's it?"
"What do you want me to say, Raven? You want me to freak out? Storm off like my brother? Make this about my feelings instead of yours?"
"I don't know. Maybe. That would at least make sense."
"Nothing about this makes sense." I laugh softly. "But here's what I know. I love you. I've loved you since you held that guitar in the storage closet and looked at it like it might save your life. And I don't care whose DNA is in that baby. If you'll have me, I'll be their father. That's not biology. That's a choice. And I choose you."
She breaks. Tears spilling down her cheeks. I gather her into my arms, hold her tight, let her fall apart against my chest.
When the crying slows, she pulls back. "What about Weston?"
The question hits somewhere tender. I've been trying not to think about my brother.
"What about him?"
"He left. Does he hate me?"
"No." I sigh. "He hates himself. There's a difference."
"I don't understand him. Sometimes it’s.. Really hard"
"That's West. It's what he does." I hesitate, weighing how much to say. "Did he tell you what happened after Elena died? After the funeral?"
She shakes her head.
"I found him. Three days later. Hadn't left the house. Hadn't eaten or slept. Bottles everywhere—whiskey, bourbon, whatever he could find. And he was just sitting there. In the dark. Staring at nothing."
My voice roughens. "I thought he was dead at first. He was so still. But then he looked at me, and his eyes were empty. Like someone had scooped out everything that made him human."
Raven's hand finds mine. Squeezes.
"I stayed for six months. Put my life on hold. Moved into the guest room and watched him learn how to breathe again." I laugh bitterly. "I had a scholarship, you know. Full ride. Music program out of state. Always thought I'd get out of here, make something of myself. But West needed me. So I stayed."
"Theron..."
"I'm not telling you this for sympathy." I meet her eyes. "I'm telling you because you need to understand—what you're seeing isn't him pushing you away because he doesn't care. It's because he cares too much. He's terrified of going back to that dark place. Of loving someone and losing them again."
The door opens. A doctor enters—middle-aged woman with a warm smile and efficient manner. She introduces herself, asks questions, and prepares the ultrasound machine.
I move to leave, to give Raven privacy, but she grabs my hand.
"Stay. Please."
So I stay.
I hold her hand while the doctor spreads cold gel on her stomach. Hold it while the monitor flickers to life. Hold it while two heartbeats fill the room—fast, steady, unmistakably alive.
"Congratulations," the doctor says, pointing at the screen. "You're having twins."
Twins.
I stare at the two tiny shapes on the monitor, my mind blank with shock. Two babies. Two heartbeats. Two chances at something I never thought I'd have.
I look at Raven. She's crying again, but smiling this time. Her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes fixed on the screen.
"Twins," she whispers.
"Yeah." I bring her hand to my lips. Kiss her knuckles. "Looks like you're going to need a lot more help around the ranch."
She laughs—a wet, broken, beautiful sound.
And I think: Whatever happens next, whoever's name ends up on that DNA test, I'm going to love those babies. I'm going to love her.
And nothing—not my brother, not her father, not the uncertainty of it all—is going to change that.
After the appointment, we sat in my truck in the parking lot. The ultrasound pictures rest in her lap—two tiny bean-shaped blurs that somehow contain entire futures.
"Twins," she says again, like she's testing the word.
"Didn't know that was on the menu?"
She laughs weakly. "Twins is... a lot."
"Hey." I turn to face her. "You're not doing this alone. Whatever you need—midnight cravings, someone to yell at, a human pillow to cry on—I'm here."
"Even if they're not yours?"
"Especially then." I reach over, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Those babies are going to be loved. By me. By West, once he gets his head out of his ass."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "What if he never comes around?"
"He will. He's stubborn as hell, but he's not stupid. And he'd have to be stupid to let you go."
She looks at me—really looks, something shifting in her expression.
"Thank you, Theron. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet. Wait until you see how annoying I am at three in the morning when the babies won't stop crying."
She laughs. It's the most beautiful sound I've heard all day.
I pull out of the parking lot, heading toward home.
And somehow, despite everything, that word has never sounded better.