Weston’s POV
The days after Jonathan's departure settle into something almost peaceful.
The ranch breathes easier without the threat of that black sedan rolling up the drive. The horses seem calmer. Even the old house stops creaking quite so much, like it's finally exhaling after holding its breath for weeks.
Raven breathes easier too. I see it in the way she holds herself now. Shoulders back. Chin up. No longer flinching at every unexpected sound or scanning the horizon for approaching cars.
She stood up to her father. Chose herself. Chose us.
And now I have to figure out how to be worthy of that choice.
I find her in the studio—Theron's studio—late one afternoon. She's sitting at the piano, picking out a melody with one hand, scribbling lyrics with the other. Her notebook is covered in crossed-out lines and arrows and stars marking the phrases she likes.
The fairy lights cast a warm glow across her face. She looks like something out of a dream. A dream I don't deserve but want anyway.
She looks up when my shadow falls across the doorway. Smiles.
That smile still hits me like a fist to the chest every single time.
"Hey. Coming to check on me?"
"Something like that." I step inside, look around. Take in the acoustic panels, the recording equipment, the worn leather couch. Everything Theron built with his own hands, piece by piece, while I was busy being afraid.
"He loves you," I say quietly. "Really loves you."
"I know."
"He gave up everything for this ranch. For me. And now he's giving you up too." I meet her eyes. "That's not something I can compete with. The kind of selfless love that just... lets go."
Raven sets down her pen. "Is this the part where you push me toward him again?"
"No." The word comes out rough. "This is the part where I admit I can't give you what he can."
She waits. Patient. Letting me find the words I've never been good at finding.
"I don't know how to be soft anymore. Don't know how to love without fear, without walls, without waiting for everything to fall apart." My hands clench at my sides. "Theron loves you with his whole heart. I love you with broken pieces I'm still trying to find."
She stands. Crosses to me. Takes my hands in hers—gentle, deliberate.
"I'm not asking for soft."
"What are you asking for?"
"Real." Her moss-green eyes hold mine, unflinching. "Messy, complicated, terrified real. I don't want perfect, Weston. I want you. Exactly as you are."
"Even the broken parts?"
"Especially those." She lifts my hand to her cheek, presses it there. "The broken parts are the ones that understand mine."
I kiss her.
Not like before—not desperate or drunk or running from something. This is intentional. A choice made with clear eyes and a racing heart.
She melts into me, her fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer. I back her against the piano. The keys protest with a discordant crash that neither of us acknowledges.
"I'm terrified," I admit against her mouth. "Of loving you. Of losing you. Of all of it."
"Me too."
"But I don't want to hide from it anymore." I pull back, cup her face in my hands. "I want to try. Really try. Not just showing up and hoping that's enough. I want to build something with you. Something real."
Her eyes glisten with tears she's trying not to shed. "Are you sure? Because once you're in, Weston, I'm not letting you run again."
"I'm sure." I press my forehead to hers. "I'm done running."
We stay like that for a long moment. Breathing the same air. Hearts beating in tandem. The fairy lights flicker around us like tiny stars.
Then she takes my hand and places it on her stomach.
On the swell that's become undeniable now. Round and firm beneath my palm. Two lives growing inside her. Two heartbeats I heard on that monitor. Two chances at something I thought I'd lost forever.
"They might not be mine," I say quietly. The fear I've been carrying for weeks, finally spoken aloud. "Biologically, I mean. There's still—"
"Does it matter?"
I think about it. Really think.
About Thomas, the son I held for six hours. About Elena, who wanted a family more than anything. About all the years I've spent grieving what I lost instead of reaching for what I could have.
"No," I realize. The word surprises me with its certainty. "It doesn't."
"Good answer." She smiles, and it's like watching the sun break through clouds after a storm. "But we should probably find out anyway. For medical reasons, if nothing else."
"When?"
"Soon. I've been putting it off because—" She laughs, shaky. "Because I was terrified too. Of what it might mean. How it might change things."
"It won't change how I feel." I mean it. Surprise myself with how much I mean it. "Whether they're mine or Theron's, I'm here. I'm in. All the way."
She pulls me down for another kiss. Deeper this time. Full of promise instead of fear.
Later, we walk back to the house together. Fingers intertwined. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. The same colors as that first night she arrived—desperate, lost, looking for somewhere to belong.
She found it. We both did.
Theron is on the porch when we approach. He looks at our joined hands, at the expressions on our faces, and something settles in his features. Not defeat. Acceptance. Maybe even peace.
"Guess you two finally figured it out," he says lightly.
"Getting there," I admit.
"Good." He stands, stretches. His smile is genuine, if a little sad around the edges. "About damn time."
He disappears inside, leaving us alone with the sunset.
I watch him go. My brother, who gave up everything—his scholarship, his dreams, six months of his life—to pull me back from the edge after Elena died. Who built a studio with his own hands for a woman he knew would choose me. Who loves with a generosity I've never understood and probably never will.
"He's going to be okay," Raven says softly, reading my thoughts. "Eventually."
"I know." I pull her closer. "Doesn't mean I don't feel like an asshole."
"You're not an asshole. You're just the one I chose." She leans her head against my shoulder. "He knows that. He accepted it before I even did."
The stars are starting to appear. One by one, pinpricks of light in the darkening sky.
"We should do the DNA test," she murmurs. "Tomorrow. Get it over with."
"Okay."
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "But I'm done letting fear make my choices."
She tilts her face up to look at me. "Whatever the results say—"
"I know." I squeeze her hand. "Whatever they say, we face it together."
"Together," she echoes.
We stand there until the stars fill the sky, holding onto each other, waiting for tomorrow to bring whatever answers it will.
For the first time in four years, the waiting doesn't feel like dread.
It feels like hope.
The night settles around us, warm and quiet. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls. The horses shift in the barn, settling in for sleep.
This is my life now. This woman. These babies. This ranch that Elena loved and I nearly let destroy me.
I'm finally ready to stop surviving and start living.
Tomorrow, we'll face whatever the test reveals. Tomorrow, we'll figure out the next steps. Tomorrow, the complications will return.
But tonight, I just hold her. And for once, that's enough.