“Ms. Masterson, I would think it would greatly benefit you to apply for our state health care program.”

I blinked at the woman behind the desk, who was speaking to me about the fact my son had been rushed into the ER. Uninsured.

What she didn’t understand was that he had to be, for just a little while longer.

My head shook, and I fought the new kind of panic that clawed through my spirit. “No, I’ll be paying out of pocket.”

She looked at me as if I were crazy, which admittedly, was exactly how I felt, never having imagined I would ever go down a path such as this. But my son was worth it.

He was worth any debt. Any sacrifice. Any lie.

It was only for a year. Until the day I could ensure Dane would never be a threat to Evan again.

“You’re looking at, at least five thousand for this visit alone, Ms. Masterson.”

My throat constricted at that number, but I managed to force a bright, fake smile. “It’s fine, I have the funds.”

Or really, I would find a way to get them.

Another loan taken out against the coffee shop.

A rush of guilt made me cringe. I hated that I was putting Jenna in this position. A Drop of Hope was every bit as much her dream as it was mine. But she’d promised me she was willing to make any sacrifice she had to. Promised she was in this with me. Whatever it took or cost.

The woman pushed out a confused sigh. “Okay, then, but I’m including these pamphlets for you to look over. I’m sure there’s a plan that’s a good fit for your son.”

I reached over the desk and took them from her. “Thank you, I’ll look through them,” I promised, telling another lie, tossing it right on the mounting pile. The shorter the paper trail, the better.

Pushing to my feet, I left her office, feeling shaky all over as I went. Adrenaline dumping from my veins, leaving me drained, the remnants the fear of this day had evoked almost too much to bear.

My emotions precarious. So close to breaking me.

Desperate.

That was what I was.

Desperate for my son to be okay. Desperate for this charade to go away and Dane to leave us be so we could live our lives.

Rounding the corner, I peered into the examination room through the small window in the door, just needing to get a peek at my son.

A buoy to give me the strength to keep fighting. To gain the confidence that he was really okay. The doctor had spent a half hour trying to reassure me that he’d just overexerted himself. That it was typical. That there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Still, Dr. Krane had made an appointment for him to follow up in two weeks to do a thorough workup of his heart to make sure it was functioning fine. Covering all the bases.

My frantic spirit eased when I gazed in, taking in the sight in front of me.

Evan was fully propped up in the hospital bed, his mop of messy red hair flying all around as he laughed.

Laughed because Kale was sitting at the end of his bed, angled with his knee under himself so he could face Evan, scribbling something on the pad one of the nurses had brought in for ease of communication.

My heart clenched.

Painfully.

Beautifully.

Because my son looked so free and content and comfortable with Kale at his side. And Kale was looking at my son the way a child deserved to be looked at.

Protectively.

Adoringly.

And now I knew the source of Kale’s unease. His fear of loving someone and taking the chance that they might be violently, savagely ripped away. The barriers and shields he struggled to maintain to protect himself from that chance.

And he had stayed.

That meant more to me than he could ever know.

Kale met my eye through the small window.

That protective possessiveness extended out to me, searching through its own confusion and uncertainty. The man holding me up with a simple glance.

I’m here.

I blinked, swallowed, no steel left around my heart. Because in that blink. I was right back in that day. The day I’d been left alone . . .

“Mrs. Gentry, has your husband returned?” He looked around the room where I sat alone. Clutching my arms over my chest.

Rocking.

Trying to be strong.

Jenna had just left to get coffee, and my mama was on her way from Texas. Promising she would get there as quickly as she could.

“No.” I swallowed around the ball of agony cinched tight in my throat. Cutting off circulation. Shutting down belief. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

The doctor who’d first given us the news tried to hide his surprise when I told him I was still alone, but it was there. He shook his head in what I knew was supposed to be sympathy. “All right, then.”

He sank to the chair beside me. “We would like to have your blood drawn so we can try to determine the exact genetic defect your son suffers from.”

Jerkily, I nodded, rushing my hands over the chills that lifted on my arms. I was cold. So cold.

“Of course.”

I would do anything.

Give anything.

The doctor paused, as if he were waiting for me to snap. Break. Then he issued almost carefully, “It is important we get your husband’s as well.”

I blinked, trying to stay upright against the force of the walls that spun and spun. “He’s not here,” I said, somehow feeling as if that statement was on repeat.

The words leaving me through the stark numbness that echoed from that hollow place inside.

He hadn’t been there since he’d stormed out the day before when I’d refused to leave.

Refusing food.

Refusing sleep.

“Just as soon as it’s possible is all we ask.”

I nodded again. “I’ll do what I can.”

I couldn’t understand it. How he could leave us there. He’d doted on me through my entire pregnancy. I could never forget the amount of pride on his face and love in his eyes when we’d found out we were having a boy.

Then he had just . . . disappeared.

Abandoned us.

But Dane was the least of my worries right then.

“The arrangements have been finalized for his transfer, and the heart team will be ready to perform his surgery as soon as he arrives. Transport is scheduled for three this afternoon.”

I nodded again, clutching myself tighter.

“You can go in and see him now, and I will send someone to come to draw your blood while they prep him for transfer.”

The only thing I could process was that I could see him. I could finally see him.

“Thank you.” The words left me on a gush of air.

Kindly, he patted my knee. “I know things look bleak right now, and I know you’re scared, but don’t stop praying. I’ve seen a lot of miracles in my lifetime.”

Gratefulness pulsed through my being, thankful this doctor had taken the time to step outside of his duty and offer me kind words when it felt as if the world only had cruelty to offer.

“I won’t,” I promised, though I was terrified it might be a lie.

When he stood, I followed, my knees weak and my body swaying.

I followed him out and down a long hall and then another before I was cleared through a set of imposing double doors.

I was taken to a preparation area and instructed on how to wash, before I was led into a darkened room. The large area was only illuminated by dim, unobtrusive lights, sections curtained off, concealing the isolettes behind each.

Some of the curtains were opened where I could see mothers nursing and fathers cradling their babies in the rocking chairs.

I gulped again when the nurse led me toward another sectioned off area. My heart raced in its confines.

Fear and grief and hope.

They constricted and squeezed, my chest so tight I thought my heart might be physically crushed.

The nurse drew the curtain back slightly so I could slip through.

At the sight in front of me, a tiny sound climbed from my throat.

Love.

The impact of it was staggering.

My infant son lay riddled with tubes and lines, attached to monitors, tape concealing the lower half of his face to keep the oxygen in place.

But I saw none of those things.

I saw the child that’d been given into my care.

I saw a little boy running on a playground.

I saw a future.

Slowly, I edged forward. Tears blurred my eyes as I looked down on my son. Hand shaking, I reached out and caressed my thumb across the back of his tiny hand.

Those tiny fingers searched, tightly wrapping around my finger.

He stared up at me.

I was certain that connection was greater than anything I’d ever felt.

My mouth trembled, overwhelmed with affection. With my free hand, I reached up and softly ran my knuckle down his plump cheek.

“My heart,” I whispered, and the little boy stared up at me as if he’d known me for a million years.

The little boy who would forever hold my heart.

And I murmured a million of those prayers into the air.

Believed.

And knew, right that second, with every part of me, I would never, ever give up on hope.

Blinking out of the reverie, I ran my fingertips over my eyelids, clearing the tears. Refusing to allow myself to spiral into hopelessness.

I just needed to focus on the fact Evan was okay. Spend this time in gratefulness.

Knees shaky, I opened the door.

Instantly, Evan was frantically signing my way, his eyes still dancing with his laughter. DR. BRYANT SAID HE WAS A NERD IN SCHOOL. DID YOU KNOW THAT? HE SAID NERDS ARE THE BEST. THEY GROW UP TO BE DOCTORS.

Nerds are the best.

The memory of him teasing me about being a nerd that first night hit me.

This man. He had completely demolished me in the best of ways.

A sound that was half a sob and half laughter tripped from my mouth. It originated somewhere in my spirit.

The sound made up of the remnants of terror I’d felt this afternoon.

The astounding relief when I’d found Evan was really okay.

The million emotions Kale had taken me through earlier at his loft. The need and the desire and the beauty.

The pure adoration I felt then.

It was all there.

Compounding.

Kale stood from the bed, and I sucked in a shattered breath.

“Come on, let’s get your little man home.”

I felt him in the doorway behind me.

His presence thick and potent and powerful. It surged into the room, a crashing wave, taking me whole.

It was late, close to one in the morning.

I’d been kneeling in the same spot on the floor beside Evan’s bed for the last three hours. Watching him sleep. Just . . . feeling the beat of his heart.

My amazing son, who’d fallen asleep on the way home from the hospital.

Kale had carried him in from the car and laid him in his bed. The way he’d done the night before.

Only this time, he’d stayed while I’d changed Evan into his pajamas, brought me hot tea when I’d refused to leave Evan’s side, and then paced my house for hours as if he were searching for a purpose when I knew he could already feel his purpose echoing from the floors.

Footsteps shuffled behind me, quiet and subdued, before the man knelt next to me. Fingers ran the length of my hair, massaging into my neck, as his nose pressed into the locks as he inhaled.

I shivered with the whisper at my ear, “You need to get some rest. You’re exhausted.”

I glanced back at him, gazing into the depths of those caring, kind eyes that glinted and shone in the muted light that glowed from the lamp on Evan’s nightstand. My mouth trembled, my lips soaked with the silent tears I could no longer hold back.

As if I was purging every negative thing from the day and casting up a million prayers of gratefulness at the same time. “I don’t know how to leave him after a day like today.”

We’d been assured he was fine.

Still, I felt chained to my son’s side. Unable to move.

Kale wrapped his strong arms around me, pulling my back to his chest. I could feel the thrum, thrum, thrum of his magnificent heart. The sound reverberating and seeping into me.

“Let me take care of you. Let me take care of him,” he murmured.

Shifting, he pushed to his feet, bringing me with him, sweeping me from the floor and cradling me in his arms.

I held on, sinking into the staunchest kind of security, and pressed my face up under his chin, feeling the warmth and the life. Inhaling the woodsy, masculine scent.

“I’ve got you,” he said for what had to be the hundredth time that day.

And I trusted that he did.

He carried me out of Evan’s room, through the house, and into my bedroom.

A room he’d never seen.

I could feel it when his sight landed on my massive bed, the heft of the breath that pressed from his lungs.

He moved through my room and set me down on one side. He didn’t say anything, just quietly worked through the buttons of my dress. Though this time it was different. This time, it was with care and deference.

He slowly lifted it over my head. Cool air skated my skin. His gaze swept over me, but there was no smirk. No tease.

He moved to my dresser and pulled open the top right door, as if he already knew what he was looking for. Silently, he moved back through the space, his hands winding the silky soft pink nightgown over my head, gliding it over my body where it barely landed at the top of my thighs.

Everything felt so intimate.

Our breaths and his touch and his care.

“Kale.”

I didn’t know what I was asking for.

He cupped the side of my face and ran his thumb along the hollow beneath my eye. “I know.”

He kissed my forehead once, twice, and then lifted my covers. “Get in, sweet girl.”

I sank back into the comfort.

Not just of my bed.

But the feeling that swam through my spirit. The promise that everything was going to be all right. He pulled the covers over me, and his fingertips danced across my cheek. “Sleep well, Hope.”

Exhausted, I slumped into the welcome of my pillow, my body relaxing beneath the blankets, only a fluttered breath before I was asleep.

I jolted awake to the silence. To the thick darkness of my room.

I reached over, switching on the lamp on my nightstand. I blinked, adjusting to the shadows before I pushed off the covers and slid from my bed.

Barefoot, I padded across the wooden floors. Drawn. Silently moving through the living room and back down the hall.

At Evan’s door, I paused.

Kale lay on the hard floor next to the bed, a pillow from the couch under his head and a tiny throw barely covering his torso, still in his shirt and jeans.

His arm was slung up onto Evan’s bed, his palm resting across my son’s heart.

And that feeling—that affection that compounded and churned and swelled—it burst.

I’d known this man was more.

Now I knew he was everything.

I tiptoed over to the side of Evan’s bed and gently ran my hand over my son’s forehead.

He sighed from the depths of his sleep.

Content and safe and perfect.

And Kale’s hand that was on Evan’s heart? I gathered it in mine and threaded my fingers through his. Those eyes popped open, twilight on the sea.

He looked up at me before he climbed to his towering height.

He followed me without a word.

Without a sound.

The only voice the energy that rumbled beneath our feet.