Summer pulls open the door to the jewelry store with such overly exaggerated confidence that I wonder if she’s faking it, but once we’re inside, she inhales a deep breath and her shoulders relax.

I put one of my hands on her shoulder and slide my hand down her arm. It’s meant to seem casually affectionate, but even now, my breath hitches from the wonderment of touching her.

It sounds cheesy, but it’s the truth.

“What are you looking for?” If jewelry is what she wants, jewelry is what she’ll get. I’ve never known her to be much into jewelry, but pregnancy has made her more spontaneous. Who knows? I didn’t fight her when she wanted to come to Williamsburg instead of staying in bed all weekend.

The lighting in the jewelry store is fucking fantastic, and it makes her look regal, even in her drab gray yoga leggings and a pink-colored pregnancy top that makes her belly the center of attention. Not that she can help it. She’s gorgeous and blonde and has the kind of perfectly round swell that could be on the front of the motherhood magazines they have all over at her OB’s office.

A blush matching the shade of her shirt spreads across her cheeks. “I want to see their selection.”

“Look—your wish came true.” I wave my hand in the direction of the display cases, and she laughs, her shoulders rising and falling against my arm. “Where should we start?”

“On one side, I guess.” Summer waddles over to the first display case on the left and peers inside for exactly one second before she moves on. She does the same with the next one, and then with the third.

I follow along behind her. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but a lot of the pieces behind the glass are delicate and shiny. Each and every one of them would look good on her.

Four cases. Five. No, no, no.

I catch her by the elbow, which is more of a kind gesture than a necessity. She can’t go anywhere fast—not this pregnant. “I want in on this,” I tell her, and she bites her lip. “Can we…narrow it down by the kind of jewelry?” We both look into the sixth case together. “Are you looking for the perfect necklace? A bracelet? That one’s nice.” I point to one with blue stones that would bring out the color of her eyes. Her eyes linger over a delicate gold band with a sapphire that is edged by two tiny diamonds.

“No. None of those.” Summer takes in a deep breath and steps over to a wide case along the back wall.

We both look down into the case together, and I put my hand on the back of her neck. Her hair is swept up in a loose bun at the back of her head. It’s my favorite style, because when I place my palm in this position, it makes all the tension in her body melt away.

“This is men’s jewelry.”

Summer turns and looks me in the eye. “I know.”

“Rings….”

“I know.”

“They’re mainly wedding bands.”

She’s solemn as fuck. “I know.”

Our eyes catch then, her face lit up from the glow of the jewelry case.

“What’s happening right now?”

Summer looks toward the ceiling, blushing a deep red. “Just—look at the rings with me. Okay?” There’s a heavy pause. “Do you see any that you like?”

We turn back to look in the case. There are rows of bands. Some of them are so ornate that they look like some shit that crazy King Henry would have worn. I can’t see myself wearing any of those.

Summer stands quietly, swaying side to side in the way that she always does now, and it creeps up on me again.

It starts as a pain in my non-existent left foot, like a pebble wedged under my big toe, and it starts creeping up to my stump. I shift my weight on the prosthetic. It doesn’t help. It twists its way up into my lower back and taps at the base of my neck. You’re going to be her biggest mistake. The waves of tension fold and unfold, taking up more room in my gut. You’re less than a man, but you’re still a threat.

I rub one hand over my face, swiping away at the dark thoughts. Summer doesn’t know that I’m kept lying awake most nights into the early hours, watching the street for any sign of Alexei. She doesn’t know that I’ve searched and searched for other apartments—even similar jobs for her—in other cities, just so we can get away. I can’t tell her that Wes was right about me. That I turned out this way despite the Army—despite everything.

I especially can’t tell her that now.

“Day?” She threads her fingers through mine. For a moment, it feels like I’m on solid ground. “If you don't like any of them, it’s okay.”

Her eyes are filled with a wistful blend of hope and fear that I intuitively recognize at my very core. She so badly wants to do what’s right. She is hoping this is it, but she must fear that she’s pushed me in the wrong direction.

Focus.

I look back down into the case and squeeze her hand.

Then I see it.

It’s down at the end of the third row, the very last spot. Thin. Gold. No embellishments.

“That one.”

The jeweler treads up to the case and lifts the band I pointed to out of the case so we can see it. Summer’s entire face lights up when I slip it onto my finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

She doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it.”

At the register, once the wedding band has been tucked inside in a small black velvet box and placed carefully in one of the store’s trademark silver paper bags, we have a brief difference of opinion over who’s going to pay. Summer uses her pregnant belly to box me out at the counter and shoves her credit card into the man’s hand, even as I try to get mine to him first.

“Pregnant lady wins,” she announces victoriously, and it makes me laugh. The pain at the base of my neck eases.

She accepts the bag from the salesperson and waddles alongside me as we head out onto the sidewalk, a sultry and damp wall of air hitting us as we open the door. Summer’s eyes are luminous in the afternoon sunlight. Before I can step to the curb, she curls her hand through the crook of my elbow. “I want this,” she says.

She doesn’t elaborate.

“Are you proposing?”

Her face turns a deep scarlet. “Not yet.”

“Good. I want a turn, too.”

Summer tilts her face up toward mine. Her lips are soft and yielding against mine when they meet, and someone down the block whistles. She doesn’t pull away at the sound. Instead, she leans in.

When she pulls back from the kiss, we’re both superheated. Her hand goes to her lips, but her gaze settles on something far away. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I hate asking this.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Could you—” Summer holds the little paper back from the jewelry shop to her chest. “Could you try and make up with Wes?”

“Make up with Wes? I made him ribs. If that’s not enough, then—”

“I’m serious. I know he was an asshole. But I don’t want things to be tense when the baby gets here. I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me, and I don’t want—I just don’t want—”

I smooth a hand over her hair. “Sunny.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make up and be friends with him, if that’s what you want. I’m not going to come between you and your brother.” I put two fingers under her chin and lift her face to mine. “I’ll even make him ribs again, if that’s what it takes.”

I kiss her a second time. Summer murmurs into my mouth, and every muscle in my body wants to leap for the curb. Get this woman into a cab. Get her into my bed.

She laughs as I twist away from her. “I never thought we’d—”

There’s a crash and then a screech, metal on metal, and I jump back on instinct, shielding her with my arms. What the fuck. What the fuck?

It’s a car, screaming up toward us onto the sidewalk. He clipped one of the protective iron fences bordering some flowers at the edge of the street.

I hustle Summer backward, adrenaline masking the pain in my leg, but the vehicle’s engine revs. The car reverses, then lurches forward again. The iron fence bends, breaks, and the vehicle’s driver is accelerating, that fucker is accelerating toward us. The back wheels catch the curb, but the front end of the car brushes against my pant leg. Holy fuck. If I had a real leg, he’d have clipped it. Crushed it. I don’t know.

“Hey!” A man is running toward us from the next corner, and a shop owner hustles out after him. The street is chaos, horns honking, taxi drivers screaming at the car, and at the center of it, Summer gasps. The car lurches forward another inch, but he doesn’t quite clear the curb.

The driver is close enough for me to see him.

Alexei.

Eyes wild, hands braced on the steering wheel, mouth stretched open wide. Is he laughing or shouting? I have no idea, but his eyes meet mine and his expression contorts into a sneer. It’s one of pure rage, ugly and unrestrained.

He rolls down the window and his voice spills out onto the street. It’s a long slur of curse words and something unintelligible.

“Move. Move.” I lock my arm around Summer and back her up into the doorway of the jewelry store. “Open the door. Open the door.”

I can’t see her, but I hear when she finally gets the latch open. “Oh, my God, Day, oh, my God—”

“Go in!”

I feel her step away from me, into the store, and brace both of my hands against the recessed entryway. He’s not going to get to her. Not now. Not ever.

He rolls the window back up.

Inside the car, Alexei turns his head to the right and then to left. People are reacting—fucking rare for New York City—and the man from the opposite corner is at his windshield, both hands up, tapping on the hood. “What are you thinking, man? Are you having a stroke?” He shouts the words at the windshield, but Alexei is looking at me.

I don’t flinch.

Fuck. His mouth makes the shape of the curse and then his shoulders go down. The car reverses back out into traffic and a cab swerves to miss him.

With a screech of tires, he disappears into the line of cars. I follow him as long as I can. I follow that car until he’s out of sight.

All I can hear is my own heartbeat.

All I can feel is sickness rising in my throat.

I’m bringing this onto her. Me. It’s all me. It’s all my fault.

I can’t do it.