Page 162 of Rush
"Rush, no?—"
"I don't know how to be a father when the only example I had was someone who terrorized his family. What if I hurt our kid the way he hurt me?"
The fear is overwhelming. It's crushing my chest and making it hard to think. I'm that scared thirteen-year-old again, holding a gun with shaking hands, becoming exactly what I was trying to protect Ruby from.
Everly steps forward and grabs my face in her hands, forces me to look at her.
"No," she says firmly. "You are nothing like your father. You have never been like your father."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. Rush, you are the most controlled person I know. You walk away when you're angry. You lock down the violence instead of unleashing it. You protect people without hurting them."
"That doesn't mean I won't fuck it up. That doesn't mean I won't lose control one day and?—"
"You won't, because you're already different than him. You've already broken the cycle."
Her certainty cuts through some of the panic but the fear is still there, humming under my skin.
"How can you be so sure?" I ask.
"Because I know you, Rush. I've seen you at your worst and you've never once made me feel unsafe. You're not your father."
I want to believe her but the doubt is overwhelming. I pull her against me and hold her so tight I'm probably hurting her, but I can't let go. This is real. She's pregnant. There's a baby growing inside her.
My baby. Our baby.
The thought makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to joy, but I crush it immediately because I don't deserve to feel that yet. Not when I'm this scared, not when I don't know if I can do this.
"I'm terrified," I admit against her hair.
"I know. Me too."
"How long have you known?"
"Since this afternoon. I took a test with Gráinne."
"And you've been sitting with this alone all day?"
"I was trying to figure out how to tell you."
I pull back and look at her, really look at her.
She's pale and shaken and she's been crying. Her eyes are red and puffy.
"Why were you scared to tell me?" I ask.
She looks away. "Because I didn't know if you wanted this."
"Everly—"
"We've never talked about kids, Rush. Not once. And then Ciara said—" She stops herself.
My jaw tightens. "What did Ciara say?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does. What did she say?"
