Bound to my Enemy

Chapter 278.

The day I finally get discharged from the hospital feels like freedom.

Glorious, beautifulg freedom.

I never want to see another hospital wall again. Not for a very long time....the nurses fuss over me, doctors gives me a list of instructions that could probably fill an entire book.

And Zane listens to every single word with the focus of a man preparing for war.

I don’t.

Because I already know exactly what’s going to happen, He’s going to memorize every instruction, then force me to follow all of them.

Probably while hovering, definitely while hovering.

"You are not allowed to hover."

Zane looks up from the paperwork he’s signing.

"I don’t hover."

I stare at him, the nurse stares at him, even doctor stares at him.

Even Elias, one of the security men standing nearby, looks skeptical.

Zane notices all of us staring.

"What?"

I laugh.

Then immediately regret it because my side still hurts.

Worth it.

Absolutely worth it.

The drive home is surprisingly quiet, for once, neither of us speaks much. I spend most of it staring out the window, watching the city pass by and people go about their normal lives.

It’s strange.

A few weeks ago I was worrying about pregnancy tests.

Then I was kidnapped, then I got shot, then I found out I was carrying twins, then I lost one, it’s been so much of a roller coaster my emotions still don’t feel real. Not completely, some days I think they never will.

The gates of the estate finally come into view and suddenly my chest tightens.

Home.

I should feel happy.

Instead...I feel nervous.

The car rolls to a stop and Zane is beside me immediately. One hand hovering near my waist, ready to catch me if I so much as stumble.

I roll my eyes.

"I can walk love."

"I know."

Yet he still helps me out anyway.

I don’t fight him, mostlt because I’m tired.

The moment I step inside the house, something hits me hard emotionally.

The house feels different Quiet and empty.

My eyes immediately drift toward the kitchen.

The place Margaret always seemed to be, the place she’d hum while cooking.

My throat tightens.

She’s gone and suddenly I feel it all over again.

The funeral, the grief, the loss, everything.

A hand slips into mine and I don’t have to look to know it’s Zane. E go

His fingers squeeze gently, grounding me, keeping me here and standing.

"I know."

The words are softer and barely above a whisper.

I lean slightly into him for a second and I let myself feel it. Because pretending it doesn’t hurt won’t make it hurt less.

Eventually I take a breath, then another and continue walking.

The house is exactly the same, yet somehow completely different.

Loss does that, it changes places, memories and people.

Upstairs, Zane practically escorts me to our room like I’m made of glass.

I sit on the bed, Immediately relieved to be somewhere familiar and Somewhere that doesn’t smell like disinfectant and medicine.

"This is nice."

His eyes narrow.

"What?"

"You look too comfortable."

I gasp.

"The audacity."

His lips twitch.

A victory.

They’re happening more often these days.

The smiles; the laughs.....tiny pieces of normal returning.

I watch him move around the room, adjusting pillows and straightening blankets.

Doig things that don’t actually need doing.

Then suddenly he stops, like he just remembered something. His entire expression changes and look appears in his eyes.

One I’ve seen a lot lately.

Excitement.

"What?"

He smiles. The sight still catches me off guard every time.

"Come with me."

I immediately become suspicious.

"No."

"Elaine."

"No."

"You haven’t even heard what it is."

"That has never stopped me before."

He sighs dramatically, then holds out his hand. Curiosity eventually wins, it always does.

I take it Slowly and allow him to lead me out of the room.

We walk down the hallway, past several rooms.

Until we stop in front of one.

I frown.

"What are we doing?"

Instead of answering, he opens the door and my breath catches.

The room is empty.....mostly but not completely.

A crib sits near the window, still in its packaging unassembled.

Boxes are stacked nearby.

Tiny boxes.....tiny baby boxes.

My heart immediately melts and I turn toward him.

"Zane."

His expression softens.

"This one."

I blink.

"What?"

"The baby’s room."

For a second I just stare at him, then at the room, then back at him.

"The baby is the size of a grape mostly."

"I know."

"We don’t even know the gender."

"I know."

"We have months."

"I know."

I narrow my eyes.

"Have you been shopping?"

His guilty expression answers before he does.

My jaw drops.

"Zane."

"It was one time."

I point toward the mountain of boxes.

"That is not one time."

He looks genuinely offended.

"Those are necessities."

I start laughing.

Immediately clutching my side.

"Ouch."

He immediately moves toward me, concern replacing amusement and somehow that only makes me laugh harder.

Eventually I calm down enough to look around the room again.

The future...That’s what it feels like.

A small hand, tiny clothes, midnight feedings, laughter, first steps.

My hand slowly drifts to my stomach, Protective of the little life there.

There is only one baby now.

One tiny heartbeat, one little life and suddenly I want to know everything.

Who they’ll look like, whether they’ll inherit Zane’s stubbornness.

God help us if they do.

Whether they’ll laugh like me, whether they’ll have eyes like he’s.

My chest tightens when Zane steps behind me.

His arms wrapping carefully around my waist, one hand settling gently over mine, over our baby.

For a long moment neither of us speaks. We simply stand there, looking at the room, looking at possibilities, looking at a future that almost got taken from us.

"We’re going to spoil this child."

His voice is completely serious.

I burst out laughing.

"You say that like it’s a warning."

"It is."

I lean back against him smiling.

For the first time in a long time...Home doesn’t feel empty anymore.

Not completely.

Because despite everything we’ve lost...

There is still Something waiting, something beautiful.

And for now...That’s enough.