Corrine’s smirk fell. “Adair?—”
But he was already gone, brushing past barstools and murmured goodnights, reaching into his pocket for his phone.
Dead.
“Fuck,” he muttered, rushing to the car. He plugged it into the charger. The screen stayed black. For a few seconds, he begged the tech gods to move faster. Then it blinked awake.
Missed calls.
A wall of missed calls.
Texts from his mother. From Narri. From Reeka. From Sabine.
From Tate.
Where are you?
Call me now.
She’s in labor!
WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU BRO?
Answer your phone.
She needs you.
When I get my hands on you Adair Dayne, I am going to wring YOUR NECK! The last text he’d gotten from his mother.
But what made his heart bleed were Sabine’s texts. Her voicemails. Her…cries.Adair’s chest collapsed inward. He didn’t even take the time to think, he peeled out of the parking lot so fast his tires screamed.
By the time he got to the hospital, his stomach was rotting with dread.The waiting room was quiet but not in the peaceful kind of way. No, this silence was thick. It was grief before anyone said a word.
Pam sat hunched in a chair, holding a sleeping Ade who had dried tears on his cheeks and snot under his nose. She didn’t even look at Adair. Just rocked back and forth, whispering something to herself. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Cursing his ass.
Narri and Parthenia stood off to the side. Red-eyed. Rigid. If looks could kill, Adair would’ve dropped on the spot. Tate was the only one who stepped forward. No dap. No hug. Just a steady, heartbroken stare.
“She lost the baby, man,” Tate said, voice low.
Adair blinked. “What?”
“She had a girl,” Tate continued, barely audible now. “But she…she didn’t make it.”
Adair nearly hit the floor. He didn’t hear the rest. Couldn’t. The world went muffled. Like he’d been submerged underwater. He stumbled down the hall, not waiting for clearance or directions. He just needed to see her.
Sabine’s room was dim. She sat up in the bed, back turned to the door, staring out the window. The blanket draped over her small frame, shoulders trembling just once—then still.
Adair stood in the doorway, ashamed to breathe.
Ashamed to be.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.Because what do you say to the woman who carried your child and gave birth alone?
What do you say when you chose a drink and a dance over her?What do you say when you’re the reason she had to be strong?Nothing he could say would undo what he stole from her.
That was the night he stopped being her home.
Adair stepped in slow, like the floor might crumble beneath him. Like one wrong breath might make her vanish. The soft hum of machines, the faint beep of monitors, the sterile chill in the air—everything felt louder than the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest.