Saint:
I should’ve been paying more attention to the project in front of me—some complicated rebuild that needed special parts and precise fitting. But my phone sat on the workbench, speaker on, with Shay’s voice flowing through it like a lifeline. She sounded so happy, so damn excited, and it fueled me to push through the last few hours of work. I pictured her at the baby store, picking out soft blankets or tiny shoes, squealing over some adorable design while I fought stubborn engine parts.
“Think you’ll be home soon?” she’d asked, voice brimming with anticipation.
“Couple hours, promise,” I’d replied. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned.”
And then it happened—the background hum of her car shifting to sharp fear in her voice. She started rambling about some crazy driver—some
