14. Jaymie
Jaymie
Mallory sat at her kitchen counter, both hands wrapped around a mug like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her hair was a little messy, and she had that look—quiet, far away. Like her body was here but her mind had wandered off somewhere it didn’t want to be.
I stayed busy at the stove, cleaning up the mess I had made making the omlette, mostly to give her space. Partly so I didn’t say something dumb.
And that’s when the math started.
I’d seen her with Jackson, what? Four weeks ago? Maybe Five? And they hadn’t exactly looked cozy. Hell, she barely introduced him, like she was embarrassed.
But embarrassed enough to hide a pregnancy? My face must have given me away, while I was pouring more hot water into her mug. After a moment, she said, “I told Jackson.”
I froze, watching her carefully.
She didn’t look up, just kept eating.
“Over the phone. I didn’t even have the guts to do it in person. Just blurted it out after morning meetings. Oh my gosh it was so pathetic”
“And?”
She finally looked at me, brown eyes blank. “He pretty much ghosted me. We hung up with plans to talk later on that same night and he never called back. I tried to text him but our little blue bubbles went green…”
Something hot and dark twisted in my gut. I clenched my jaw and forced a slow exhale through my nose. That mother fucker.
“I’m sorry,” I said completely controling the anger raging through my veins.
“Yeah,” she replied softly, setting down the fork. “Me too. For a minute, a stupid part of me thought it could be real. White picket fence and everything. I think I'm still going to keep the baby. It may be my only chance,” a small sob escaped her delicate lips.
I crossed my arms, she didn't elaborate on it being her only chance, and I didn't push. But what I couldn't contain was my distaste for the mother fucker.
“He’s a piece of shit.”
That brought out her smile again, humorless this time. “Tell me how you really feel.”
I shrugged. “I never liked him. Smug, surface-level jerk who thought a watch collection made him interesting. You could do better”
Mallory snorted, rubbing her temple. “I wasn’t even that into him. Just… lonely. He seemed nice at first.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I kind of feel like I do.”
“No,” I said gently. “You don’t.”
A stretch of quiet passed between us. The kind of quiet where you feel every second. Not awkward. Just... heavy.
I reached across the counter and grabbed her phone.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Adding my number. I’ll write ‘Prescott the Omelette King’ so you remember.”
Her lips curved. “So humble.”
I held it out to her. “Seriously, if you need anything. I’m just two floors up.”
She took it, nodding. “Thanks, Jaymie.”
A beat passed .
Then another. I should’ve left. I’d done what I came to do—make sure she was okay, get food in her system, add my name to her emergency contacts.
But I didn’t want to go.
She looked tired. Not just physically. That bone-deep kind of tired that came from carrying too much alone.
I pushed off the counter. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
Mallory looked startled, but didn’t argue. She stood slowly, and I hovered close, just in case her legs buckled. We made our way to her bedroom. She crawled under the covers with a sigh and pulled them up to her chin like armor.
“Sleep,” I said, standing by the door. “Don’t worry about anything tonight.”
“Jaymie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I gave a small smile. “Anytime, Mal.”
I closed the door behind me and made my way back to the elevator. It felt colder now. Like the warmth from her place clung to me, made the air outside feel sharper.
By the time I stepped into my apartment, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Mallory Quince. Tough as hell, wicked smart, and apparently carrying a guy’s baby who hadn’t even bothered to call her back.
What kind of man does that ?
I dropped onto my couch, kicked my feet up, and stared at the ceiling. Two floors down, Mallory was sleeping. Alone. Sick. Scared.
I hated that.
And I hated even more how much I wanted to be the one she leaned on.
I turned my phone over in my hands a few times, then dropped it on the coffee table.
The truth was, I wasn’t sure what my place was in all this. I wasn’t her boyfriend. Hell, she hadn’t even wanted to go out with me. But I felt something—had felt something from the very first day she’d walked into Eliza Tucker’s office.
And tonight? It wasn’t just about attraction or flirtation. It was deeper. I wanted to show up for her. Wanted to be someone she didn’t have to doubt.
I ran a hand over my face and leaned my head back on the couch cushion.
Two floors. That’s all that separated us.
But in so many ways, it felt like a canyon.
Still, I meant what I said. If she called, I’d be there. No hesitation. No questions.
Even if I couldn’t fix everything, I could be present.
And sometimes, that was enough to start.