Chapter 5
Three weeks later
I brace my palms against the marble counter and let the chill bite into my skin. The light from my mom’s halo mirror floods everything so perfectly that it could be any other day.
But not in the frame is the pregnancy test resting beside my phone, facedown. I can’t bring myself to flip it yet.
The reflection that stares back at me looks composed, even though my stomach is a tightening fist.
We used a condom.
How on earth did I miss my period?
It’s going to be negative. Maybe the stress of the job made my period late. Stress does that, right?
The timer on my screen went off at least two minutes ago, but I’m not ready.
I’m not ready because my period has always been clockwork.
Even from a very young age, Miss Freya Johnson has been highly regular. Maybe that was a clue that I’m also ridiculously fertile.
And I bet a man that looks like Anton is fertile, too. His sperm probably swam right up and out of that condom. Maybe it was a little broken and we didn’t notice?
Shit. Shit. Shit…
Downstairs, the morning news hums low from the kitchen television.
I picture my mom, suit jacket already on, heels tapping against the polished floor, running through her opening statements in her head.
Order, logic, control. She lives her whole life like a case file: every variable accounted for, every outcome calculated.
And me? I’m standing in her guest bathroom, heartbeat punching behind my ribs, waiting to see if I just detonated the rest of my life.
I’m supposed to be a civil servant now. I worked my butt off for this.
A knock on the door jolts me. I’m so far away in my spiral, I didn’t even hear Mom’s heels on the stairs.
“Frey, are you nearly done? I have a new tube of lipstick in there. I’ve got to be in court.”
My voice comes out thin. “Just a minute.”
There’s a pause, then the soft retreat of her heels down the hall toward her bedroom. I exhale, but it doesn’t help. The air feels wrong in my chest.
Court. Work. Normal life continues while I’m frozen here.
I have to get on with it. I flip the test over, and my throat closes.
Two lines.
For a second everything stops. Even the whooshing pulse in my ears goes silent. Then the room rushes back in. The hum of the vent, the faint lavender of my mother’s diffuser, the weight of even the light presses on my shoulders.
I’m pregnant with Anton’s baby. Our baby. We made a baby. For an instant, the image of a gorgeous child with his eyes and my hair hits me, and my heart flutters.
No.
Yes, the baby would be beautiful. Yes, he would be an amazing dad. I can just see how he’d do anything for his child. Anton is such a good man…
But no. I just started my career. I finally made myself proud doing something that was hard, that I didn’t think I could do, and I did it.
I’m a cop now.
Not a mom.
An inner groan makes my stomach roll.
My mom knocks again, and I nearly pee my pants.
“Freya? Lipstick? I really need to go. Just put it through a crack if you aren’t finished.”
I open the drawer where my mom’s makeup is meticulously ordered, and I take out her classic red lipstick, the one she’s been wearing for years.
It’s part of her uniform, part of her well-planned world.
I pop the pregnancy stick in the acrylic holder in its stead.
I close the drawer and open the door. My mom’s standing there in a silk blouse and blazer, perfectly put together as always, fiddling with her earring back.
I’ve always wanted to be like her, but only two feet behind me is all the proof in the world that I’m not.
“Here you go,” I say, handing over the lipstick.
She flashes me a distracted smile. “Thank you.” She finishes putting her earring on and takes it. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Are you okay?”
I laugh so awkwardly, I snort and she makes an expression of comical, fake disgust. “Girl…”
I laugh nervously. “Yeah, of course I’m okay.” My voice is too high.
She lifts a manicured eyebrow. “No, you aren’t.”
You need a good lie. It’s your mom. “Just thinking about what the day will bring. It’s all still so…unexpected.”
That works.
“Being on patrol must be full of unknowns in the beginning. Maybe always.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leans in, hugging me and kissing my cheek. “But I can say a person can get used to even the unpredictable.”
She has no idea how much I hope that’s true.
Her hands are steady on my shoulders. “Lead with your mind, baby. The rest will follow.”
She nudges slightly into the bathroom to look in the mirror and draws on her red lips with precision. She gives herself one last look, then points her lipstick at me.
“We do good work, and we look good doing it.”
I give her a meek smile. How could I ever have thought I had the class and composure of this woman? My God, when I walked across that stage at Academy graduation just months ago, I finally thought I’d done it.
But one night, though I don’t regret it, regret him…not really…but one night, and I throw away this career I earned?
I can’t be pregnant on the streets of LA.
My mom clicks out of the bathroom and turns one last time to me. “Be safe, baby.”
I wave her goodbye, then close the door and fall against the wood. Safe?
This job is anything but safe.
Why does my mom always make hard decisions look so effortless and easy? Is it for her? Am I the only one who melts at a thousand degrees inside when life gives me lemons?
I look down at my stomach. But is having a baby a lemon?
Or lemonade?
I look back at the door and hear the faint sound of the front door closing. That woman is a queen if I’ve ever met one. One who is equal parts justice, love, and an iron gavel. She’s not a nuanced person, and the word accident isn’t in her vocabulary.
And maybe it isn’t in mine either.
Anton was no accident. I wanted him for months. I decided to take him. I wanted it, and I enjoyed every second of it. That was no accident.
Though we used a condom, and yes, this wasn’t intentional, when was I going to think about having a baby?
I’m thirty now.
I know we aren’t walking the same path in life, but he’s a good man. A great man. Maybe even the exact man I should be doing this with. At this point in my life, I’d probably be pushing mid-thirties before I considered or found a man to have a baby with.
Anton’s patient, understanding, supports my career, and he’s selfless. He’s also been on his own for many years—older and confident enough for us to figure this out as adults.
We promised each other we’d be friends. I believe he meant it.
But I think of my mom again and how quickly she dismissed my father out of the equation.
Will she approve of all this? I know she’d want me to keep it. She’s a modern woman and doesn’t think I have to have babies to be fulfilled, but I see how she holds her little nephew. She’d want to be a grandma.
But Anton’s not exactly the kind of man she usually points out to me. Then again, my last boyfriend was the epitome of the polished man she’d like me to date. CEO. Educated… And he turned out to be bad as they come.
I let out a moan.
It’s like the whole house is listening now, waiting to see what I’ll do.
Okay, Freya. Think.
It’s been three weeks since that morning in Echo Valley.
A flash of the night before plays in my mind: Anton’s arms catching me on the stairs, his bass voice, low in my ear. Honey, holding you is the easiest thing I’ve done all night.
I sink down on the edge of the tub, knees weak.
Am I going to keep this baby?
My mother’s voice drifts through my head. Lead with your mind, baby.
My mind says no. Too soon. Too complicated.
But when I lay a hand on my belly, my heart answers louder, and I swear I can already feel this living thing inside me, right on the palm of my hand.
I want this.
For the first time in my life, I want something without reason. Even though it doesn’t make sense. It’s just true.
Maybe the truest thing I’ve ever known.
And I know it in my bones that Anton will be real with me.
We’ll figure this out. He isn’t a man to shirk responsibility and even…
maybe he’ll be happy? Like me, he’s not getting any younger, and I saw how he looked at Kat’s son, Theo, on the ranch.
How he’d give him rides on his shoulders.
How Theo would ask him to launch him in the air.
I pick up my phone and tap to get to the last message Anton and me exchanged which was last week. Though the texts are little nothings, we’ve kept in touch, to make sure that pinky promise of ours stood on solid ground.
The last text I sent him was a photo of my steering wheel, dash, and unit number on my first day as driver, and his reply still hits me square in the chest: Proud of you.
I swallow hard.
My fingers move over the screen, but I pause.
He’s not the kind of man who half steps into anything. He would take this on completely.
I need to be sure before I hand him something this permanent because what if the test is a false positive? I can’t go rushing into announcing this to Anton and then it turns out the test was faulty.
Maybe I’m in denial, but really, I need a doctor, not a cardboard box, to confirm this. Waiting is the sensible thing. False alarms aren’t my M.O.
I find a doctor the next week and book in for my twelve-week mark.
By then, my body stops letting me pretend. Exhaustion clings to me. I run hot at night.
And then the doctor makes it official.
After that, waiting to tell Anton isn’t about certainty anymore.
It’s about the moment I change everything.
Because once he knows, my life won’t just be mine anymore.