Chapter 6
The smell of burnt espresso sits heavy in the air at Café Luna. I’m half-tuned out to what Gabriel is saying though I shouldn’t be.
Finally, Shadow Justice got a call for something interesting. This case, organized break-ins running through a golf club, is juicier than normal. Thank God because, for some reason, life has bored the hell out of me lately.
Gabriel blows across his mug. “No fingerprints, balaclavas, and it’s still obvious from CCTV, it’s the same three men. But this isn’t about catching the thieves. It’s about catching the organizer.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “But this will take finesse. We can’t go stomping our muddy combat boots through the foyer of some fancy golf club.”
Just then, my phone buzzes.
Freya
We need to talk.
Those four words make the pulse climb before the brain catches up.
We’ve only texted a bit since our morning together.
We fell into a new, permanent rhythm of long-distance friendship.
Me checking in because I need to know she’s okay, especially now she’s on the beat, and her sending me an update or two most normal people wouldn’t understand.
I miss her even though I know it’ll get easier eventually. It should. It did after my ex.
But that was different. When someone cheats, you don’t miss them. You miss the version of yourself that used to trust.
It would be easier to get over Freya if she would do something wrong. But I know she won’t. She has too much integrity.
But I stare back down at the message.
We need to talk.
Those words rarely bear good news.
“Something wrong?” Gabriel asks.
“Hope not,” I say, standing.
Outside, the morning air cuts sharp and clean. My breath ghosts in front of me as I hit Freya’s number, heart pounding because I know her voice will draw me back in in a way a text message won’t.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey.”
My gut instinctively sinks at the tone of her voice.
“Everything okay?”
A loaded pause fills the air.
“I’m pregnant.”
Pregnant?
My heart bursts apart, and I can’t gather the pieces fast enough to make sense of them. How did this even happen? I swear the condom was intact that morning. I checked because my release was so insane, I swore I blew the thing apart.
Maybe there was a tear I missed?
She’s pregnant?
My chest swells immediately, my heart unaware of the chaos sure to follow because it thumps with overwhelming feelings.
She’s carrying something that’s half me, half her.
But then, the romance of it fades enough for logic to sink in. It’s been more than two months since we were together.
“When did you find out?” I ask.
The pause is loaded. “With a stick test a while ago, but officially, today.” She sighs. “I wanted the doctor to confirm it. To be sure before I told you.”
So she’s sure. And I feel sure instantly, as well.
I don’t know where we land, how we do this, or what it costs us both.
I just know I’m not walking away from it.
I always wanted a kid. Always wanted one—never thought I’d get the chance.
Then suddenly, a sick dread rolls through me. What if this is an entirely different conversation? What if she doesn’t want it…
She saves me from going down that road.
“I’m keeping the baby, Anton.”
Relief surges through me, and then something quieter follows. Something heavier.
I don’t know yet what she’s asking of me. Support. Partnership. A seat beside her or simply a place in the background?
She’s telling me. Whatever this is, it isn’t nothing.
“I’m twelve weeks officially. Everything was looking good today.” She lets out a sharp breath. “I’m due in August.”
Every word that comes through my phone fills me with hope. With oxygen for a life I never thought I’d get to breathe.
I don’t want this conversation over the phone, on a sidewalk with dog walkers passing. It’s too much.
A baby.
Mine.
She’s keeping it.
I want it.
The wanting isn’t logic; it’s bone-deep, automatic. I instantly start seeing a life I never thought I’d get—a little chaos, a little miracle, all wrapped in her.
I know this is complicated. Not being a dad and having a little one relying on me—that will be second nature. But figuring out a way forward that requires trust between me and Freya will be another thing.
I’m getting way ahead of myself. We need to talk more. In person. “I’ll be down in maybe eight hours.”
“Down where? Here?” She exhales fast. “Anton, no. You don’t have to…really. We have time to talk.”
“I’m coming.”
“Why?”
“Because you and our baby deserve more than a man hiding behind a phone.”
There’s a long pause on the line.
“Okay,” she says finally. “But drive safe, all right? I’ll text you somewhere we can meet.”
Not at her house, then. Guess that means her mom doesn’t know. It means a lot that she told me first—that she carried this for weeks just to be sure. The woman handles everything alone, even the things that shouldn’t be hers to carry.
That’s something I plan to change. I’ve got her back now.
When the call ends, I stay where I am. The clouds don’t move. The world doesn’t, either. The hum of the valley fills my ears, the sound of normal life continuing, oblivious to the fact that mine just turned inside out.
I shake my head. How can everything look this normal when something this extraordinary just happened?
I want to tell everyone. Even the bastard writing parking tickets across the street. But I can’t. Freya and I have too much to figure out before anyone else gets a say.
This isn’t mine to announce. Not yet. Not without her.
I don’t even know what she wants from me in all this. There are way too many question marks. She lives hours away. Will she want me to move there? Would she consider coming here? Would we do this long-distance, and our poor kid would barely know me and see me once a month?
Fuck, that last question hurts… It’s shocking how I only just heard about my baby and already I want to see them every day. This is chaos. Madness…
I need to move.
Back inside, the door chimes. Gabriel glances up. “Everything good?”
I grab my jacket. “Really good.”
Not clean. Not simple.
But good.
I take a moment to consider my friend, and suddenly he looks like an uncle instead. I think of Santi on the ranch, the way fatherhood steadied him, turned recklessness into something solid. Will it do that to me, too?
“You heading out?” he asks.
I toss a few bills onto the table. “Don’t know when I’m back.”
He studies me for a beat. “Yeah. Do what you gotta do.”
Do what I gotta do. What do I have to do? I have to figure out a way for me and Freya to be in the same place—that’s what I have to do. There’s no version of this where distance works. I want to be around my kid and support Freya, too.
The sun’s high when I reach the truck. I slide behind the wheel, set my coffee down, and stare at the road ahead. A toothbrush, a tank of gas—everything else can wait.
Fifteen years waiting for a reason to move forward.
Now I’ve got one.
Seven hours to get there.