CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 17
Ivy
Five months since the article ran. Five months since he stopped speaking to me. And two pink lines just ruined my breakfast.
Pregnant.
I sit at the edge of the bathtub, still holding the test like it’s radioactive. My mind spins, trying to find a version of this reality that doesn’t feel like the floor caving in under my feet.
My legs feel numb, and my stomach turns over itself in slow, queasy waves. The morning light spilling through the cracked window feels too bright, too harsh, like it’s exposing every thought I don’t want to admit out loud. A small reminder of the stark light in Hawaii right before the storm settled in. Right before everything changed.
I close my eyes, and for a second, I’m there again—the heavy heat in the air, the scent of salt clinging to my skin, the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore in wild, rhythmic pulses.
And him.
Carter.
The way he looked at me that night still haunts me. Like I was the only thing he saw. Like he was starving and I was the meal he’d been denied for too long.
Those hungry, reckless eyes undressing me before his hands ever did.
I remember the way my heart thundered against my ribs, the way my fingers shook—not from fear, but from how badly I wanted him. Needed him.
I practically ached for it—for him.
I can still feel the brush of his mouth against my skin, the way he murmured my name like a secret no one else deserved to hear. The way he pulled me closer, kissed me like he was drowning and I was the only air he could find. The way we moved together, desperate and clumsy and perfect all at once, like the world outside didn’t exist.
I loved having him inside me. God, I loved it.
The way he filled me, anchored me, made everything else fall away until there was just us.
I just didn’t expect him to leave his seed behind. Didn’t think far enough ahead to what it might mean.
I thought it was just passion. Just two broken people clinging to each other because it felt good. Because it felt right, even if it wasn’t smart.
Stupid. So stupid.
I open my eyes and stare down at my stomach, flat under the oversized hoodie I threw on. You wouldn’t know by looking at me that there’s a whole new life growing inside.
That something permanent, something irreversible, happened that night while I wasn’t paying attention to anything except the feel of Carter’s mouth on my body and the sound of his voice whispering promises he never meant to keep.
I wrap my arms around myself and exhale shakily.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
There was supposed to be a future where I left Hawaii with nothing but a few memories—and maybe a tan if I was lucky.
Not this.
The worst part? A tiny, traitorous part of me still aches for him. Still misses the way he held me like I was something precious. Still hopes, in some delusional corner of my heart, that maybe he misses me, too. But missing someone doesn’t undo the damage.
And it sure as hell doesn’t change the fact that I’m standing here, alone, facing something way bigger than anything I’m ready for.
I stare down at the test again, hoping—idiotically—that somehow the result changed in the last ten seconds.
It didn’t.
Still pregnant.
I squeeze my eyes shut and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My hands shake so badly I have to set the test down on the sink just to breathe.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Not alone, sitting half-dressed in a bathroom that still smells faintly of lavender soap and cheap vanilla candles.
I force myself to sit up straighter, dragging in a long, shaky breath.
“It’s fine,” I say out loud, forcing a smile that feels about as sturdy as wet tissue paper. “This is fine.”
I mean… I’m twenty-eight. Practically thirty. This was bound to happen eventually, right?
Plenty of people have babies before thirty. Some by choice. Some by accident.
Maybe this is a blessing. Maybe I’ll be one of those cool, organized moms with color-coded calendars and Pinterest-worthy lunchboxes.
My throat tightens.
I don’t believe a damn word coming out of my mouth. How can I convince myself to believe any of it when all I want to do is cry?
I shove the test into a drawer and grab my phone, hands shaking as I call the one person who’s always been my anchor.
“Ness?” My voice cracks the second she picks up.
“What’s wrong?” she demands—no hello, just immediate best-friend mode.
“I need you to come over.” Without even asking why, she says, “I’m on my way.”
Next, I call my mom, then Jeremy and his girlfriend Marissa. Last, I call my dad, knowing he won’t come but would complain if he found out I shared important news with mom without even inviting him.
He answers on the third ring, distracted as usual.
“Hey, kiddo. Everything okay?”
“I just… need you to come over. I have news.”
He sighs. “I’m slammed with work, pumpkin. Can it wait until next week?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Yeah. It can wait.”
“Love you, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Love you too,” I murmur, ending the call before he can hear the tears thickening in my throat.
By the time everyone else piles into my tiny living room, I’ve managed to paste on a version of my face that almost looks calm.
Almost.
Jeremy plops down onto the couch, Marissa curling up next to him. Vanessa sits beside me, close enough that her knee brushes mine in silent solidarity.
“So,” Jeremy says, grabbing a handful of chips from the bowl on the table. “You called in the troops. What’s the emergency?”
There’s no easy way to say it. So I take a deep breath, squeeze the pillow tighter against my chest, and just blurt it out: “I’m pregnant.”
For a second, the room is so quiet I can hear the clock ticking. Then Jeremy chokes on his chips. Marissa gasps and claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. And Vanessa—sweet, amazing Vanessa—just squeezes my hand and grins.
“Well damn, sis!” Jeremy finally says, coughing. “Didn’t see that one coming. Must be slim pickings out there if someone knocked you up,” he says jokingly.
“Says the flamingo,” I fire back, grinning.
“Ouch,” he says mockingly, holding onto his chest like he’s in physical pain.
My mother rolls her eyes. “That’s enough, you two,” she says just as Jeremy and I are sticking our tongues out at each other like we were back in grade school.
“Plot twist!” Marissa giggles, reaching over to rub my knee. “Congratulations! Oh my god, we’re going to have a baby around!”
I give a half-laugh, half-sob. “Thanks… I think?”
“So… five months, huh?” Jeremy says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a long time not to notice, Ivy. Has everything been okay with you?”
“Yeah, I mean… the baby’s almost full-term,” Marissa adds, her eyes wide.
I shrug, hugging the pillow tighter against my stomach. “My cycles have always been all over the place, but it’s never been this long. I guess I just had so much on my mind—with the article blowing up, all these different news outlets reaching out to verify my sources or offer me work—it kept me distracted.”
“But you know,” my mom jumps in, smiling so wide it makes my throat tighten, “you didn’t even look pregnant at first. But now? I can see it—you’re glowing, Ivy. This is insane! I’m going to be a grandmother!”
She claps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement.
“What do you think I should go by? Nana? Yeah… that’s it. Nana!” she says, nodding like she’s already decided.
We spend the next half-hour doing what my family does best: cracking jokes to keep from falling apart.
Jeremy offers to build the crib—“Just don’t sue me when it collapses.” Marissa starts planning a baby shower complete with an inflatable bouncy castle—“for the adults, obviously.” Vanessa demands naming rights if it’s a girl—“Vanessica is a strong name, don’t fight me on this.”
It’s loud and chaotic and ridiculous, but it helps.
Still, I keep one massive thing to myself. The father. I know Vanessa’s eyes keep darting to me, silently asking if I’m going to say it out loud.
I don’t. Not yet. When everyone finally leaves, the house feels both too quiet and too heavy. I flop back on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers.
“You have to tell him,” Vanessa says gently, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.
“I know.”
“What’s the plan?” she asks, pulling her knees up onto the couch like we’re plotting a heist.
I chew on my bottom lip, staring at my phone like it might sprout arms and deliver the message for me. “He’s not reading anything I send him, nor answering my calls. Every text, every voicemail gets ignored. It’s like screaming into a void.”
Vanessa leans in, her voice low like we’re conspiring. “What if you send something he can’t ignore?”
“Like what? Smoke signals?” I mumble.
She grins. “No, seriously. Something dramatic. Maybe say you’re in the hospital?”
I make a face. “Fake a medical emergency? Yeah, because lying is a great way to kick off co-parenting.”
“Okay, bad idea,” she concedes, holding up her hands. “Brainstorming here.”
I slump back against the couch. “I don’t know, Ness. Maybe I should just… not tell him.”
She whips her head toward me so fast I’m surprised her neck doesn’t snap. “You can’t not tell him. Ivy, this is his baby, too. He deserves to know.”
I know she’s right. I do. But the thought of reaching out and baring myself all over again only to be met with silence—or worse, rejection—makes my chest ache.
“What if I write a letter?” I suggest weakly. “An actual handwritten letter. Very Jane Austen.”
Vanessa gives me a look. “What year do you think this is? He’s a billionaire, not Mr. Darcy. You think he’s going to open snail mail?”
“Good point.” I rub my hands over my face. “God, this is a nightmare.”
She’s quiet for a second, then says, “Okay. What about sending a package? Like… a baby onesie or something.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Right, because nothing says ‘life-altering news’ like tiny laundry.”
“Fair. Still brainstorming.” She taps her fingers against her thigh, thinking. “We need something short. Punchy. Direct. No explanations he can skim over. No excuses he can hide behind.”
I sit up a little straighter. “What if…” I start to say but then I trail off, heart thudding.
Vanessa’s eyes light up. “Go on.”
I swallow hard. “What if I just text him two words? No buildup. No warning. Just… ‘I’m pregnant.’”
No long paragraphs. No room for him to ignore it. Just the truth, dropped right in his lap like a grenade.
Vanessa lifts an eyebrow. “You’re seriously gonna hit him with a ‘You up?’ text but make it ‘I’m pregnant’?”
“Pretty much.”
She laughs, but there’s sadness in it, too. “You’re a savage.”
“Desperate,” I correct.
Vanessa nods slowly. “Honestly? That might be the only way he actually sees it.”
“Yes, because it will show up in the preview, so he won’t even have to click on the text message to see it,” I say, feeling victorious.
I look down at my phone, my hands trembling.
Two words. I can do two words.
“I’ll do it,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.
Vanessa leans over, squeezing my hand. “Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this.”
I nod, blinking fast to clear the sting behind my eyes.
I open the message thread. And, with my heart hammering against my ribs,
I type the two words that will change everything.
I’m pregnant.
I hit send.
And for the first time in months… the message is marked “read.”
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. Vanessa and I sit frozen, eyes locked on the phone screen like it’s a bomb waiting to detonate. Waiting for something. Anything.
Will he respond? Or will it be another silent gut punch?
I force out a shaky breath and shove the phone onto the coffee table, backing away like it’s dangerous.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound calm even though my voice shakes, “let’s just… put it down. If he replies, we’ll hear it. If not, whatever. We did our best work, bestie.”
Vanessa gives me a look—part pity, part encouragement—but nods like she’s willing to go along with the lie if it keeps me from falling apart.
Seconds drag by, slow and heavy, minutes stretch into forever.
Then—
Ding.
We both lunge for the phone, knocking over a pillow in the process.
I fumble with it, my hands shaking so badly it takes two tries to unlock the screen.
And there it is.
Carter: I want to know the minute my child is born. Until then, tell me where to send the checks.
I read it once. Twice. A third time, hoping I missed something—anything—that would make it hurt less.
I stare at the words until they blur. The air feels too thin, like I’m trying to breathe underwater. No emotion. No apology. No “How are you?”, no “We need to talk.”
Just… business. Just money. Cold, detached words from a man who once held me like I was something he couldn’t live without.
Beside me, Vanessa mutters a curse under her breath, but I barely register it.
The world feels too quiet, like someone turned the volume all the way down and left me alone in the silence.
I blink hard, swallowing against the lump rising in my throat.
I told myself it wouldn’t matter. That just telling him was enough. That whatever his reaction was, it wouldn’t break me.
I was wrong.
Because with one text, Carter Volcor shattered what was left of me.