Chapter 16
Sixteen
HARLEY
Easton’s handwriting blurs before I even finish the second sentence. I blink hard, thinking I read it wrong. I read it again.
Little Bird,
I don’t know where to start, so I’ll keep this short. I have new information that Rick thinks might help me. It came from Gray. Yes, that Gray. He showed up out of nowhere, and I’m still sorting through how I feel about it. But what he gave me could change things.
I’ll explain more soon. Just hold on for me. I’m fighting my way back to you.
Always yours,
Easton
I re-read the name until it stopped looking like English and starts looking like some foreign mark carved into the page. Gray . His foster brother. The same Gray who framed him years ago. The same Gray who hasn’t shown his face since.
If Easton is even willing to put his name on paper, it has to mean something. Still, confusion knots in my chest. Why now? Why come back when everything is already broken, sitting wide open?
I shove the letter into the shoebox with the others, but this one doesn’t slide in as neatly. It sticks up, the corner jutting like a reminder that nothing is as simple as I want it to be.
Kennedy honks from outside. I grab my bag, shove my hair into a messy bun, and try to breathe through the nausea that hasn’t quite left since morning. We’re supposed to go shopping for baby clothes today. Her idea, not mine, because I’m not sure I’m ready. But Kennedy has been relentless.
“Just a few outfits,” she’d say. “Nothing crazy. You need to get excited about this, Harley.”
The truth is … excitement scares me. But I agreed to go anyway. I can’t keep living only in letters and therapy sessions.
The little boutique in the mall smells like baby powder and lavender detergent, the kind of smell that feels soft enough to crawl into.
Tiny dresses in pale pinks and creams line the walls while racks of onesies in every imaginable print stretch in neat rows.
A wall display with of shoes no bigger than the palm of my hand makes my throat tighten.
Kennedy heads straight for the racks, her nails tapping against the hangers as she flips through the onesies. “Oh my god, look at this one.” She holds up a soft yellow onesie with little white ducks on it. “Tell me this doesn’t make your ovaries explode.”
I try to smile, but my hands stay shoved in my pockets. “It’s cute.”
“ Cute? Harley, this is life-altering levels of adorable.” Kennedy holds it to my chest like she’s measuring it against the life growing inside me. “The baby’s going to look like a literal sunbeam in this.”
I pull the onesie from her hands and hang it back up, my fingers trembling. “I’m not ready to buy things yet.”
Her expression softens. She sets her hand on my arm. “I know. But you don’t have to buy. Just … look. Dream a little. You’ve been so stuck in survival mode you don’t let yourself think about the good stuff.”
I stare at the rack, at the tiny pieces of fabric stitched into futures. Dreaming feels like balancing on the edge of a knife. But Kennedy is right. I can’t keep treating this baby like a possibility that might disappear.
I reach out and pick up a small knit hat in pale green. The yarn is soft against my skin. “This one’s … nice.”
Kennedy grins like I just announced I won the lottery. “Progress!”
We move through the store slowly, her filling the silence with chatter about patterns and colors, while I let myself imagine for just a few minutes what it might be like to dress a little girl in one of these outfits.
To fold them into drawers. To see Easton’s hands struggle with the tiny buttons and laugh when he gets them wrong.
I put the hat back carefully. “One day.”
Kennedy loops her arm through mine. “One day soon .”
We carry a few small bags out of the shop, she convinced me to buy a few things. We sit on a bench outside, the late afternoon sun slanting low and casting the sidewalk in gold. Kennedy sips her drink, her lips pressing tightly together.
“What is it?” I ask.
She places the cup on the bench and rubs her hands together. “I broke up with Ethan.”
My head snaps toward her. “What? When?”
“Last night.” Her voice is flat, like she’s trying not to give it too much weight.
“He got angry with me over something stupid. I don’t even remember what started it.
But the way he looked at me, Harley … I didn’t like it.
And then he shoved a chair so hard it splintered.
I realized if I stayed, it was only going to get worse. ”
Ice runs through me. “Kennedy.”
“I left,” she says quickly, cutting me off before the panic in my voice can grow. “I packed a bag, walked out, and I’m not going back. I’m done making excuses for him.”
I reach for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Good. You did the right thing.”
Her shoulders shake, the bravado slipping. “I don’t have anywhere to go though. My mom will just say I should’ve stuck it out, and I can’t stomach hearing that. Do you think … Can I stay with you? Just until I find somewhe?—”
“Yes.” The word is out before she can even finish her sentence. “Of course. As long as you need. You don’t even have to ask.”
Tears rim her eyes, but she blinks them back. “You already have so much on your plate.”
“You’re my best friend,” I say firmly. “You’ve been holding me together since the day Easton was arrested. You’ll always have a place with me.”
For a moment, she leans her head on my shoulder, both of us silent, listening to the sounds of the bustling mall.
I think about Easton’s letter, about Gray’s name scrawled across the page. About the past crashing into our present. About Kennedy sitting beside me now, raw and vulnerable, asking for safety.
Maybe that’s what this whole season of life is about, all of us clawing for a place to feel safe. Me, Kennedy, Easton. And maybe the baby too, waiting quietly for a world that hasn’t figured itself out yet.
I lay my hand over my stomach, feeling the faintest flutter that is probably just nerves … but maybe, maybe, it’s something more.
“I’ll take care of you,” I whisper. I’m not sure if I mean Kennedy or the baby or both.
Maybe both.
Later that evening, while Kennedy is packing her things into boxes at Ethan’s apartment, I find the courage to make the call I’ve been avoiding. My fingers hover over the phone for what feels like forever until I finally press Call.
“Harley, honey, hi,” my mom answers, her voice clipped but polite, like I was one more meeting she happened to squeeze into her planner. Of course she had to wait until the last ring to pick up.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?” I twist the hem of my shirt between my fingers, praying she’s been too busy with work to notice the local news. Wishful thinking, of course.
“I’ve been wondering when you would call,” she says, and I can already hear the edge beneath her words. “I saw Easton on the news. He’s been arrested again?”
The bluntness hits me like a slap. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve tried to be patient. Harley, I really have. But I don’t understand why you tie yourself to this man who seems to drag you down at every turn.”
My throat burns, but I force my voice to stay steady. “Because you don’t know him like I do. He’s not what the news says. He was protecting Kennedy that night. He got shoved first?—”
“Protecting?” she interrupts, a disbelieving laugh catching in her throat. “Harley, that’s what men like him always say. They had to protect someone; they had no choice. And yet here you are, holding the pieces again while he’s behind bars.”
My stomach twists with a mix of anger and shame. I think about hanging up, retreating, but instead I press my hand to my belly and remind myself that this call isn’t just about me anymore.
“Mom,” I say, my voice breaking through softer than I intended, “I’m pregnant.”
The silence on the other end stretches so long I think the call has dropped. Then, a sharp inhale.
“Pregnant?” Her tone swings from disbelief to something I can’t quite place.
“Yes.” My grip on the phone tightens. “Three months. I was going to tell you sooner, but with everything that’s happened?—”
“You’re having his baby.” It’s not a question, more a verdict.
“Yes,” I whisper.
For the first time in my life, my mother sounds shaken. Her work voice, her perfect-event-planner composure, falters. “Harley … this is … this is a lot. A baby changes everything.”
“I know,” I say quickly, before she can spiral into another lecture. “That’s why I’m calling. I don’t need your approval. I just thought maybe … maybe this time you could try to be here for me. For us.”
Another pause. I hear the faint shuffle of papers on her end, like she’s still working, even during this conversation. “If you want me to come to your next appointment, I will.”
Tears sting my eyes unexpectedly. Not a promise, not warmth, but something. A crack in the wall. “Okay,” I whisper. “That would mean a lot.”
“I’ll check my schedule,” she says, her tone already drifting back toward business. “But … I’ll try, Harley. I really will.”
It’s not perfect. It isn’t the mother I’ve always wanted. But it’s more than the nothing from before.
When I hung up, my hands are still shaking. Kennedy stands in the doorway, a half-filled box in her arms, her face soft with concern.
“You, okay?” she asks.
I wipe at my eyes and give her a shaky smile. “I will be. Just have one more call to make and then we can watch a movie or something.”
She nods and heads toward the guest room, leaving me alone with my phone.
I stare at the screen for what feels like forever, Easton’s last letter still echoing in my head.
You can tell my parents. They need some good news.
Good news. I’m sure if that’s what they’d call it. But I know he’s right, they deserve to know.
With trembling fingers, I scroll until their number light my phone screen. I press Call before I lose my nerve.
It rings once, twice, three times.
“Hello?” His mother’s voice, soft but tired, the way people sound when they’ve been holding their breath for too long.
“Hi, Layla. It’s … Harley.”
A pause. “Harley.” I hear her inhale sharply, a hundred emotions packing themselves into the sound. “How are you, sweetheart? Are you, are you doing okay with everything?”
The lump in my throat grows. “I’m managing. I … I actually called because there’s something important I need to tell you and Andy.”
“Hold on,” she says quickly, her voice pitching higher. “Andy, it’s Harley. Pick up the other line.”
A click, and then his father’s deeper voice joins. “Harley. It’s good to hear your voice.”
I grip the phone tighter. “Hi, Andy.” My breath shakes as I try to form the words.
“I know things have been hard with Easton. I know seeing him on the news again must’ve been—” I break off, pressing a hand to my stomach like it can steady me.
“But I wanted you to hear this from me, not from anyone else.”
Silence stretches, both of them waiting.
“I’m pregnant.”
The line is quiet for a moment, and then his mother’s breath catches.
“Oh.”
His father clears his throat, his voice rough. “How far along?”
“Three months.”
Another pause, then his mother speaks again, her voice trembling. “A baby. Our boy is going to be a father.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “He asked me to tell you. He said you needed some good news. I wasn’t sure if you’d think of it that way, but … I do.”
“Oh, Harley.” Her voice cracks, and I realized she’s crying. “It is good news. It’s … it’s hope. Do you know how long it’s been since we had any of that?”
I swallow hard, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I wanted you to know because I want this baby to know you. To know they have grandparents who love them, even if,” my voice wavers, “even if Easton can’t be here right now.”
“We’ll be here,” Andy says firmly, no hesitation in his voice. “For you, for the baby, for Easton when he gets out. You’re not alone, Harley.”
The weight in my chest loosens just a little. “Thank you.”
“We’d like to come visit you soon,” his mother adds quickly. “If you’re comfortable with that. We don’t want to intrude, but … we want to be part of this. Of you. ”
For the first time all day, I let out a real breath. “I’d like that. I think Easton would, too.”
We speak for a few more minutes about doctor’s appointments, about how I was feeling, about how they’ve been praying for something to hold onto. When we finally hang up, my cheeks are extremely wet, but my chest feels much lighter.
I set the phone down and press both hands over my stomach. “Your grandparents already love you,” I whisper. “And when your daddy’s home, you’ll have all of us. Together.”
From down the hall, Kennedy calls, “Popcorn or ice cream for the movie?”
I wipe my face and stand, feeling stronger than I have in weeks. “Both!” I shout back, and for once, the word doesn’t feel like too much.