Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Who’s the lucky man?
Carina
Ihaven’t stopped thinking about the way he looked holding Theo, or the way he looked at me while doing it.
It’s been a few weeks now, but the memory keeps catching me off guard. The weight of that toddler against Reid’s chest, the absurd gentleness of his giant hands, the quiet reverence in the way he’d swayed slightly without even realizing he was doing it.
And the moment Theo had accepted me after his suspicious toddler tilt, Reid’s laugh had been soft and warm, watching me like I was already part of it. Of him.
I’d barely waited for the front door to close after everyone left before dragging him upstairs and riding him until my thighs trembled and my voice was hoarse. He let me take what I needed and then gave me more.
Gentle hands. Messy kisses. A nap that melted into late afternoon sunlight. I’d woken up to the feel of his mouth trailing sleepy kisses down my spine, and I’m not sure I want to be woken any other way ever again.
Reid Hutchison has ruined me.
And not just sexually, although that’s a significant factor. It’s everything else, too.
Neither of us has said it out loud, but something shifted after that brunch. We’re still pretending this is relatively casual, both too scared to label what it is, I think.
But we see each other as much as possible, and he texts me every day—half the messages are about the baby, the other half some weird combination of protective and hilarious.
Checking in to see what I need, sending me food deliveries when he knows I’m working late, or letting me know how big the baby is.
This week, it’s the size of a lime. Last week was a fig. He’s asked if I’ve had any new symptoms, has casually slipped in a question about iron supplements, and ended a recent conversation by asking whether I’d like him to check if my boobs are bigger.
I’m ninety percent sure he’s downloaded a pregnancy tracking app.
I’m one hundred percent sure he’s the only man who’s ever made me want to give up control, not because I don’t trust myself, but because I trust him.
And the worst part is, it doesn’t scare me. It makes me ache.
Because I’ve been doing life on my own for so long that it’s disorienting how good it feels to have someone else quietly keeping track. Like I matter enough to be watched. Remembered. Texted at midnight because he had a dream the baby had his nose and my glare, and he woke up sweating.
Which is probably why I’ve been procrastinating telling Heidi, because once I say it out loud, it becomes real in a whole new way. Not just a secret I can tuck into bed with me when I stay over at Reid’s. Not just ours.
It becomes something with rules and risk.
The sidewalk glints warm beneath my slides as I shift my weight from one foot to the other, sunglasses pushed up on my head, phone clutched in my palm. I’m about to cave and check the time again when I hear her voice.
“God, it’s a scorcher already! I vote al fresco!”
Heidi barrels into view, her own sunglasses already on, hair up in an elaborate twist that somehow still looks cool despite the heat. She’s balancing two iced coffees and a pastry bag in one hand, and she’s grinning at me like nothing in the world could be wrong.
I manage a small smile, stepping forward to help. “You know ‘al fresco’ just means wasps, right?”
“Incorrect. It means vitamin D, hot women in slutty dresses to flirt with, and the best gossip,” she declares, thrusting a coffee into my hand. “And I will not be robbed of my sunshine serotonin.”
We settle at a small table in the shade of an oversized yellow umbrella, the kind that looks like it belongs in a travel ad. Heidi kicks off her sandals and tucks one leg under the other, then tears into the pastry bag to hand me a danish.
“This has raspberry filling and made me drool on the spot,” she says, and I try to brush off the memory of Reid telling me when our baby was the size of a raspberry. “Just like my taste in men and women last summer.”
“Your taste in them every summer,” I correct, unwrapping the danish.
“Rude! Accurate and rude.”
I take a bite and immediately groan. It’s flaky and still warm. The raspberry preserve is sticky and sweet, and I probably moan a little louder than necessary because Heidi fans herself.
“Jesus Christ, Park, buy it dinner first.”
“I’m pregnant,” I mutter through the pastry.
She barks a laugh, but then her whole body freezes.
“Wait, what?”
I swallow. “I said, I’m pregnant.”
She stares at me, and I stare back. A tiny crumb falls off her bottom lip.
And then she frowns, leaning forward on a stage-whisper. “Shut the fuck up!”
“Heidi—”
“No. No, no, no, you don’t get to drop a life-altering bombshell between a sex joke and a pastry. Start over.” She slaps the table lightly. “How far along? Are you okay? Do I need to order more pastries to process this?”
I huff a quiet laugh, suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth in her voice. “Twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks?! You’ve known for that long?”
“Not that long. I found out around five. But yeah, I’ve known. I’ve just… been trying to figure it out.”
“Park.” Her voice softens instantly, the sunshine still there but tempered now. “Are you okay?”
I consider her question. “Yeah, I think so. Some days I am, and some days, it still knocks the air outta me. But it’s getting less… terrifying.”
Her eyes search my face, then narrow slightly. “Wait. Who’s the…?”
I say nothing and look down, taking a long sip of iced coffee.
Heidi’s jaw drops. “Oh my god. Is it Reid Hutchi—”
“Shhh!” I hiss, looking around even though no one is close enough to hear. “Jesus.”
“Oh my god, I knew it,” she repeats, but now it’s less shock and more glee. “Oh my god. That man is so hot, I won’t be surprised if your baby has abs already. And you two were—? While he was still—?”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, not during his surgery or when I was in charge of his case. We barely spoke back then; we were just… snarky. He was grumpy, I was stressed, and then he got transferred to you for rehab. We didn’t get close until the fundraiser stuff.”
She nods, still holding the danish like it’s a microphone. “Okay. Okay, good. Because I was gonna say—love chaos, but not if it means you lose your medical license.”
“Which is why I haven’t told anyone else. Including Moreno.”
Heidi goes still again. “You haven’t told Moreno… anything?”
I shake my head. “Not even that I’m pregnant.”
“Carina.”
“I know.” I blow out a breath. “I’ve just been putting it off.
You’ve seen how it goes with surgeons and pregnancy.
It doesn’t matter how competent you are, people start assuming things.
They think you’re distracted and weak, or not serious about the job anymore.
You don’t get asked to scrub in on certain procedures because suddenly, you’re a liability. ”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Yeah,” she says finally. “I have seen that.”
“I just needed to wrap my head around it first.”
“Okay,” Heidi says, already in solution mode.
“Then let’s break it down. You work at a private clinic, so if someone did report something, it’ll go to Moreno first for an internal review.
And you’ve got clean separation, full handover notes in the system, and I was assigned as his physio right after post-op. ”
“Still looks messy.”
“Only if someone’s trying really hard to make it look messy,” she says. “You weren’t involved romantically while he was under your care. You weren’t even supervising me once things shifted between you. There’s a paper trail, and it’s clean.”
I let that sink in. “You think Moreno’ll see it that way?”
“I think Moreno cares about ethics, but he’s also not an idiot. He knows you. He knows you’re not the type to cross lines.”
I glance down at the condensation sliding down my cup. “I’m just scared. Of screwing this up and being judged, of losing everything I’ve worked for.”
Heidi reaches across the table and taps my hand gently. “Then just start simple. Tell him you’re pregnant—that’s it. You don’t have to tell him anything more than that. He doesn’t need to know who the father is.”
“And if he asks?”
“Then you say the truth: the pregnancy doesn’t affect your ability to work, and the rest of the details are personal. You’ll advise the team when you’re ready to discuss maternity plans. That’s it.”
I nod slowly, and the knot in my chest loosens. Not much, but it’s something.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll tell him… after my twelve-week scan.”
Heidi grins, her sunshine back in full force. “Perfect. We’ll celebrate with pastry. Or a name brainstorm—oh! Baby clothes shopping. Oh my god, Park, you’re gonna be such a good mom!”
My stomach flips, but this time, it’s not panic. It’s something quieter and almost warm.
I wrap both hands around my coffee and take a long sip, letting the sun soak into my shoulders.
Yeah. I think I am.
***
The lights are dimmed, the monitor glows pale blue, and I’m already clutching Reid’s hand like we’re on a rollercoaster I can’t get off. Our sonographer presses the probe gently to my stomach and moves it in gentle circles.
“There we go,” she says warmly. “There’s baby.”
And just like that, everything else fades. The shape on the screen isn’t just a blob anymore—it’s a profile. A tiny head and curved back, small limbs curled in like punctuation marks. And when the tech shifts the angle, we see the flicker again.
The heartbeat.
A swooping sound floods the speakers, and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Reid’s thumb starts stroking gently across the back of my hand. I glance at him, and the look on his face nearly breaks me.
His jaw is slack, eyes wide. He looks reverent and ruined all at once.
“That’s a whole person,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on the screen. “Like, an actual baby. That’s a whole ass person in there.”
The tech smiles. “Eleven weeks and five days by measurement. Slightly under our dating estimate, but nothing to worry about.”
“Oh shit,” Reid says, eyes still wide on the screen. “Is that a foot?”