Chapter 13
Mason
A deep, hollow burn in my stomach forced me awake.
I’d been ignoring it for what? An hour? Drifting in and out of a restless slumber. But there was no denying it anymore: for the millionth time today, I was starving.
I groaned and scrubbed a hand over my face as my eyes adjusted to the perfect dark of our bedroom.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t alone in bed.
Cameron was asleep on the far side, practically glued to my nightstand. Rosie had somehow charmed her way into the middle. Which, yes, wasn’t technically safe. But God, it was cute. So cute.
She was curled up like a comma in her muslin sleep sack, the one covered in tiny moose. A thin stream of milk dribbled from her mouth, and when I looked down, I realized something else.
I was topless.
Rubbing my face, I tried to remember the last time I’d fed her, pretty sure it was a few hours ago. But I also had a blurry mental image of pulling her from the mini crib, plopping her on the bed, and letting her latch while I dozed.
Apparently, I’d never gotten around to putting her back.
Carefully, I slid a hand beneath her and lifted her to my chest. She made a soft noise–half sigh, half whimper–but didn’t wake. Her cheek squished against my shoulder, mouth slack from feeding. I kissed the top of her head and breathed her in, tears stinging behind my eyes.
She was so small. And I loved her so much. I could have a million babies just like her and be the happiest woman in the world.
But I didn’t want to be pregnant again.
And that’s what made this so hard.
I padded over to the crib and laid her down, holding my breath like the air itself might wake her. She hit the mattress with a sharp inhale, her arms shooting up, eyes flying open.
I froze like a burglar in my own house.
After a long moment, her gaze drifted. She smacked her lips, gave a soft sigh, and went back under.
I pressed a hand to my chest and exhaled.
Tension melted just enough for me to flick on the butterfly lamp. I grabbed a book from the shelf and crawled back into bed.
When I was pregnant with Rosie, I learned that if I lay still enough and focused on something else, I could sometimes trick my body into ignoring the nausea.
But this wasn’t morning sickness.
This was hunger.
Raw. Aching. Impossible to ignore.
Worse than anything from my third trimester.
I could eat a full meal and still be starving an hour later. And it wasn’t like I was craving kale or steamed rice. I wanted fries. Mac and cheese. Burgers. Trash food I hadn’t touched in almost a decade.
With a photoshoot next week, that didn’t work.
Luckily, my dad once told me that water filled an empty stomach as well as food. And, right now, I needed that.
My fingers brushed the cool metal of my water bottle. I flipped the top and took three long, desperate pulls through the straw.
That’s when the water stopped.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I didn’t want to go upstairs. If I did, I’d grab a snack. I knew I would. And that was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I shook the bottle, hoping for a slosh.
Just ice.
“Goddammit,” I hissed, slamming it onto the nightstand harder than I meant to.
My lip wobbled.
Of course it did.
I didn’t even have a good reason to cry, not one I could explain, anyway. But I wanted to.
I was tired. My stomach was empty. My brain was full. Everything felt... off.
Like I was one minor inconvenience away from falling apart.
Then—
“Mae?”
Cameron’s voice was thick with sleep. That low, scratchy drawl he only had when he was half-conscious.
Shit.
My shoulders slumped, like I could disappear under the blankets. The covers rustled, and a moment later, his hand found my back.
“You alright?”
I nodded, but didn’t look at him. Just curled up tighter.
“You sure?”
He pulled me in like a magnet, tucking me against his chest. His arm wrapped around me, hand sliding to my stomach like it had a mind of its own.
I let out a choppy breath.
I wanted to lie. I really did. But I couldn’t.
“I'm hungry,” I whispered.
He laughed softly, warm breath brushing the back of my neck.
“Course you are,” he murmured. “You’re pregnant.”
There it was.
He said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t the giant, awful, life-upending tragedy I’d been avoiding all day.
My arms curled against my chest, elbows tight to my ribs. His hand stayed on my belly, rubbing gently like it already meant something more.
“What d’ya want?” he asked. “You inhaled that burger earlier. I’ll go get another.”
I wanted to disappear.
He was right. I’d devoured it. And it was the best thing I’d tasted in years.
But I hadn’t eaten meat since I was seventeen. And I hated how easy it had been to forget that.
“I don’t want this,” I said, and the tears came before I could stop them.
Cameron froze. His hand stayed exactly where it was.
“You’re not talkin’ about food,” he said softly.
I shook my head. Then turned to face him.
“I need you to tell me what to do.”
He was older. Wiser. That was supposed to mean something.
What good was dating someone old enough to be your dad if he couldn’t make the hard decisions?
“Baby girl,” he said, voice full of warmth and concern, “I can’t.”
“And why not?”
My voice cracked. I hated how desperate I sounded.
He shifted closer, close enough for me to feel his words on my cheek.
“Because it’s your body, Mae. It has to be your choice.”
I stared at him, throat locked.
That wasn’t the answer I wanted. Not even close.
“I don’t want it to be my choice,” I snapped. “I want someone to take it from me. To make it simple. To make it go away.”
His brow furrowed. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.
“You were happy when the test came up positive.”
I’d made him look first because I couldn’t. His hands had shaken. But the moment he saw the result, his face lit up. He grinned so wide it split him in half. Then he spun me around, laughing, crying, kissing every inch of my face.
He started talking about names. About telling Sebastian. About how he hoped for a boy this time. That way, he’d have two of each.
Cameron had always wanted four kids. And for a second, it felt like he believed the universe had finally decided to be kind.
But me?
I was frozen. Trapped in my own head with one thought I couldn’t shake:
I didn’t feel what he felt.
“When I was buying the tests, I didn’t think I’d be happy either,” he admitted. “And I wasn’t. Not really. Not until I saw it. But, also didn’t know you weren’t happy.”
“I don’t know if I’m happy or not,” I snapped, then remembered Rosie. I lowered my voice. “Everything hurts. My boobs haven’t stopped leaking since last year.”
Cameron nodded, waiting.
“I’m not ready,” I whispered. “Not even close. I barely got my body back. I’m still healing. Cam, I almost died.”
My voice cracked again, and this time I didn’t hide it.
“But I love Rosie more than breathing. I love being her mom. And I know one day I’ll want another one. So why does this feel so... wrong?”
“Because it’s not just about wanting a baby,” he said gently. “It’s about timing. About choice. And this doesn’t feel like yours.”
I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“We don’t gotta tell anyone yet,” he said. “Not until you’re ready. One step at a time.”
I nodded again. Slower this time.
“Right now,” he murmured, “you’re hungry. So let’s start there.”
He sat up and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.
“It’s midnight,” he muttered, scrolling. “But if you’re craving—”
I shook my head quickly.
“If you want a burger,” he persisted, giving me a look, “I’ll go get it.”
And knowing Cam? He meant it. Anything I wanted, I’d get.
But I also needed to prove to myself I had some kind of control.
If I told him that, he’d worry. So instead, I kissed his cheek and slipped out of bed.
“There has to be something upstairs. Just a small snack. Then I’ll sleep.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. Told him to go back to sleep.
He didn’t argue, just told me to make sure I got enough, like he’d know if I didn’t.
The carpet was soft underfoot as I crept through the basement and up the stairs. The house should’ve been quiet; everyone was supposed to be asleep.
But the second I reached the top step, I heard voices.
Worse than that, I heard bickering.
“You can’t just say you’re going to fuck my wife.”
That was Lucian.
“Yeah, I’m not just going to say it,” came Sebastian’s voice. “I’m going to do it.”
I froze, hand hovering over the doorknob. Every part of me screamed to go back to bed and pretend I hadn’t heard any of it.
But Cameron would know, and he’d ask. And that would become a thing.
So I twisted the knob and slipped through the door, praying I could sneak past them.
No chance.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lucian hissed at Sebastian.
The sour, skunky smell of marijuana hit me instantly. So did Sebastian’s low laugh.
Weed never bothered me. Hell, Seb and I had already talked about smoking together once I was done breastfeeding. But right now?
It churned my stomach.
I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from gagging. The slight wet sound made both of them look at me like they weren’t just mid-argument over which one of them got to fuck me.
So much for sneaking past.
Two pairs of eyes locked on me. At first, they looked surprised, maybe even a little guilty, but that shame shifted fast into hunger.
An incredibly familiar hunger.
But, I’d never seen it on both of them at the same time.
Sebastian adjusted his glasses, sitting up a little straighter. He cleared his throat like he could cough the high out of his lungs, but the pink around his eyes and that stupid smirk on his face gave him away.
“Hey, Princess,” he rasped, voice thick with smoke. “What’re you doing up? Cameron said you weren’t feeling great.”
I ignored him and moved toward the kitchen, hoping they’d get back to their dick measuring contest and leave me out of it.
Nope.
Lucian followed.
“Wait, you’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked just a little.