45. Addy
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Addy
By the time Luci and I get back to the penthouse, I’ve consumed one grilled cheese sandwich, three pickle slices, half a lemonade, and approximately six hundred conflicting emotions.
Triplet pregnancy apparently means your body spins a giant wheel labeled CHAOS every hour and waits to see what happens.
One minute I’m starving enough to consider biting strangers. The next, the smell of roasted almonds nearly made me cry in Millennium Park because they “felt aggressive.”
I don’t know what that means either.
Luci claims my hormones are “running a hostile corporate merger inside my bloodstream.”
The elevator ride up is quiet.
I lean against the mirrored wall, exhausted. My feet hurt. My back hurts. My emotions hurt. Even my bra feels insulting.
Luci watches me from the corner of her eye. “You okay?”
“No,” I say honestly.
“Nice. Growth.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open. As soon as I open the door, I freeze.
“What the hell?”
Luci nearly walks into my back. “Ow. Why did you stop?”
I just stare. Because sometime between this morning and now, Ethan Strong apparently activated Full Billionaire Emergency Nesting Mode.
The penthouse looks like a luxury prenatal clinic had a very expensive affair with a five-star hotel.
A woman in navy scrubs stands near the living room, speaking quietly into a tablet.
There are floral arrangements, folders, medical binders, a basket on the kitchen island filled with crackers, electrolyte drinks, prenatal vitamins, ginger candies, herbal teas, compression socks, and what appears to be six different kinds of pregnancy-safe lotion.
There’s also an enormous arrangement of pale peonies beside a handwritten card.
My throat tightens immediately.
“What…” Luci blinks slowly. “Did Batman get someone pregnant?”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
The woman in scrubs looks up with a warm smile. “Ms. Clarke?”
Oh no.
Professional women smiling gently at me is my emotional weakness today.
“That depends,” I say carefully. “Are you here to medically supervise my breakdown?”
Her smile widens slightly. “I’m Claire. Maternal Fetal Medicine Nurse Coordinator. Dr. Hernandez asked me to come by before your consultation tomorrow.”
I stare at her. My brain briefly leaves my body. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She gestures politely toward the dining table. The table, which now contains folders, printed schedules, care plans, nutritional guides, appointment outlines, emergency contact sheets, and what looks suspiciously like a color-coded pregnancy binder.
I turn slowly toward Luci.
She looks delighted. “Oh wow. He’s panic planning.”
“He’s what?”
“He’s rich man spiraling. This is what happens when emotionally unavailable billionaires fall in love. They start assembling medical Avengers.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“It’s accurate, though.”
Claire steps forward carefully, clearly experienced in handling overwhelmed pregnant women and possibly hostage negotiators. “Mr. Strong requested a full high-risk support structure,” she explains gently. “Entirely optional, of course. Nothing proceeds without your consent.”
My eyes drift across the table again.
There’s a highlighted schedule labeled: MULTIFETAL PREGNANCY CARE PLAN, NUTRITIONAL SUPPORT – FIRST TRIMESTER, HOME HEALTH OPTIONS, EMERGENCY RESPONSE PROTOCOLS, and NICU AFFILIATIONS.
My knees almost give out.
Luci catches my elbow. “Easy, fertile queen.”
“I’m going to throw a prenatal vitamin at you.”
“You’re too tired to aim.”
Then I notice the kitchen.
My mouth falls open slightly. Someone has stocked it.
Specifically for me. The sourdough bread I like, the yogurt brand I mentioned once, fresh fruit, the stupid expensive orange juice Ethan caught me staring at in Whole Foods three weeks ago before I quietly put it back because twenty dollars for juice feels morally suspicious, ginger tea, saltines, and even the coconut popsicles I said tasted “like emotional support in frozen form.”
My chest aches.
“Oh no,” Luci whispers beside me.
“What?”
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you realize a man paid attention to tiny things and now your ovaries are writing poetry.”
Claire politely pretends none of this conversation is happening, which makes me like her immediately.
“Mr. Strong also arranged for Dr. Hernandez to review your hospital records personally,” she says.
“Triplet pregnancies require closer monitoring, but many women do very well with the right support.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Claire softens. “You don’t have to absorb everything today. We can go step by step.”
That almost makes me cry.
Again.
At this point, my tear ducts are basically freelance workers.
A small blur suddenly barrels down the hallway. “Sunshine!”
Oliver launches himself at me. I barely have time to brace before Ethan catches him smoothly around the middle.
“Easy,” Ethan says immediately. “No tackling.”
Oliver twists dramatically in his arms. “But I missed her.”
“You saw her yesterday.”
“That was years ago. Before the suitcase.”
Ethan finally looks at me properly, and everything else in the room quiets. Damn, he’s devastating. Especially in this exhausted, trying, emotionally cracked-open way.
His tie is gone. His sleeves are rolled up. His hair looks like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times today. There’s stubble shadowing his jaw and tension sitting behind his eyes.
But when he looks at me now? Warmth, relief, and something terrifyingly close to love.
My stomach flips so hard I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t one of the babies trying parkour.
“Hi,” I say softly.
His gaze flicks over my face like he’s checking for damage. “Hi.”
Luci clears her throat loudly. “I’m leaving before the air gets emotionally humid.”
Oliver gasps. “No. Stay forever.”
“Tempting,” Luci says. “But I have employment and several unpaid parking tickets waiting for me.”
Captain trots into the room carrying one of Luci’s socks in his mouth.
“See?” she says. “Even the dog wants me gone.”
Captain wags harder.
Traitor.
Claire takes that as her cue to gather her tablet. “I’ll leave the materials here. Dr. Hernandez’s office will contact you directly tonight, Ms. Clarke.”
“Okay,” I say faintly.
She smiles at Ethan. “Mr. Strong.”
Then she leaves.
Silence settles softly afterward.
Luci points between Ethan and me. “I’m going to pack before one of you starts crying.” She grins and disappears down the hallway with Captain following.
Oliver tugs Ethan’s sleeve. “Can Addy see my runway again?”
Ethan’s eyes stay on mine. “In a minute, buddy.”
Oliver narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Are you gonna kiss?”
I choke on absolutely nothing.
Ethan, somehow, remains calm. “Possibly.”
“Gross,” Oliver says immediately, before skipping away toward his room.
Which leaves me alone with Ethan.
Again.
The dangerous place.
He walks toward me slowly, like I’m fragile and unpredictable.
“I know this is a lot,” he says quietly.
I look around the penthouse. “You think?”
A faint smile touches his mouth, then it disappears again. “I didn’t know how else to show you I was listening.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest because otherwise I might launch myself directly at him like a pregnant raccoon with attachment issues. “You arranged an entire medical infrastructure.”
“You’re carrying triplets.”
“That still sounds fake when people say it out loud.”
“It sounds terrifying.”
“It is terrifying.”
“I know.” He smiles faintly. “I was wrong. About a lot of things.” My throat tightens. “I thought if I handled the company first, the investigation first, Bryce first…” He exhales heavily. “Then I could come back to us when things were calmer.”
“There is no calmer,” I whisper.
“No.” His eyes hold mine. “There isn’t.”
The honesty in that nearly undoes me more than reassurance would have.
“I hurt you,” he says quietly. “I made you feel alone when you were already terrified.”
I shake my head automatically. “Ethan—”
“No.” His jaw tightens slightly. “I need to say it properly. I’ve spent four years surviving by controlling everything around me,” he says. “Work, schedules, risk, outcomes. Because the one time I lost control in the worst possible way, I lost Megan.”
Pain flashes across his face.
“And when you fainted,” he continues roughly, “I felt myself go back there. I hated that I froze. I hated that you saw it.”
My eyes sting immediately.
“But you aren’t my past,” he says softly. “And loving you isn’t betraying her.”
The air leaves my lungs.
Oh.
Oh.
I think something inside me heals a little hearing him say that out loud.
“I don’t expect perfection from you,” I whisper.
“No,” he says with a tired half smile. “You mostly expect sarcasm and functioning emotional communication.”
“Correct.”
“I’m working on the second one.”
I laugh wetly.
He steps closer, slow enough to stop if I pull away.
I don’t.
His hand brushes lightly against my waist. “If you give me the chance, I’ll do better.”
My heart hurts. “I’m still scared.”
Ethan’s hand shifts lightly against my waist, thumb brushing once like he’s grounding himself too. “So am I.”
The honesty in his voice makes something inside me ache.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
He lets out a quiet breath. “Neither do I.”
“That’s deeply unhelpful for a billionaire.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ll issue myself a formal complaint.”
I smile despite myself.
“I made something to eat.”
I blink. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds unsafe.”
“I followed instructions.”
“From who?”
“Three cookbooks and a nutritionist.”
I laugh again, softer this time.
He guides me gently toward the kitchen.
I sit slowly on one of the stools, suddenly exhausted all over again.
Ethan moves around the kitchen quietly, pouring tea, adjusting plates, and checking that I actually eat.
The domesticity of it sneaks up on me.
This man has piloted jets through storms, runs a billion-dollar aviation empire, can probably buy islands on impulse, and right now he’s frowning at toast like it personally offended my nutritional requirements.
Warmth unfolds painfully in my chest.
“You really did all this today?” I ask softly.
His eyes lift to mine. “I needed you to know staying wouldn’t mean handling this alone.”
That does it.
My eyes fill instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
And suddenly he’s there, one hand cupping my jaw, the other braced lightly against my hip.
I lean into him before pride can intervene.
“I’m hormonal,” I mumble against his shirt.
“I’m aware.”
“This is your fault.”
“Technically, partially.”
I laugh through tears.
His lips brush my forehead, and his breath catches, and I think that sound alone could keep me in Chicago forever.
Luci leaves after lunch.
There are approximately six hugs, three threats directed at Ethan, one whispered warning to me about “rich man emotional competence being suspicious,” and a dramatic goodbye from Oliver involving stickers.
At the elevator, she hugs me tightly. “You sure you want to stay?”
I glance back toward the penthouse.
Ethan is in the kitchen helping Oliver clean up spilled juice while Captain licks toast crumbs off the floor like a furry Roomba.
He looks up, our eyes meet, and for the first time since the hospital, I don’t feel like I’m standing on the edge of abandonment.
I feel wanted, protected, loved… terrified still, but not alone.
I look back at my sister and nod. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I think I want to stay.”