39. Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Thirty Nine
Cole
The storm hasn’t let up all day. Rain slashes against the glass walls of the conservatory, blurring the view of the ocean beyond. Wind howls through the trees, bending the palms near the shoreline, and thunder rolls in the distance, deep and steady.
Fitting.
It matches the storm inside my head.
I lean against the frame of the open doorway of the conservatory, arms crossed, staring out at the gray horizon. The air is thick with humidity, heavy with the scent of rain and salt. I take a slow breath, letting it fill my lungs before exhaling just as slowly. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.
Annie is pregnant.
The words won’t leave my head.
I’ve spent the past hour sitting in this chair, staring at the storm outside, trying to make sense of what this means.
For me.
For her .
For Robbie.
Well, of course, she’s pregnant.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. How the hell had we been so stupid? It’s not like we used a condom. She was a virgin and we didn’t exactly have a conversation about birth control.
When did I ever sleep with a woman without protection? What the fuck is wrong with me? I hadn’t even thought about it at the time, hadn’t let my brain go there, too caught up in her, in the moment.
What did I think was going to happen exactly? That the universe was going to cut me some slack? That we were immune to consequences?
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
Apparently not.
I should have known better. I should have been smarter. More careful. Because now? Now, everything is different.
I rub a hand down my face, dragging my fingers along my jaw. I didn’t sleep last night. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain pound against the windows while my brain ran through every scenario, every outcome, every way this could go wrong.
I’m pretty sure Annie didn’t get much sleep either .
I’m barely becoming a father to Robbie at this point. I have no idea what I’m doing with him, and now I’m supposed to wrap my head around having another kid? Another baby?
What the hell does that even look like?
My gut twists at the thought, at the sheer weight of it. I’ve spent the last few months trying to figure out how to be there for Robbie, how to undo all the damage my absence caused, and I’m still not sure I’m doing it right. I don’t know if I ever will be.
And now there’s going to be another one?
Another tiny, fragile person depending on me?
I exhale sharply, pushing away from the door and pacing across the tiled floor, my bare shoes silent against the cool surface. The conservatory is filled with greenery, the scent of fresh earth and rain mingling in the air, but none of it soothes me.
Nothing about this is soothing.
I rake a hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck, trying to get my thoughts in order. Trying to make sense of what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
I don’t regret what happened between me and Annie. Not for a second. But this? This wasn’t part of the plan.
Not that I had a plan .
Damn it.
I let out a heavy breath and drop onto one of the cushioned benches near the windows, resting my forearms on my knees. My head hangs between my shoulders, my fingers clasped together as I stare at the floor.
I keep thinking about last night. About the look on Annie’s face when she told me. The way she’d stood there, tense and stubborn, waiting for my reaction.
Waiting for me to reject her, push her away, get angry. Abandon her.
The realization made something tight coil in my chest.
I don’t blame her for thinking that.
It’s what I’ve done before, isn’t it? When things got complicated, when emotions got too real, I pulled back. Built walls. Kept my distance.
Even from my own son.
But this isn’t something I can walk away from.
And I don’t want to.
The thought surprises me.
Because for all my panic, for all the doubts and fears clawing at the edges of my mind, there’s something else buried underneath it all. Something quieter.
Something solid.
Something sure .
I don’t want to run.
I want to figure this out.
For her.
For me.
For both of us. And for Robbie.
I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling slowly.
It’s just… a lot.
The storm outside picks up, wind rattling the glass, making the trees sway violently against the gray sky. A branch raps against the glass of the conservatory over and over.
I don’t know how to do this.
I don’t know what kind of father I’m supposed to be to a newborn when I’m still learning how to be one to the five year old I already have.
But I do know one thing.
I meant what I said to Annie last night.
She’s not in this alone.
No matter what happens next, no matter how terrifying this feels, I’m here.
But my thoughts keep circling back to the same damn thing—what if I screw this up? What if I can’t do this?
Before I can start another round on the same damn carousel I’ve been on for hours, a sharp knock against the glass door pulls me from my thoughts. I glance over my shoulder, already knowing who it is.
Annie stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She’s barefoot, dressed in a pair of leggings and one of my sweatshirts, her damp blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. She looks tired. Or maybe just drained.
She hesitates for half a second before stepping inside, closing the door behind her.
I sit up a little straighter, watching as she moves toward me. She stops near the long wooden table in the center of the room, resting her hand lightly against the surface. The space between us feels heavy, filled with too many things left unsaid.
Finally, she exhales. “Been looking for you.”
I nod but don’t say anything right away.
She gestures toward the storm outside. “Hell of a day.”
I huff out a dry laugh. “Yeah.”
Another stretch of silence. Then, quietly, she says, “Been in here a while?”
I shrug, leaning forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “Needed some space to think.”
She watches me carefully, her blue eyes unreadable. Then, after a second, she crosses the room and lowers herself onto the cushioned bench across from me. She tucks her legs up beneath her, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over her hands.
I’m reminded of her first night as Robbie’s nanny. The night in my home office.
The first night we kissed and almost…
I should say something.
But I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say.
Annie studies me, then leans her head back against the bench. “You’re freaking out.”
I let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand along my jaw. “That obvious?”
She gives me a look. “About the same as I felt yesterday.”
I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. And I’d poked and prodded at her until she told me what was wrong. Before she was ready to. “Listen, I’m sorry about the way I pushed you yesterday. I should have just given you the space and time you needed.”
She just shakes her head. “I get it. It’s frustrating being on the outside.”
I nod.
She doesn’t press me for more. Just waits.
The wind slams against the glass, rattling the panes. The rain continues its relentless assault. The entire island feels like it’s being swallowed whole by the storm, and yet, somehow, this moment between us feels separate from all of it.
Finally, I force myself to speak. “I don’t know how to do this, Annie.”
She blinks, her expression softening slightly. “Do what?”
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Any of it. Be a father. Be good at it. I mean… Jesus. Look at me.” I shake my head. “I was a complete stranger to Robbie until a few months ago. I have no idea what I’m doing with him, and now I’m supposed to do it all over again?”
I lean back against the bench, staring up at the glass ceiling, watching the rain streak across it. “What if I can’t do it? What if I screw it up?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifts, resting her elbow on the arm of the bench, propping her chin in her hand. “What was it like?” she asks, voice quieter now. “When you found out about Robbie?”
I hesitate. “It was…” I shake my head, exhaling. “I don’t know. A punch to the gut. A wake-up call. I was blindsided. It took me a while to wrap my head around it.”
Annie nods like she understands. “And now?”
I glance at her, then look away, staring at the rain again. “Now I can’t imagine my life without him.”
A small smile tugs at her lips, but she doesn’t say anything .
I drag a hand through my hair, my fingers tightening briefly again at the back of my neck.
“Robin wanted kids.”
Annie’s expression shifts, her features softening. She doesn’t say anything, just watches me carefully.
I let out a breath, staring out at the storm. “We were waiting. We kept saying ‘someday.’ We got married, I was busy with Silver Screen, she was busy with work. Any time we took off was about us, traveling, just being a couple. We wanted to enjoy a few years of just being together. And then…”
My jaw tightens. “We found out she was pregnant. I was terrified, but she was so happy. So ready to be a mom.”
I shrug. “And then… she only got to be one for a few minutes.”
The words feel heavy, final.
I don’t talk about Robin much. Not because I don’t think about her—I do. Every damn day. But because it never feels like there’s a point. It doesn’t change anything.
But here, with Annie, I find myself saying things I haven’t said out loud before.
“She would have been a great mom,” I say quietly.
Annie nods. “I believe that.”
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “She’s probably laughing her ass off right now, watching me try to figure all this out.”
Annie smirks slightly. “Well, I don’t know Robin, but she sounds like she had good taste in entertainment.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.
“Do you think you’d have had more kids,” Annie asks quietly. “If… you know…”
I glance at her, the question hanging heavy in the air between us. Do I think Robin and I would have had more kids?
I lean back slightly, staring out at the storm. “Yeah,” I admit after a long pause. “I think so.”
Annie watches me, letting me speak.
I swallow, shifting my gaze back to the rain-streaked glass.
“We talked about it sometimes. Not in any real, planned-out way, but in that casual, someday kind of way. She wanted a house full of kids.” A quiet laugh escapes me. “Said she wanted enough to outnumber us.”
Annie tilts her head. “And you?”
I exhale. “I was fine with whatever she wanted. Back then, I thought we had all the time in the world to figure it out.” I shake my head. “Then one day, that time just… ran out. No warning, no notice. Just gone.”
Silence settles between us.
Annie shifts, pulling her legs up onto the bench. She tucks them beneath her, her fingers idly playing with the cuff of my sweatshirt. “That’s a lot to lose. ”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just watches me carefully. “And now?” she asks finally.
I exhale. “Now, I’ve stared down at five positive pregnancy tests, trying to figure out what the hell this means for me. For us.”
Annie presses her lips together, then tilts her head slightly. “Figure it out yet?”
I let out a slow breath. “No.”
She doesn’t look away. “You don’t regret it, do you?”
I shift, letting her question settle. Do I regret this? The fact that we were careless? The fact that now, everything is changing?
I think about Robbie. About how I never saw myself as a father until he was standing in front of me. About how I never thought I’d have a second chance at something like this.
Then I think about Annie.
The way she looked at me last night, scared but angry at the thought that I might suggest she get rid of it. The way she’s sitting in front of me right now, patient, and giving me the chance to talk and figure this out with her.
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t regret it.”
Something shifts in her expression—relief, maybe.
She relaxes slightly. “Good. ”
I exhale, dragging my hands down my face. “This is just… a lot.”
“I know,” she says softly.
I look at her, taking in the way she’s curled up on the bench, the way my sweatshirt swallows her up, the way she’s looking at me—not with doubt, not with fear, but with trust.
I let out a breath. “I want to be a good father.”
“You will be.” she says simply.
I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
She leans forward, resting her arms on the table between us. “I do.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah? How?”
She tilts her head slightly. “Because you are one. Now, at least.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, now at least.”
She keeps going, her voice steady. “You think being a good father means knowing everything, never making mistakes. But it doesn’t. It means showing up. It means trying. It means loving your kid enough to figure it out as you go.”
I swallow hard, looking away.
Annie watches me for a second, then stands up. Before I can process it, she walks over and sinks down next to me on the bench. She doesn’t say anything, just leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder .
I let out a slow breath, wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her in.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
But I know I’m not in this alone.