Chapter 11
Hadley
The hotel bathroom smelled like bleach and the faint vanilla from the body wash I’d been using for two months straight.
The scent clung to everything, my skin, my hair, the towels folded too perfectly by housekeeping like they were trying to convince me this place was stable, clean, safe.
I sat on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn up, staring at the plastic stick on the counter.
Two pink lines. Clear as the Vegas sun outside the window.
I’d taken three tests over the last week, always the same.
Always positive. I’d bought the pack on a whim during one of Zariah’s rare visits, when she’d dragged me to the gift shop downstairs because “you look like death and maybe you’re just anemic.
” I laughed it off then. Didn’t laugh now.
The air conditioner hummed softly above me, the only steady thing in the room.
The mirror reflected a girl I barely recognized, skin dull, lips cracked, shoulders tense like I was bracing for impact that never stopped coming.
I kept waiting for the lines to fade, for the plastic to magically change its mind if I stared long enough. They didn’t.
My stomach rolled again. Not the morning sickness kind, though that had been brutal the last ten days, but the kind that came from knowing everything had just gotten infinitely worse.
Three weeks since the “two weeks” lie started.
Three weeks of staged smiles and scripted answers.
One interview, some morning show couch where Cal sat next to me, arm slung casually over the backrest for the cameras, answering questions about “how we knew it was love at first sight” while his thumb never once brushed my shoulder.
I’d smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. Said all the right things.
“It was unexpected, but we’re happy.” The clip went viral.
Fans screamed “couple goals.” Hate accounts called me a homewrecker, a gold-digger, worse than Sydney ever did to my face.
After that, one more outing, holding hands outside a coffee shop for paparazzi. His grip was loose. Cold. The second the car doors shut he dropped my hand like it burned him. Didn’t speak the whole ride back.
I remembered staring out the tinted window of the SUV, watching palm trees blur past like they were escaping something too.
The silence between us had felt louder than the screaming fans outside.
I kept waiting for him to say something, anything.
A joke. A complaint. A sigh. Instead, he just checked his phone and adjusted his sunglasses like I wasn’t sitting inches away from him, like I was another piece of luggage Ron forced him to carry.
Since then? Nothing. Cal barely looked at me unless Ron was watching. Slept in his own room. Ate alone. Left early for whatever “band stuff” he had. Came back late, smelling like whiskey and cigarette smoke even though he swore he’d quit.
When we were forced into the same space, he was short.
Snapped at small things; Eli’s tablet too loud, the way I folded laundry too slow, me asking if he wanted dinner.
Never once asked how I was. Never checked on Eli.
Never apologized again after that one half-assed conversation in the living room.
I’d survived on autopilot. Kept Eli calm with room service chicken nuggets and endless train videos.
Ordered groceries through the concierge so we never had to leave the floor.
Avoided mirrors because I hated seeing the ring still on my finger.
I couldn’t take it off. Not yet. Part superstition.
Part fear that if I did, the whole fragile thing would collapse.
Some nights I twisted it around and around until my finger went numb, wondering if it felt heavier because it meant something or because it never had.
Zariah came when she could. Brought snacks. Sat with Eli while I showered. But even that felt strained. Holland pulled her in two directions, loyalty to the band, loyalty to me. She’d hug me tight before she left, whisper “I’m sorry” like it was her fault. It wasn’t.
I stood up. Washed my face with cold water. Looked at myself, pale, eyes hollow, hair in a messy knot. Twenty years old. Married. Pregnant. Trapped.
The word pregnant echoed in my head like a dropped glass shattering over and over again.
I hid the tests in the bottom of my makeup bag. Deep. Under tampons I didn’t need anymore. Then I went out to the living room.
Eli was on the couch, tablet balanced on his knees, headphones on. He looked up when I walked in. Pulled one ear off.
“You okay?” he asked. Voice small. Serious.
“Yeah, bud.” Lie. “Just tired.”
“You keep going to the bathroom. Are you sick?”
I forced a smile. “Maybe a little bug. I’m fine.”
He frowned. “You’re lying. Your face is all red.”
I sat next to him. Took his hand. “Sometimes grown-ups get surprises they didn’t expect. I’m figuring it out. Okay?”
He stared at me. Then at my stomach. Instinctive. Not understanding. “Is there a baby in there?”
My breath caught. Tears burned instant. I nodded once. Couldn’t speak.
Eli’s eyes went wide. Then he hugged me tight. Arms around my neck. “I’ll protect the baby too. Like I protect you.”
I cried then. Quiet. Ugly sobs into his shoulder. Held him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. His small hands rubbed my back in uneven circles, the way I did when he got overwhelmed. The innocence of it broke something deeper inside me than fear ever could.
The suite door opened.
Cal walked in. Sweaty from a run. Earbuds dangling. He stopped in the doorway. Saw us, me crying, Eli holding on. His face went blank.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Flat. Not concerned. Just… curious.
I wiped my face with my sleeve. Looked at him over Eli’s head.
“I’m pregnant.”
He stared. Didn’t move.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
He rubbed his jaw. Hard. “Fuck.”
That was it. One word. No hug. No “we’ll figure it out.” No hand on my shoulder. Just “fuck.”
The word hung in the air like smoke, bitter and suffocating.
He turned. Walked out. Door clicked shut behind him.
Eli pulled back. Looked at the door. “He doesn’t like us.”
I swallowed the sob in my throat. “He… doesn’t know how to like people very well.”
Eli touched the ring on my finger. “The ring man.”
“Yeah.”
He frowned. “Is the baby his?”
I nodded.
Eli hugged me again. Tighter. “We don’t need him. We have each other.”
I rocked him. Whispered into his hair. “Yeah. We do.”
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. Zariah.
I answered. Voice wrecked.
“Had?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence. Then: “Oh God. Okay. Breathe. Where are you?”
“Suite. Eli knows. Cal just walked out.”
“I’m coming up. Right now.”
She hung up.
I sat there. Eli curled against me. Staring at the door Cal had disappeared through. I kept listening for footsteps outside, half expecting him to come back, to knock, to say he overreacted. The hallway stayed silent.
Twenty minutes later Zariah burst in. Hood up. Face flushed. She saw me. Saw Eli. Crossed the room in three steps. Hugged us both.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “This is my fault.”
“No.” I pulled back. “It’s not. I got drunk. I said yes. I....”
“You trusted me. And I let you walk into this.”
We sat on the couch. Eli between us. Headphones back on. Watching trains. Safe in his bubble. The soft mechanical clacking from his video filled the quiet spaces between our breathing.
Zariah took my hand. “What did Cal say?”
“‘Fuck.’ Then he left.”
She cursed under her breath. “Asshole.”
“He’s always been like that. I just… I thought maybe after one month he’d at least pretend to care.”
“He’s scared.”
“I don’t care if he’s scared. I’m terrified. Eli’s terrified. And now there’s a baby.”
She squeezed my hand. “You’re not alone. Okay? You have me. You have Eli. We’ll figure this out.”
I looked at the ring. Still there. Still mocking me.
“What happens now?” I asked.
Zariah exhaled. “Ron’s going to lose his mind. The annulment plan’s dead. They’ll want to spin this. ‘Happy family’ or some bullshit.”
“I can’t pretend anymore.”
“You won’t have to. Not forever.”
Eli pulled one headphone off. “Is Zariah staying?”
Zariah smiled at him. “Yeah, kid. I’m staying.”
He nodded. Put the headphone back.
I stared at the ceiling. Hand on my stomach. Flat still. But not for long. I tried to imagine a future that didn’t feel like quicksand pulling me under. A crib. Tiny clothes. A crying newborn in a hotel suite that never felt like home.
The annulment was dead.
The lie was dead.
And Cal?
He was still the same asshole who walked away when things got real.
I whispered to myself, so quiet only I could hear:
“What the fuck am I going to do?”
No one answered.
But deep down, I already knew.
Nothing was going to be simple ever again.