Chapter 38 - Stephanie
STEPHANIE
I sit cross-legged on my bed, staring at the closed door to Jackson’s room.
The air between us is thick and silent, the kind of silence that hums in your ears because it’s so unnatural.
The last words I said to him still hang in my chest like lead. Go to your room. I don’t want to hear another word out of you right now.
And his last words… those hurt. “You don’t care if I’m happy. You’re just scared, so you made me give up my best friend. I miss Gio, and you don’t even care that he’s gone!”
It had felt like being slapped. My own child, whose safety I’ve fought for every second of his life, accusing me of not caring. I knew he was lashing out.
I knew it came from his stubborn, loyal streak that—if I’m being perfectly honest with myself—reminds me entirely too much of Gio. But that didn’t make it easier to hear.
I’ve been pacing my room for over an hour, waiting for him to start yelling again or stomping around, anything to break the unnatural quiet coming from behind his door.
Instead, all I hear is the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the house settling.
My head is pounding. My emotions feel frayed, fragile—like the thinnest glass ready to shatter at the next tap. And it’s not just Jackson’s defiance that’s wearing me down. There’s something else. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s there.
I’ve been tired, a bone-deep kind of tired. My breasts ache in a way that feels too familiar, and my moods have been swinging like a wrecking ball. At first, I’d brushed it off as stress—until the nausea started two mornings ago.
And deep down, I already know why.
Still, knowing isn’t the same as seeing it confirmed. My chest is tight as I dig through the bathroom cabinet, fingers brushing past bottles of lotion, a crumpled tube of toothpaste, a half-empty pack of cotton pads—until they close around the slim cardboard box shoved in the back.
It’s a leftover from the last time I needed one.
From when I was still young, scared, and trying not to hyperventilate because I thought my life was about to change forever.
The doctors had already told me I was pregnant, but as soon as they released me, I needed to confirm it for myself. That test had told me about Jackson.
Now, this one might tell me about a second child—a second child of Gio’s.
My hands are trembling so badly that I almost drop the box into the sink. I force myself to breathe, to follow the instructions, to set the test down on the edge of the counter without looking at it again.
Three minutes.
It might as well be a century.
I can’t stand in the bathroom while I wait. It’s too small, too full of the faint tang of cleaning solution and the metallic scent of my own anxiety.
I step back into my bedroom, pacing like a caged animal. Every step sounds too loud in the quiet. My palms are slick with sweat.
The urge to look is overwhelming. I want to snatch it up right now, read the answer, and get it over with. But I force myself to wait.
Instead, I find my mind spinning in dangerous circles—flashes of Gio’s face, the way his voice softens when he talks to Jackson, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the room.
I imagine telling him.
I imagine him holding me close, promising to protect this baby with the same fierce devotion he’s shown for my son.
And then I imagine the other possibilities. The ones where telling him puts us in even more danger.
Where this child is just another vulnerability for his enemies to exploit.
The timer on my phone goes off, sharp and sudden, making me flinch so hard I nearly drop it.
I walk back into the bathroom, every step heavier than the last. My breath feels trapped in my chest as I glance at the counter. Two little pink lines stare back at me.
I’m pregnant.
The world tilts. My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Tears prick at my eyes, blurring the result, but I don’t need to see it again. The truth is in my body already.
The counter edge is cold under my palms as I grip it to steady myself. My knees feel weak, my mind a rush of noise—fear, joy, confusion, longing.
My heart aches so fiercely it’s almost physical pain.
I need to talk to Jackson. I need to make sure we’re okay before I even think about what comes next. Taking a deep breath, I wipe my face and walk toward his room, rehearsing what I’ll say to him.
But when I open the door, the words die in my throat. The bed is empty, his floor a mess—the window half open. My stomach drops like a stone.
“Jackson?” My voice comes out too high, too sharp. I check the closet, the bathroom, even under the bed like I’m searching for a younger version of him who might be hiding during a game.
Nothing.
A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. My pulse is pounding in my ears as the only possibility slams into me—he left.
And after everything we’ve been through, my mind leaps immediately to the worst-case scenario—kidnapping.
What if someone took him while I was too wrapped up in my own turmoil to notice?
I’m already grabbing my keys and phone before the thought is finished, shoving my feet into the first pair of shoes I see.
I barely remember locking the front door behind me as I order an Uber and wait impatiently for it to arrive in five minutes.
There’s only one place Jackson would go—and I don’t care how much it costs to get me there as quickly as I can.
The drive to Gio’s house is a blur, streets rushing past in streaks of gray and green.
The Uber driver seems friendly enough, chatting to me the whole way.
But I can scarcely hear him, let alone speak, over the noise of my anxiety.
My throat burns from the harshness of my breathing.
By the time he pulls through the front gates and up to the top of the driveway, my whole body is shaking. I’m out before he’s even stopped completely, pounding on the door with the flat of my hand.
It swings open, and Gio is there—tall, broad, eyes widening when he sees me.
His beard is thicker than usual, as if it’s gone several days without trimming.
His hair is almost as wild as Jackson’s first thing in the morning, and his fine dress clothes are rumpled in a way that tells me he hasn’t been taking care of himself.
It’s enough to make my heart squeeze, but I’m too panic-stricken to stop and think about why he might look so tortured.
“Stephanie?” His voice is equal parts shock and relief. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Jackson showed up about an hour ago—said he wasn’t going home until we worked things out.”
“I…” Heat floods my face as I realize just how irrational I’ve been. “I blocked your number,” I admit… then deleted it so I wouldn’t be tempted to call you in a moment of weakness.
Gio just nods, his kind understanding another twist to my already-strained heartstrings. “Come in,” he says, swinging the door wide and stepping back.
Then I see him—my son, standing in the doorway to the sitting room, looking a little sheepish but unharmed.
All the air rushes out of me at once.
I’m across the room in seconds, dropping to my knees in front of him and pulling him into my arms.
I don’t care that I’m sobbing, that my voice shakes as I press my lips against the crown of his head. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Do you have any idea what I thought might have happened to you?”
His arms tighten around my neck, and his voice is small when he answers. “I didn’t think about… You probably thought someone bad came and took me again, huh?”
I nod against him, too overwhelmed to speak.
“I just… I just want Gio to come home,” he says, voice trembling. “I miss him. He was part of the family. He belongs with us.”
A fist clenches around my heart, because part of me has been aching for the same thing.
This week without Gio has been the most miserable of my life.
I’ve cried myself to sleep every night, knowing that I’m the one who has chosen this misery for all of us.
And the burden of that guilt has only compounded the agonizing sense of loss I’ve carried with me constantly.
I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’m not strong enough to bear the burden alone.
And if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I don’t know that this version of life Jackson and I have been living for the past week is worth the safety that distance from Gio brings.
I lift my gaze to Gio, who’s watching us both with a softness that makes my knees weak.
“It’s up to you,” he says quietly. “You’ve been through more than I can imagine—both of you have.
I don’t want to be the cause of more pain.
But all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll be there.
I love you more than life itself, Stephanie.
And I love Jackson like he’s my own blood. That’s never going to change.”
The dam inside me breaks. My tears come harder, but they’re not just fear anymore—they’re longing, relief, and something that feels dangerously like hope.
I take a deep breath and lift my chin as I make up my mind. “Then promise me you won’t ever let anything happen to our children.”
“Our children?” His brows lift, confusion flickering before realization sets in.
I nod. “Because Jackson is definitely yours… and I’m pregnant.”
For a second, Gio just stares at me, stunned.
Then he moves, crossing the space between us in three strides, pulling me to a stand, then into his arms with a heat that makes my toes curl.
His mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s fierce and aching and utterly consuming.
And for a moment, I’m completely lost in the relief his touch brings.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, his fingers cradling the nape of my neck in a way that makes me feel so incredibly grounded and safe.
“Stephanie,” he murmurs, his husky voice sending a thrill through my body that I don’t think will ever fade.
“Yes?” I whisper, soaking up the warmth of his skin, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne and the enticing scent of what is unmistakably him.
“I know I only just found you again, but I’ve been waiting years to ask you—will you marry me?”
Through the blur of my tears, I pull my head back to look up into his beautiful, captivating hazel eyes, and around the knot in my throat, I manage a breathless, “Yes.”