Chapter 42
HARLOW
We had been back from Vegas for three days when I finally worked up the courage to take the test.
Three days of pretending everything was normal, of going to school, coming home, making dinner, and watching TV, like my entire world wasn’t potentially about to shift on its axis. Three days of that little box sitting on the bathroom counter, taunting me every time I reached for my toothbrush.
Owen hadn’t pushed. He’d just been there, steady and patient, waiting for me to be ready.
I was ready now. Or at least, I was as ready as I was going to get.
The bathroom door loomed in front of me like the entrance to another dimension.
Three minutes. That’s all it took for two pink lines to appear or not appear. Three minutes to find out if my entire life was about to change in ways I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
I’d been pacing the hallway for approximately seven of those minutes now, my bare feet wearing a path in the carpet. Back and forth. Back and forth. My phone timer had gone off two full minutes ago, but I couldn’t make myself go in there. Couldn’t make myself look.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Owen said from his position against the wall.
I shot him a look. “That’s very helpful. Thank you for that valuable contribution.”
“I try.” He was watching me with those blue eyes, tracking my movement. His arms were crossed over his chest, one ankle hooked over the other, the picture of casual ease.
I was approximately three seconds away from spontaneously combusting.
“How are you so calm?” I demanded, stopping mid-pace to glare at him. “This is... this is huge. Life-altering. Potentially life-creating. How are you just standing there like we’re waiting for pizza delivery?”
“I’m not calm.” He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us in two strides. His hands found my shoulders. “I’m terrified. My heart is beating so fast I think it might actually explode. But I also know that no matter what that test says, we’re going to be okay.”
I stared up at him, trying to borrow some of that certainty. “How do you know that?”
“Because we’re us.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ve already survived secret dating, angry phone calls from Jax, an elopement officiated by Elvis, and your terrible taste in movies. A pregnancy test is nothing.”
“My taste in movies is excellent.”
“You made me watch a film where the main character fell in love with a ghost who could only communicate through pottery.”
“That’s a classic.”
“That’s a fever dream.”
My lips twitch. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to distract me with banter.”
“Is it working?”
“A little.”
He smiled, soft and warm, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Good. Because I meant what I said, Har. No matter what’s on that test, we’re going to be okay. If it’s positive, we’ll figure it out together. If it’s negative...” He shrugged. “We’ll keep practicing until we’re ready to try for real.”
“That’s very romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.”
“You eat cereal out of a mixing bowl.”
“A very romantic, practical guy.”
I laughed, the sound slightly hysterical, and buried my face in his chest. His arms came around me immediately, solid and sure, and for a moment I just breathed him in. Let his steadiness anchor me.
“I’m scared,” I admitted against his shirt.
“I know.”
“What if it’s positive? What if I’m not ready? What if I’m a terrible mom and I mess everything up and our kid ends up in therapy talking about how I…”
“Harlow.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands cupping my face. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. When we’re ready. Which maybe isn’t today, but that’s okay too.”
“But what if…”
“No more what-ifs.” His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones. “Whatever that test says, we handle it. Together. That’s what we do now. That’s what being married means.”
Married.
The word still sent a thrill through me. Mrs. Taylor. Harlow Taylor. Owen’s wife.
I took a breath. Then another.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Yeah?”
“No. But I’m going to look anyway.”
He grinned, that crooked smile that had been undoing me since I was fourteen years old. “That’s my girl.”
He took my hand, lacing our fingers together, and we walked toward the bathroom together. Our footsteps were quiet on the hardwood, moving in sync. When we reached the doorway, I hesitated.
The test was sitting on the counter where I’d left it, face down. White plastic. Two possible futures.
“We look together,” Owen said quietly. “On three?”
I nodded.
We stepped up to the counter, standing side by side, our reflections staring back at us in the mirror. I looked pale. Terrified. Owen looked... steady. Like an anchor in a storm.
“Ready?” he asked.
I squeezed his hand. “Ready.”
“One.”
My heart was hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“Two.”
Owen’s thumb traced circles on the back of my hand.
“Three.”
We looked down together.
One line.
“I’m not pregnant,” I whispered.
I waited for the emotion to hit. Relief? Disappointment? Some combination of both?
What came instead was... peace. A quiet settling in my chest, like the universe saying, not yet, but someday.
Owen turned to me, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. He pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“Are you okay?” he murmured against my skin.
“Yeah.” I tilted my head back to look at him.
“Good.”
We stood there for a moment, the test forgotten on the counter. Then a thought occurred to me. “Are you disappointed?”
His brows drew together. “About the test?”
“No.” I bit my lip. “About marrying me.”
Owen went very still. His expression shifted through several emotions I couldn’t quite read before settling on something that looked almost like hurt.
“What?”
“I mean, we did this whole thing so fast. We eloped. We didn’t even tell most people, and now we’re living together and taking pregnancy tests. It’s all so... real. So permanent.” The words tumbled out faster now. “What if you wake up one day and realize you made a mistake? What if...”
His mouth crashed against mine, silencing my words and claiming my lips in a fierce, hungry kiss.
When he pulled back, his hands framed my face.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “Marrying you was not a mistake. Marrying you was the only decision I’ve ever made that makes complete and total sense.”
“Owen…”
“I’m serious, Harlow. I’ve made a lot of impulsive decisions in my life. A lot of choices I regretted the second I made them. But you?” He shook his head, a smile breaking through the intensity. “You were the easiest decision I’ve ever made. The most right thing I’ve ever done.”
My throat went tight. “Really?”
“Really.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “You’re my best friend. My partner. My person. There is no version of my future that doesn’t have you in it. There never was.”
“Even when I make you watch ghost pottery movies?”
“Especially then.”
I laughed, the sound watery, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kissed me again, softer this time. “And when we’re ready, we’re going to make the most beautiful, annoying, perfect little humans. But until then?” He pulled back with that trademark smirk. “We get to keep practicing.”
“That’s very scientific of you.”
“I’m a scientist. A researcher. I believe in thorough experimentation.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Among other things.”
I shook my head, still smiling, and pulled him toward the bedroom. “Come on, Dr. Taylor. Let’s go experiment.”
“Now you’re talking my language.”
We left the test on the counter, forgotten. One line. Not pregnant. Not yet.
But someday.
When we were ready. When it was time.
For now, we had each other. We had this apartment that was slowly filling with my books and his hockey equipment. We had Friday-night pizzas and terrible movies, and the rest of our lives stretching out ahead of us.
And honestly?
That was more than enough.
That was everything.