Chapter 15 Jonathan
Jonathan
Istand outside Claire's locked door, my hand raised to knock for the third time in as many minutes.
"Claire?" I try again, keeping my voice gentle. "Please, just talk to me. You don't have to open the door, just... let me know you're okay."
Silence for a moment, then her voice, muffled and thick with tears: "I'm not okay, Jonathan. How could I be okay?"
"I know. That was a stupid thing to say. Of course you're not okay." I lean my forehead against the door. "Can I come in? Please?"
"No." A pause. "I just... I need space. I need to think without all of you trying to fix this or control it or analyze it."
"How long?"
"I don't know. An hour? Maybe two? I just need to process this alone first."
"Okay," I agree, though every instinct screams to break down the door and hold her. "But Claire? We're not going anywhere. No matter how complicated this gets."
"Even Stuart?"
"Yes. He just needs time to wrestle with his demons. You know how he is."
I hear movement, like she's closer to the door now. "I'm scared he'll demand a paternity test anyway. That he'll make this about ownership and biology instead of love."
"Then we'll deal with that if it happens. But Claire, whatever Stuart does or doesn't do, you're not alone in this. I promise."
A soft sound that might be a sob. "I'll come find you later. After I've had time to think."
"Take all the time you need."
I head downstairs, towards Stuart’s office. I find him pouring a glass of fifty-year-old scotch.
"Drinking alone in the dark? That's concerning," I say, flipping on the lights.
Stuart doesn't look up from his glass, amber liquid catching the sudden illumination. "Go away, Jonathan."
"Not happening." I settle into the chair across from his desk, noting the medical journals scattered across the surface—all turned to articles about genetic inheritance, prenatal testing, chromosomal abnormalities. "Research isn't going to change the situation we're dealing with."
"Knowledge always helps," he mutters, but his words are slightly slurred. Stuart almost never drinks too much, he maintains control even in his vices. Seeing him like this tells me how deeply this has shaken him.
"What are you so afraid of?" I ask directly. "Really afraid of, not the bullshit you're hiding behind."
"I'm not afraid—"
"The hell you’re not. You're scared the baby isn't yours and Claire will love you less. You're scared it is yours and you'll fail as a dad."
His head snaps up, eyes blazing. "Don't."
"Someone has to say it. You wanted Claire to accept sharing you with us, but you can't accept sharing paternity? That's hypocritical even for you."
"It's not the same thing."
"Isn't it? You want Claire to love all three of us equally, but you can't love a child unless you know for certain it carries your DNA? That's not love, Stuart. That's wanting to own something, don’t you think?"
He stands abruptly, swaying slightly. "You don't understand. If the child is mine—"
"Then what? You'll suddenly become father of the year? And if it's not, you'll withdraw completely? Either way, you're letting biology dictate your emotions."
"Biology matters. Medical history, genetic predispositions—"
"Bullshit." I lean forward, meeting his glare steadily. "My biological father was an alcoholic who abandoned us when I was three. My stepfather, who had no biological connection to me, taught me everything about being a man."
Stuart sinks back into his chair, the fight leaving him momentarily. "I don't know how to do this."
"None of us do. But here's what I know—I want this baby. Desperately."
He looks at me with surprise. "You do?"
"I've wanted kids for years. Never found the right situation, the right partner.
But this? Claire carrying a child that could be any of ours?
It's unconventional as hell, but so is everything about us.
" I pour myself a drink from his bottle, needing liquid courage for this admission.
"I'm excited, Stuart. Genuinely excited about tiny fingers and first words and teaching someone to throw a ball.
And if you weren't so caught up in your need for control, you'd admit you're excited too. "
"What if it's mine? Or Dane's?"
"Then I'll love that kid with everything I have, and you'll be the uncle who teaches them discipline. Or maybe you'll realize that biology doesn't determine love and you'll be just as much a father as whoever shares DNA with them."
Stuart stares into his glass like it holds answers. "Trisha never wanted children with me. Said I'd be a terrible father, too cold, too controlling."
"Trisha was a bitch who was looking for excuses to justify her affair.
" The words come out harsher than intended, but they're true.
"You're not cold, Stuart. You're careful.
There's a difference. And that kid—our kid—is going to need that careful love just as much as they'll need my playfulness and Dane's creativity. "
"Our kid?" Stuart's voice is barely a whisper.
"That's what they'll be, if we do this right. Ours. All of ours. Can you imagine how loved that child will be? Four adults completely devoted to their wellbeing? That's not a disadvantage—that's a gift."
Stuart is quiet for a long moment. "I need certainty," he finally says. "I need to know—"
"No, you want to know. You don't need it. You've performed surgery on patients without knowing if they'll survive. You've loved Claire without knowing if she'll stay. You can love this child without knowing whose genes they carry."
"Can I?"
"Only you can answer that. But Stuart, if you push this, if you demand testing, you'll lose her. She's already locked in her room, already pulling away. Is your need for certainty worth losing everything we've built?"
He doesn't answer, but I see something shift in his expression—the beginning of acceptance, maybe, or at least the recognition that his control has limits.
"I need to talk to Dane," I say, standing. "And you need to sober up and figure out what matters more—your ego or your family."
"We're not a family," he protests weakly.
"Aren't we? We live together, love the same woman, share meals and arguments and now a child. What else would you call it?"
I leave him to his thoughts and his scotch, though I hide the rest of the bottle before I go. He doesn't need to drink away his feelings, not when it will only complicate things even more.
Dane's in his study, laptop open but screen dark, staring at nothing. He doesn't acknowledge me when I enter, lost in whatever intellectual labyrinth he's constructing to process this situation.
"Writing the baby into your novel already?" I ask, settling onto his couch.
"Trying to understand the narrative implications," he responds without looking at me. "Every story needs conflict, but this feels like a deus ex machina—a random element introduced to create drama."
"Life isn't a novel, Dane. Sometimes things just happen."
"Nothing just happens. There's always cause and effect, always meaning to be extracted."
"Fine. Then what's the meaning of this pregnancy?"
He finally turns to me, and I see the fear beneath his intellectual distance. "That we're not enough. Claire needs something we can't give her—a normal family, a traditional structure—so biology is forcing the issue."
"That's one interpretation. Here's another: we've created something so full of love that it's literally creating new life. This baby is a gift."
"I’m having a hard time seeing it that way."
"Doesn't a child improve things? Someone to teach, to shape, to love unconditionally?"
"I don't know anything about children," Dane admits quietly. "I was an only child, raised by academics who treated me like a small adult. I don't know how to be a father."
"Neither do I. Neither does Stuart. Hell, Claire doesn't know how to be a mother yet. We'll all learn together."
"What if we're terrible at it?"
"Then we'll be terrible together and the kid will have great material for their therapy sessions.
" I move to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
"Dane, you're one of the most thoughtful people I know.
You notice everything, analyze every emotion.
That kid will never wonder if they're loved because you'll tell them in a thousand different ways. "
"You really want this," he observes, hearing something in my voice.
"More than I've wanted anything except Claire."
"Even not knowing if it's yours?"
"It doesn't matter to me.”
Dane considers this. "It could be beautiful," he finally admits. "Or it could blow up in our faces."
"Most beautiful things are like that. That's what makes them worth pursuing."
"When did you become so philosophical?"
"When I realized we're at a crossroads. We can let this pregnancy divide us, or we can let it unite us. Make us more than just three men sharing a woman—make us an actual family."
"Stuart will never accept that."
"Stuart's coming around. Slowly, painfully, but he's moving. And Claire needs us to figure this out. She's alone in her room, probably terrified about the future, thinking she'll have to do this alone."
"She locked us out."
"Because we reacted badly. Stuart demanded control, you retreated into your head, and I just stood there uselessly. We failed her when she needed us most. But we can fix this."
"How?"
"By showing up. By proving we're in this together."
Dane nods slowly. "What do you need me to do?"
"Come with me. We're going to show Claire she's not alone."
But, before we head to her door, I stop and make a few important phone calls.
At her door, I knock softly. "Claire? It's Jonathan. Dane's with me."
"I’m not ready to talk yet."
"I've made you an appointment with Dr. Willis at Mount Sinai. She's the best OB-GYN in the state. It’s Thursday at ten."
Silence, then the sound of footsteps approaching the door.
"You made me an appointment?" The door doesn't open, but she's right there at the door.