Chapter 32
MAX
Thump-thump
Idon’t move for a long time.
The door closes with a soft click, but the silence that follows is brutal. It hits harder than anything she said tonight. Harder than the quiet disbelief on her face when I told her to leave.
I can still smell her perfume in the room. Warm and familiar, threaded with something sweet—like oranges and paper and a trace of vanilla. She always smelled like comfort. Like home.
Now it’s just... haunting.
I stare at the empty space where she stood, every muscle in my body locked like I’ve just come off stage after the longest set of my life. Except there’s no adrenaline. No rush. Just the sting of betrayal clawing at my ribs.
She’s pregnant.
With my child.
And it should be a good thing, right?
If you strip away everything—if this were just me and her, no lies, no background noise, no fucking fan forums—it might’ve even been something beautiful. A surprise, yeah, but something worth building on. Fighting for.
Instead?
Instead, all I can see are those screen recordings Jake shoved in front of me. All I can hear is her own voice in my head: “I was always careful.” Yeah, well, apparently not careful enough.
Or maybe she was just careful in a different way.
Maybe careful meant calculated.
A groan slips out of me—sharp, guttural. I shove my hand through my hair, tugging at the roots like pain might tether me to something real.
I pace the living room, slow and stiff. The city glitters outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, all glass and steel and noise, but none of it penetrates the fog in my chest.
She lied to me.
I walk to the kitchen, grab a glass, pour two fingers of bourbon, and just... hold it. Watch the amber catch the light.
I don’t drink it.
I sit instead. Right on the floor, back to the counter, knees up, glass in one hand, the other gripping the back of my neck like it might hold me together.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
I’d started writing again. I was working on a new track—light, upbeat, even a little romantic.
Fucking hopeful. I haven’t written a hopeful song in years.
I was happy. With her. On the road. In bed.
Laughing at her weird book obsessions. Watching her become friends with the band.
Watching her take over my world without even realizing it.
And now?
Now there’s this gnawing ache in my chest that feels dangerously close to grief.
I could’ve handled the surprise. I could’ve stepped up.
Hell, I will step up.
Because that baby didn’t ask for this. They didn’t ask to be dragged into a twisted web of lies, hidden agendas, and calculated moves. They’re innocent. And I’ll be there—at every appointment, every milestone, every damn second.
I’ll never do what my father did to me.
But Nora?
God.
I loved her.
And now I can’t even bear to look at her.
The look on her face when I told her to leave—it’s burned into my skull. Confused. Hurt. Like I’d smacked her instead of just said the words.
I slam the bourbon back in one swallow. It scorches all the way down, but the numbness stays.
The glass hits the counter too hard when I set it down. It doesn’t break—but I kind of wish it had. Something should.
My phone buzzes on the table. I don’t even look at it.
Instead, I walk to the window, press my forehead to the cool glass, and stare out at the skyline.
Tomorrow, I’ll call my lawyer. Figure out what rights I have. What steps I need to take.
Because I’m going to be a father.
But I’m sure I can never be hers again.
Not after this.
There’s no coming back.
***
Lucas tosses a guitar pick across the couch, missing his open case by a mile. “You’ve been moody as hell all day. Either you're writing a breakup album or someone ran over your cat.”
I don’t laugh.
I haven’t really laughed since she told me.
Instead, I rub the heel of my palm over my eyes and mutter, “She’s pregnant.”
That gets his attention.
Lucas sits up straight. “Wait—Nora?”
I nod once, sharp. “Yeah.”
He stares at me, and for a second, I see the gears turning. “Damn. Okay. Wow. That’s… a lot.”
“Tell me about it.”
He exhales, then leans forward, elbows on knees. “So—what now? You two keeping it? Are you okay?”
“Of course we’re keeping it,” I say, voice flat. “And I’m gonna do the right thing. I’ll be there. Support the kid. Make sure they have everything they need.”
Lucas watches me carefully. “But not her?”
“No.” I bite the word out. “Not her.”
He waits a beat, then says, “What the hell happened? You were… man, I’ve never seen you like that with anyone.”
I don’t answer right away. My jaw works, tightening and releasing like I’m biting back bile. Then I stand, pacing.
“She lied to me,” I say, voice low. “Used me.”
Lucas frowns. “Nora? I don’t see her doing that—”
“She had a plan.” The words taste bitter, even now. “Before we ever met. Some fan forum shit. She posted about wanting to meet me at charity events. About getting pregnant and living off it.”
Lucas’s brows shoot up. “What?”
I stand, needing to move. The walls of the studio feel too tight. “Jake found something. Brought it to me. Posts—years old. From a Storm & Silence fan forum.”
Lucas frowns. “Okay…”
“It was her,” I say. “A user account tied to her work email. Same profile name she used in other places. It was all there. Time-stamped. She wrote about trying to meet me at charity events. About how if she got pregnant, she could ‘retire on baby royalties.’”
Lucas’s face goes still. “Holy shit. That’s… seriously fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
He leans back again, shaking his head. “And she never said anything?”
“Nope.” I laugh harshly, the sound scraping out of my throat. “She played it real sweet. Innocent librarian, just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
He leans back slowly. “So she was planning this?”
“Yeah,” I grit out. “From the beginning, apparently.”
Lucas is silent for a beat. Then he says, “You’re sure it was her?”
“No doubt about it. It’s her.”
His jaw clenches. “That’s next-level messed up.”
“Exactly.” I scrub a hand down my face. “And the worst part? I fucking fell for it. I thought she was different. I trusted her.”
Lucas shakes his head. “Don’t blame yourself, man. She fooled you. But you did the right thing.”
“I know I did.” I say it immediately. No hesitation. “I won’t let my kid grow up thinking manipulation is love. I won’t be my father.”
Lucas nods slowly. “You’re nothing like your dad.”
I look at him. “You don’t think I’m overreacting?”
He gives a low, dry laugh. “Dude. If someone tried to trap me with a baby and lied to my face about who they were? I’d do a hell of a lot more than send them away.”
I nod slowly, tension easing from my shoulders. Not the pain. Just the pressure.
“I needed to hear that,” I admit.
Lucas grabs his drink and raises it. “To doing the hard thing. And to your future rockstar baby who’s going to learn how to shred at six.”
I manage a rough smile, but it doesn’t reach my chest.
Because the truth is—I did the right thing.
But it still feels like I lost something I’ll never get back.
And I don’t know how to make peace with that.
***
I sit in the dark, the only light coming from the muted TV and the faint skyline bleeding through my penthouse windows.
The phone’s in my hand.
Her name is already pulled up.
Nora.
I’ve imagined this call a hundred times in my head. Each version starts with something stupid—Are you okay? Did you eat today? I miss you. But none of that matters now. None of it can matter.
My thumb hovers over the green button. I press it before I can change my mind.
The line rings.
And rings.
And then—
“Max?” Her voice is soft. Hesitant. Like she's smiling and doesn't know if she's allowed to.
My stomach twists.
I swallow the ache and make my voice flat. “Hey.”
A beat of silence. “Hi.”
I close my eyes. I could picture her. Socks pulled up to her knees. Hair tucked behind her ears. Probably biting her lip like she always does when she's unsure.
“I’m calling about the baby.”
Her breath catches. “Okay…”
“I want to be clear, Nora. I’m going to be there. Every step. I’ll show up to the appointments. I’ll cover whatever you need. The nursery. Medical bills. Maternity leave. Whatever.”
She’s silent. But I hear it—that fragile inhale. That sting of confusion.
She speaks, tentative. “Okay. That’s… that’s good. Thank you, Max.”
I grit my teeth. I wish her voice didn’t still undo me like this.
But I push on. “That’s all this is.”
“Why?” she says, barely above a whisper.
“I’ll take care of the baby,” I repeat. “But as for you and me… there is no you and me anymore.”
Silence. Then—
“Max…” Her voice breaks this time.
I close my eyes. It hurts more than I expected. “I don’t know what game you think you're playing—” I say, my voice hardening.
“I’m not playing anything!” Her voice spikes, panicked and hurt. “Max, what are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, cold now. Detached. “Just know I’ll be there for the kid. But we’re done. Whatever this was? It’s over.”
There’s a pause. And when she speaks again, her voice is so soft it barely registers.
“Why are you doing this?”
I don’t answer.
“Max, what happened? Did I do something? I don’t—I don’t understand.”
I almost break. God help me, I almost fucking break.
But then I remember Jake’s voice.“Retire on baby royalties.”
And I stiffen.
“Text me about the first check-up and I’ll be there,” I say instead, low and final.
“Max, please—”
Click.
I end the call before I hear her cry.
I toss the phone onto the couch like it burned me. Drag my hands down my face. My throat feels raw. My chest is cracked open and everything inside me is spilling onto the floor.
But I can't take it back.
I won’t.
***
I’m fifteen minutes early.
The waiting room smells like hand sanitizer and lavender air freshener—like someone tried to mask the fact that this is a place where life and fear start in the same breath. It’s quiet, except for the low whir of the HVAC and the occasional ding from someone’s phone.
I sit stiff in a vinyl chair, hands clasped between my knees, trying not to bounce one of my legs. The receptionist gave me a polite smile when I walked in, like she recognized me but was too professional to say it out loud.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s her.
It’s like gravity shifts.
And then—
“Nora?” the receptionist says.
I stand, and we see each other at the same time.
Her eyes widen.
For a second, neither of us says a word.
God, she looks…
She looks tired. But beautiful. Oversized sweater swallowing her frame, dark leggings tucked into scuffed boots. Her hair’s pulled back into a loose braid, and there’s a faint flush on her cheeks from the cold. And even though she’s staring right at me, it feels like we’re oceans apart.
“Hi,” she says, voice quiet.
I nod. “Hey.”
She walks toward the chairs, arms crossed like she’s holding herself together. I want to reach for her. I don’t. I can’t.
“Thanks for coming,” she says, sitting down without looking at me.
“You didn’t think I would?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
Her jaw tightens. “Honestly? I didn’t know what to think.”
Silence stretches between us.
“I wasn’t sure,” she adds softly, “if I should even want you here.”
That hurts. But I don’t blame her.
“I told you I’d show up,” I say, quieter now. “I meant it.”
She nods, staring straight ahead at a crooked poster about folic acid. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap. She’s twisting the hem of her sleeve around one finger.
“Nora…” I start.
But the nurse calls her name.
We both stand.
She doesn’t wait for me—but I follow.
In the exam room, it’s quiet again. The paper on the exam table crinkles as she sits. She lifts her sweater, revealing smooth, flat skin—nothing to see yet, but everything has already changed.
It knocks the air out of me.
It’s real.
It’s happening.
I keep my eyes on the ultrasound machine instead of the woman lying on the table just a few feet away.
Nora.
She’s staring at the ceiling, trying to act calm, but I know her well enough to see the strain in the way her fingers twist in her lap. She’s trying to hold herself together. I don’t let myself feel anything about that.
The nurse hums as she applies the gel to Nora’s stomach. Too chipper. Too normal. Like this is just another Thursday and not a scene from a life I didn’t ask to be dragged into.
“You’re around seven weeks now,” she says. “We might be able to hear the heartbeat.”
Heartbeat.
The word knocks something loose in my chest.
I tighten my arms around myself.
The Doppler clicks on. There’s a fizz of static. White noise. Then—
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It’s faint at first. Distant. Like it’s coming from inside a tunnel. Then louder. Sharper.
And fuck.
It’s real.
I don’t want it to hit me the way it does, but it does. That sound—fast and steady, like a runaway drumbeat—grabs me by the spine and doesn’t let go.
“That’s your baby,” the nurse says, and suddenly the room feels too small.
I glance at Nora.
She’s already looking at me.
And for the first time in weeks, there’s no anger in her face. No confusion. Just something open and unbearably soft. She looks at me like she’s trying to memorize the moment. Like she knows it might be the last one we share that isn’t poisoned.
And God help me, part of me wants to freeze this. Hold onto it. Pretend nothing’s broken.
But it is.
Still, I can’t stop staring at her. I don’t even realize I’m standing until I’m on my feet.
The nurse is still talking. “Totally normal for it to be that fast. Little ones have hearts like hummingbirds.”
I nod numbly. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Fast.”
Fast enough to drown out every thought in my head.
The nurse finishes, wipes Nora’s skin clean, and leaves us alone with the sound echoing in our bones.
Nora sits up slowly. We don’t say anything else.
But the sound of that heartbeat—it doesn’t leave me.
It follows me all the way out.