Chapter 27 #2
Then she pulls a folded sheet of crinkly paper from a drawer and places it on the exam table with a practiced calm that feels suspiciously cheery.
As soon as she’s gone, I let out a long exhale and press my palms to my face. “I hate this.”
“You haven’t even done anything yet,” Cally says, far too casual for a man about to witness a medical procedure that involves my vagina.
I drop my hands and glare at him. “I’m about to strip in a doctor’s office so they can poke around inside me with a—” I gesture vaguely because I can’t believe I’m saying this aloud. “A wand.”
His lips twitch. “It’s an ultrasound probe. Not a wand.”
“Callaway,” Monty says, voice low and warning, like he’s two seconds away from dragging Cally into a corner and teaching him the meaning of timing. “She’s already stressed. Stop.”
“I’m trying to help,” Cally mutters.
I point at him. “No, no, keep going. You clearly have a degree in obstetrics now. Is there something you need to tell me?”
Cally lifts both hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, let’s not confuse movie magic with modern medical technology.”
I groan and tug at the hem of my sweater, my fingers tightening around the fabric. “Okay. Unless you want a front-row seat to a show you didn’t buy tickets for, you need to turn around.”
Neither of them move.
They just look at me, both unreadable in different ways—Cally with that bright, stubborn devotion, Monty with that quiet, controlled intensity that makes it hard to breathe sometimes.
I wave my hand at them like I’m shooing large, very expensive birds. “Hello? Privacy?”
Cally’s brows lift like I’ve suggested something ridiculous. “Ves, we’ve seen you naked.”
My face heats.
“Bare pussy and all,” he adds, because apparently humiliation is his coping mechanism.
“This is different,” I snap, because my body is already on fire and I’m not sure if it’s hormones or rage. “There’s a table involved. And . . .” I gesture at the paper sheet like it personally insulted my mother. “This. This is weird.”
Monty exhales, and for a second his gaze catches mine before he turns around. Cally follows, still grinning like he’s proud of himself.
I move fast.
Shoes off. Leggings down. Underwear gone.
I do it with all the grace of a newborn giraffe and the dignity of a woman who is absolutely going to pretend this never happened.
The exam table is cold against my thighs when I sit. I wrestle with the paper sheet, trying to arrange it in a way that doesn’t make me feel like an exposed science project.
Spoiler: it’s impossible.
I clear my throat. “Okay. You can turn around now.”
They turn.
And instead of jokes they both go quiet. Cally’s expression changes first, the humor fading like it never existed. Monty’s eyes slide over me and then away, respectful, but he stays close, like he’s positioning himself between me and anything that might hurt.
They each take a place beside me, one on either side, like they’re bracketing me.
My pulse drums in my ears. I stare at the machine again, breath shallow, palms damp.
“What if something’s wrong?” I whisper.
Cally answers immediately. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
I scoff, trying for sarcasm and landing on fear. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“I say it because it’s true.” He leans forward.
“Vesper, I know you’re scared. You don’t do big life changes.
You make lists and pretend your lists can control the universe.
And when the universe doesn’t cooperate, you spiral.
We’re here to ensure that nothing bad happens—and if it does, we’ll support you. ”
I blink. “Okay, wow. When did this become a TED Talk about my control issues?”
His smile is small, gentle in a way that makes my eyes burn. “I’m just saying you’re not alone. Whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.” His gaze holds mine. “You’ve got people in your corner. You’ve got me.”
Monty’s hand closes around mine, warm and solid. “You’ll be fine,” he says.
Then he bends and kisses my forehead.
And it hits me like my body has been waiting for tenderness all morning.
My eyes sting instantly. I hate it. I hate that I’m about to cry. I hate that lately everything makes me cry—gum wrappers, kind words, the fact that Cally remembered I hate mint.
Dammit.
Cally notices anyway. His brows pull together, and before I can protest, he shifts forward and pulls me into the most awkward hug in human history because there’s a paper sheet and a cold table and my legs are definitely not in a dignified position.
I go stiff at first. My brain short-circuits on contact.
But Cally just holds me.
“Hey,” he murmurs against my hair. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’re not doing this alone.”
My fingers curl into the back of his shirt like I’m grabbing onto him because I don’t know what else to grab. My voice comes out small, ugly with truth. “I don’t know if I can do this at all.”
“You can,” Cally says, and there’s no doubt in him. Not a single crack. “You’re Vesper Ana?s Lafontaine. You can do anything.”
A wet laugh breaks out of me, because of course my body is doing comedy and tragedy at the same time. “That is such a lie.”
Callaway pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands still on my shoulders like he’s anchoring me without saying it. “No, it’s not.” He taps my chin. “Now breathe, and let’s get through this. You can fall apart later—preferably somewhere that doesn’t involve a paper cover.”
I let out a wobbly laugh and swipe at my cheeks. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
“Deal,” Cally says.
“I’m here,” Monty repeats quietly, and his thumb strokes the side of my hand once, like a promise he doesn’t need words for.
And they are.
They’re here.
Which is the part that scares me most.
Because being held—being seen—being cared for like this . . . it makes you want things you can’t afford to want.
It makes you believe in futures.
It makes you forget how many times your heart has learned the lesson that nothing stays.
My throat works as I swallow. I stare at their hands, their faces, the way they’re trying not to look scared for me.
And all I can think is:
How long will this last?
How long is their truce?
Can we survive it?
Or is this another beautiful, temporary thing that’s going to break me again—only this time, with a baby between us?