Chapter 24 Abbie
ABBIE
The test sits in my jacket pocket like a lit match. I keep touching the plastic edge through my pocket, checking it’s still there. Two lines. Clear as anything.
Eight weeks, maybe nine. The math works out to that stormy Saturday night in this house, when we finally talked and then chose to stay together.
I pull into the driveway at his Topanga house and cut the engine. The quiet is immediate, enormous. No traffic hum, no construction noise, no distant sirens. Just wind through the canyon oaks and somewhere far below, the occasional car on Topanga Canyon Boulevard.
Gray is on the porch swing. The afternoon sun catches the silver threading through his dark hair, the sharp lines of his jaw, the question written all over his face.
"This is aggressively nature-forward," Gray says as I climb the porch steps. He's wearing jeans and a gray henley, sleeves pushed up to show the edge of his tattoos. "Should I be concerned you're about to push me off a cliff?"
"The thought crossed my mind." I walk toward him across the porch. "But the paperwork would be exhausting. Lawyers, estate stuff. I'd have to talk to Theo."
His mouth quirks. "Valid concerns."
"I'm very practical."
"You once spent four hundred dollars on a vintage typewriter you've never used."
"It's decorative."
"It's a paperweight that takes up half your desk."
"It's a conversation piece."
"No one's ever asked about it."
"They would if they had taste." I stop a few feet from him, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. My right hand brushes the test again. "I needed to come here."
Gray studies me with those pale blue eyes that have always seen too much. "You said you were on your way. You didn't say why. I considered kidnapping, alien abduction, elaborate murder plot—"
"You waited."
"You asked." He says it plainly, like it costs him nothing. Like there's no universe in which I ask him for something and he doesn't show up. "Though I'll admit you look like you have something on your mind."
I sit on the swing beside him, grateful for the canyon view while I figure out what to say.
But we haven't talked about what this is.
Where it's going. Whether the carefully reconstructed bridge between us can actually hold the weight of what comes next.
The test in my pocket is about to force that conversation whether I'm ready or not.
"What are you thinking?"
"What I want." I turn to face him, and the test burns against my hip like a brand. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. About what I want. Who I want to be. And I realized something."
Gray shifts beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, cedar and something warm underneath. "What's that?"
"I don't know how to want things for myself."
His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" I gesture vaguely at the view, at the space between us, at everything.
"When we got together, I wanted to be good enough for you.
When we got married, I wanted to build something that mattered.
When you started pulling away, I wanted to fix it, to be whatever version of myself would make you stay.
And after the party, after everything fell apart, I wanted to hurt you back.
Every choice I've made has been in relation to you. To us. To what we were or weren't."
"Abbie—"
"Let me finish." I hold up a hand, and he falls silent.
"Halo was the first thing I built that was just mine.
Not to prove anything to you, not to fill the space where our marriage used to be.
Just because I wanted it. Because I had ideas and I wanted to see if they could work in the world.
And it's been... clarifying. Having something that's mine. "
Gray nods slowly, and I can see him working through what I'm saying, trying to find the shape of where this is going. "I'm glad. I mean that. What you've built is incredible."
"So here's my question." I take a breath, and my hand drifts to my pocket again. "What do I actually want? Not what's expected, not what makes sense, not what the story is supposed to look like. Just... me."
"And?"
"I don't know yet." I let out a small, helpless laugh. "How sad is that? Thirty-two years old and I'm still figuring out basic stuff that other people seem to know by instinct."
"I don't think that's sad." Gray shifts closer, and his hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "I think it's brave. Most people never ask that question at all. They just keep doing what they've always done and wonder why they're miserable."
"Is that what you did? At VTG?"
His jaw tightens, then relaxes. "Yeah. For a long time. I inherited my father's ambition without ever asking if I actually wanted what he wanted. Built the whole thing, every floor of that tower, and then stood at the top and realized I couldn't remember why it mattered."
"Why did it?"
"Because I thought if I was successful enough, powerful enough, if I proved I could run something bigger than he ever dreamed—" Gray breaks off, shaking his head. "I thought it would make me worthy of respect, of love, of you."
"You were always worthy of me."
"Was I?" His laugh is bitter. "I lied to you about the financing. I failed to defend you at that party. I chose silence because I couldn't stand the idea of being seen as anything less than in control."
"Gray—"
"I know." He squeezes my hand. "I know we've talked about it. I know I've apologized. But I need you to understand. When you ask me what I want, the only true answer is you. Your happiness. Your safety. Whatever version of our life puts you first, even if that means I'm not in it."
I look away, toward the canyon. None of my rehearsed conversations prepared me for this.
"There's something I need to tell you," I say. My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "And I need you to not react until I'm finished."
"Okay." Gray's grip on my hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "I'm listening."
I reach into my pocket and pull out the pregnancy test. The two pink lines are still vivid. I hold it up between us and watch understanding cross his face.
"Is that—" His voice cracks. "Abbie, is that—"
"Eight weeks, maybe nine." I'm talking fast now, the words tumbling out like they've been waiting for release.
"I found out after you looked after me. I needed to understand what I wanted before I told you.
I couldn't keep sitting with it alone. And you're the person I wanted to tell, which probably means something, I don't know what yet, but—"
Gray's knees buckle. It happens so suddenly that I almost miss it, one second he's sitting beside me, the next he's sliding off the swing, his hand still gripping mine, while I hold on from the swing and he settles on the porch boards.
His free hand covers his mouth, and his eyes are wet, and he's making this sound that's half laugh and half sob.
"Gray?" My heart is hammering. "Gray, talk to me."
"I'm—" He shakes his head, unable to find words. His whole body is trembling. "A baby. We're... we're having—"
"We don't have to—" I start, but he cuts me off.
"I'm sorry." He's laughing and crying at the same time, and it's the most unguarded I've ever seen him.
"I'm sorry, I know you said not to react, but I can't... Abbie, I've wanted this.
I've wanted this for so long and I never let myself say it because there was always something else, some deal or crisis or... and now you're telling me—"
"Breathe." I cup his face in my hands, wiping the tears from his cheeks with my thumbs. "Hey. Look at me. Breathe."
He takes a shuddering breath, then another. His hands come up to cover mine, holding me there.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. I'm breathing."
"You really know how to react." I manage a shaky smile. "If you'd fallen down at Trousdale, you'd have hit marble. At least here it's wood."
He laughs, wet and surprised. "Always thinking ahead."
"Someone has to."
I hold his hand. The pregnancy test lies between us.
"I need to ask you something," Gray says finally. "And I need you to answer honestly."
"Okay."
"What do you want, Abs?" His eyes search mine. "Not what you think I want to hear. Not what makes the most sense for the company or our families or any of that. Just you. What do you actually want?"
I think about answering carefully. Maybe the only way to learn is to practice.
"I want this baby," I say. The words come out clear and certain, surprising even me.
"I want to be a mother. I want to build something that's just about love, not achievement or proof or legacy.
I want Halo to keep growing, to see what it can become when I'm not constantly doubting myself. And I want—"
I stop. The next part is harder.
"What?" Gray prompts softly. "What do you want?"
"I want to try. With you. With us." I swallow hard.
"But I'm scared, Gray. I'm scared that we'll fall back into old patterns.
That you'll get pulled into work and I'll get resentful and we'll end up right back where we started.
I'm scared that I'll disappear into being your wife again and forget who I was before. "
"That won't happen."
"You can't promise that."
"No." He shakes his head. "I can't. But I can promise you this: I will keep making room for us. I will keep doing the work, not wait for you to tell me it is unbearable. And when you speak, I will listen."
"Even if it's inconvenient?"
"Even if Theo's having a meltdown and there's a deal on the line and everything's falling apart." His grip on my hands tightens. "You and this baby come first. Everything else is negotiable."
"I need that to be true." My voice wavers. "I need family to actually be the priority, not just something you say when things are good."
"It will be. I swear to you."
"Then I have one more condition."
Gray's brows rise. "Name it."