Chapter 25
BEA
Saying goodbye to my father was usually hard but this time I was grateful that we ran out of time for him to “process my current situation” any further.
The door had closed behind him with the same quiet finality it always did—clean, contained, no lingering, no second look—and for once, I didn’t chase it.
A few hours later, I was curled up on a couch, completely spiraling, completely out of my depth.
Lucy’s apartment was warm in a way mine never quite managed—heat that actually reached the floor, curling up through the space instead of hovering uselessly along the walls. The fire snapped softly in the corner, low and steady, the glow shifting across the room in uneven patterns that felt… alive.
I sank further into the couch, my legs tucked under me, one hand wrapped around a mug I hadn’t touched in the last ten minutes, the heat long since fading into something that didn’t matter.
Across from me, Lucy didn’t speak. She hadn’t since I’d started my story.
Dottie shifted, perched half-on Lucy’s leg, half-on the cushion, her posture relaxed in a way that felt intentional—ears upright and alert, eyes soft but aware, tracking me with quiet curiosity.
Her coat caught the firelight in warm tones, rich brown layered with clean white along her chest and down her muzzle, the contrast sharp but natural, like it belonged exactly where it was.
“I think I just detonated my entire life in under five minutes.”
Lucy’s brow lifted slowly, like she was giving that statement the respect it deserved before deciding what to do with it.
“Only five?” she asked lightly.
I didn’t smile. Didn’t even try. My fingers tightened around the mug, the ceramic pressing faintly into my palm.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you kept the coat closet fiasco from me for six whole weeks,” she continued, settling deeper into the couch like she had time for this.
“Six. Weeks. Bea. I got a three-paragraph text about a barista spelling your name wrong but somehow that didn’t make the cut? ”
“That was different,” I muttered.
“Oh, was it?” she shot back. “Because from where I’m sitting, one of those things involves oat milk and mild irritation and the other involves you and a six-foot-four PR liability disappearing into a coat closet at a black-tie event like you’re in a scandal starter pack.”
Dottie’s ears twitched at Lucy’s tone, her head lifting slightly before settling again, completely at peace with the chaos she was lounging in.
“I didn’t disappear,” I said flatly.
“You vanished,” she corrected immediately. “Like—poof. Gone. One second you’re explaining to a sponsor why Alois Müller isn’t a PR nightmare, and the next—nothing. Empty space. Gone.”
“I stepped away.”
Lucy blinked at me slowly.
“That’s what we’re calling it now?” she snickered. “Because from my vantage point, you didn’t ‘step away.’ You evacuated.”
“I had a situation to handle.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” she scoffed dryly. “I just didn’t realize that situation required you to disappear into a coat closet with the exact man you allegedly hate.”
My jaw tightened. “That’s not exactly what happened.”
“Then please,” she gestured with one hand, palm up, like she was offering me the floor. “Enlighten me. Because the version I’ve built in my head is getting better every time I think about it, and at this point I’m emotionally invested.”
Dottie shifted beside her, letting out a small, content sigh like she’d settled in for a story, her head tipping slightly in my direction, ears alert but relaxed.
“Well?” she prompted.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, my grip tightening around the mug before I forced it to loosen again.
“It wasn’t planned.”
Lucy’s brows lifted. “Shocking.”
“I was trying to keep him contained,” I continued, ignoring her.
“So your solution was—closet.”
“There was a door,” I snapped.
“Ah, yes,” she nodded. “Logical.”
Dottie’s tail thumped once against the cushion.
“It was supposed to be a minute,” I added, more quietly now. “Two at most.”
Lucy leaned forward slightly, interest sharpening. “And?”
I looked down at my hands, the memory sliding in whether I wanted it to or not—the heat, the closeness, the shift that had nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with something I hadn’t planned for.
Hadn’t controlled.
Hadn’t stopped.
Lucy watched me clock it in real time.
“Oh my God,” she said softly. “You love him.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face before dropping it again. “I do not love Alois Müller.”
“That’s interesting.”
“It’s not interesting,” I shot back. “It’s accurate.”
“Mm.” Her head tilted slightly, eyes still on me. “It’s definitely something.”
I pressed my lips together.
The fire cracked softly behind us, the sound filling the space just enough to stretch the silence without breaking it.
Lucy leaned back into the couch, one leg folding under her as she reached down absentmindedly, her fingers finding Dottie without looking. The dog leaned into the touch instantly, warm and steady, completely at ease in a room that felt anything but.
“And now,” Lucy added, her voice going lighter again—but her eyes staying sharp, locked on mine, “we’re here.”
I didn’t like the way she said that.
Didn’t like how much weight it carried without needing to explain itself.
“Here,” she repeated, softer this time, almost like she was clarifying it for me. “On my couch. In January. With you looking like you just got hit by a bus you saw coming… and still stepped in front of.”
I didn’t respond.
Because that was—not wrong.
“And you’re pregnant,” she finished, the words landing clean and deliberate, no cushioning, no hesitation. “With his coat closet baby.”
I swallowed, my throat tightening slightly as the weight of the last twenty-four hours pushed back in, harder this time, less contained, less willing to stay where I put it.
“The worst of it,” I sighed, the humor gone completely now, stripped clean, “I didn’t even know.”
Lucy went still in a way that was subtle enough most people wouldn’t catch it—the slight pause in her hand against Dottie’s fur, the way her posture adjusted just a fraction forward, like something in the room had finally clicked into place.
She leaned back a second later, smoothing it over, her fingers resuming their slow, absent path behind Dottie’s ear.
The dog sighed contentedly, eyes slipping closed halfway, completely unbothered by the shift in tone, the weight of the conversation, the way the air had changed around us.
I rattled off my haphazard morning and afternoon as the sun started to set over Northbend.
“He found it?” Lucy asked.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“In the drawer.”
Lucy huffed out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief.
“You didn’t check it first?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“My father showed up.”
Lucy blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“—your father materializes on your doorstep—”
“He doesn’t materialize, he—”
“—you panic, hide the test like you’re twelve and it’s contraband—”
“I was being efficient.”
“—and then your six-foot-four walking problem of a fake boyfriend shows up, finds it, and announces it in a restaurant.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
She stared right back.
Dottie’s tail thumped once against the couch cushion.
“...when you say it like that,” I said slowly, “it sounds bad.”
Lucy’s mouth twitched.
“Bea,” she said, completely deadpan, “it is bad.”
I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes for a second as the weight of it settled back in, heavier now that it had been said out loud.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
Dottie shifted then, climbing carefully across the cushion and settling closer to me, her small body warm against my side as she pressed in without hesitation.
I let my hand fall to her head automatically, my fingers brushing through the soft fur between her ears.
“She doesn’t think it’s bad,” Lucy added.
“That’s because she has no concept of long-term consequences.”
“That’s because she understands emotional support,” Lucy corrected.
Dottie huffed softly, like she agreed with that version more.
I exhaled again, slower this time.
Then—“He thought I knew,” I said.
Her brows lifted a fraction higher. “Of course he did.”
I let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh but didn’t quite make it there.
“Of course he did,” I echoed.
Silence stretched for a second, the fire filling it with soft, steady sound.
Then—“And he just… said it?” Lucy pressed.
“In a restaurant,” I replied flatly. “In front of my father.”
Lucy winced. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
My gaze dropped to the floor, tracking the way the light shifted across the hardwood in uneven bands, my brain trying—failing—to line anything up into something that made sense.
I pushed up slightly from the couch, the movement restless, my body unable to stay still under the pressure building in my chest.
“This ruins everything,” I cried, my eyes stinging, my ears ringing. “My job—my credibility—everything I’ve worked for—this—” I gestured vaguely, like I could point to the problem and make it smaller. “This proves every single thing they already think about me.”
Lucy’s gaze sharpened. “What do they think about you?”
“That I didn’t earn anything,” I shot back immediately. “That I got here because of proximity. Because I know the right people. Because I’m—”
Lucy’s expression shifted, something firmer settling in behind her eyes. “Say it,” she pushed.
I exhaled sharply, my jaw tightening before I forced it out anyway. “They think I slept my way into the room,” I said flatly. “And now this—” I laughed once, hollow. “Now this makes it look like I stayed there.”
“That’s not what this is,” she assured.
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” I snapped. “It matters what it looks like.”
“To who?”
“To everyone.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is when your entire career depends on perception.”
Lucy leaned forward slightly, her hand falling away from Dottie as her attention locked fully onto me. “Your career depends on your work.”
The fire cracked sharply in the corner, the sound cutting through the tension just enough to make the silence that followed feel louder.
Lucy studied me for a long second. Then—“You’re not afraid of the baby.”
My breath caught. “That’s not—”
“You’re afraid of what it does to your story,” she corrected.
And just like that—everything shifted.
I sank back into the couch slowly, the fight bleeding out of my posture even as it stayed locked tight in my chest.
“I become exactly what they already think I am.”
Dottie shifted again, this time sliding off Lucy’s leg and padding across the couch toward me without hesitation, her movements quiet but deliberate.
She stopped just at my knee.
Sat.
Looked up at me.
Waiting.
I stared down at her for a second, something in my chest tightening unexpectedly at the simplicity of it.
I reached out without thinking, my fingers brushing lightly over her head, the softness of her fur grounding in a way nothing else had been.
“I don’t get to mess this up,” I murmured.
Lucy’s voice softened slightly. “You’re allowed to be human, Bea.”
“Not here
Her mouth tightened. “Then where?”
My phone buzzed against the cushion beside me.
Everything in my body went still.
Lucy noticed immediately. “What is it?”
My hand moved automatically, picking up the phone, my thumb hovering for half a second before I unlocked it.
Alois. I answered. “Yeah.”
“Get to the arena.”
No greeting.
No explanation.
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?” I asked, already sitting up, already moving.
“Now, Bea.”
The line went dead.