Chapter 26 TALIA
TALIA
The Ultimate Cliché
Over the next few days, I replay his words in my head more times than I care to admit.
I know he didn’t specifically say I’ve fallen in love with you. But he didn’t need to. What he said—and the way he said it—tugged at my heart. And I see his affection in everything he does.
I feel it when he pulls me into one of his amazing hugs. When he pretends to be offended because I steal pieces from his cutting board. Or when he looks at me sometimes with that mixture of awe and tenderness.
This is no longer some arrangement where we’re pretending or rushing toward a divorce. And although we don’t talk about that part anymore, I don’t mind.
I’m happy. So happy.
There’s something softer about him lately. Or maybe I’m just seeing it clearly now.
And there’s something softer in me, too.
We move through the next few days in an easy rhythm.
Breakfast together. Practice. Evenings on the couch. Bear constantly underfoot, demanding attention like he’s the glue holding this household together.
Sometimes I catch Jake watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s still surprised I’m here.
I don’t feel temporary anymore.
I feel… chosen.
I’ve gone to a few more of his practices since that night.
The first time after our driveway confession, I sit in the stands with a new kind of awareness.
When he skates onto the ice, he finds me almost immediately.
Our eyes lock for a second, and he gives me the smallest nod, like we share a secret no one else in the arena understands.
And suddenly I want him even more. I’m practically salivating as I watch him.
The way his thighs flex under his gear when he pushes off. The authority in his voice when he calls plays. The confidence in every movement.
It’s like every day he becomes even more attractive. More intoxicating. More mine.
After practice, he now comes over to the boards where I’m waiting. He doesn’t care who sees him lean in to kiss me through the gap in the glass.
The first time he does it, I blush.
He smirks.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’re mine,” he says casually, like it’s obvious.
My heart nearly stops.
He doesn’t correct himself.
The days blur into something warm and steady.
Katia is settling into rehab. She calls every few days, her voice clearer each time. Still bright. Still trying to make jokes. But stronger now. Grounded.
Jake always asks how she’s doing.
He always listens to the answer.
We cook together most nights.
Sometimes we end up ordering takeout and eating on the floor with Bear wedged between us. Sometimes we fall into bed laughing. Sometimes we don’t laugh at all and are just quietly content in each other’s presence.
Today Jake is already at the training facility, and I’ve had a bit of a lazy morning, lying in bed because I didn’t feel so great.
My energy is low, and I don’t feel like my usual energetic self.
So I’ve been reading my latest romance novel, scrolling on my phone, and checking in with Katia.
I’m so grateful she’s doing better and that the rehab facility is taking good care of her.
I roll onto my side, and a dull ache spreads through my chest.
Ugh.
I’m still waiting for my period to come.
My breasts have been tender for a few days now, but still no period.
I get up and shuffle to the bathroom to check again. Still nothing.
I flush and catch my reflection in the mirror while washing my hands.
How many days late am I again?
I’d better check my app.
When I open it, I gasp.
No. That can’t be right.
Has it really been ten days already?
My heart starts beating faster, but I try to calm myself.
I’m on the pill.
I take it every morning with my coffee. Same time. Same routine. I’m not careless. I’m not reckless.
“You’re fine,” I mutter to myself.
My cycle isn’t always perfectly regular.
Stress can throw it off.
The annulment. Moving in with Jake. Katia. Divorce. Everything.
That’s reasonable, right?
I press my palm lightly against my lower stomach.
There’s no cramping. No spotting. Nothing.
Just the soreness in my breasts.
I shake my head.
Stop it.
Bear follows me into the kitchen, tail wagging expectantly.
He has no idea his mistress is going bananas.
I pour cereal into a bowl and stare at it.
Heat creeps up my neck.
This is ridiculous.
But I can’t just sit here imagining all the dramatic outcomes this could mean.
So I hurry to my feet, leaving the cereal bowl behind, determined to settle this now.
I grab my keys.
Bear springs up immediately, nails clicking excitedly on the floor, his tail wagging like a helicopter.
“You want to come?” I ask him.
His entire body wiggles.
“Okay,” I sigh, grabbing his leash from the hook by the door. “You’re coming.”
Fresh air will probably help anyway.
I clip the leash onto his collar and we step outside together. The afternoon sun is warm, the neighborhood quiet. Bear trots ahead like this is the best day of his life.
Meanwhile my brain is doing laps.
Bear stops every ten feet to investigate something important. A leaf. A mailbox. A patch of grass that apparently contains the secrets of the universe.
“Come on,” I mutter, gently tugging the leash. “This is a mission, Bear.”
He looks up at me with his big golden eyes, tongue lolling happily.
Right.
Mission impossible.
The pharmacy is only a short walk away. When we reach it, I tie Bear’s leash to the little metal post outside the entrance.
“Stay,” I tell him, crouching down to scratch behind his ears.
He sits obediently, though his tail still thumps against the sidewalk.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise.
Inside, the bright fluorescent lights feel harsher than usual. I head straight for the family planning aisle, trying to look casual.
Like I’m not a married woman who is getting divorced while fake-dating her husband and developing feelings for said husband… sneaking in to buy a pregnancy test.
Yes. My life has officially become a cliché.
My cheeks burn as I stare at the wall of boxes.
So many options.
Digital ones. Early detection ones. Fancy ones.
I grab the most basic one and drop it into my basket like I’m committing a crime.
At checkout, I avoid eye contact with the cashier.
I swear everyone in the store can tell.
She scans the box without even looking up.
Beep.
“That’ll be twelve ninety-nine.”
I pay, grab the bag, and practically flee the store.
Bear greets me like I’ve returned from war.
His tail starts wagging wildly the second he sees me push through the door.
“Okay, okay,” I say, crouching down to unclip his leash. “Let’s go home.”
He immediately shoves his nose into the plastic bag.
His ears perk.
I straighten fast, pulling it slightly out of reach.
“Mind your business,” I tell him, pointing a finger at his nose.
He sneezes.
Bear happily trots beside me as we head back toward the house, completely unaware that the small box swinging in my hand feels like it might change everything.
Back home, I head straight to the bathroom—my en-suite to the guest room that I haven’t used in weeks. It feels more private this way.
My hands are shaking a little as I open the box.
This is stupid.
This is just to make me feel better.
The instructions are annoyingly cheerful. Like the test is excited about this whole situation.
I glare at the little white stick. “You’re a little shit, that’s what you are.”
Great. Now I’m talking to a pregnancy test.
Bear sits in the doorway, watching me like he’s my emotional support animal.
“You’re not allowed in here,” I tell him.
He doesn’t move.
Honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight him.
I do the test.
Then I set it on the counter.
And suddenly there are three minutes I have to survive.
Three minutes that feel like three hours.
I force myself to move.
Distraction.
Housework.
Anything.
I step out of the bathroom and start tidying the bedroom with frantic energy.
I straighten the pillows on the bed even though they don’t need straightening. I pick up a stray sock from the floor. I smooth the duvet like a hotel maid.
I even start humming, like nothing to see here.
Negative, I tell myself.
It’ll be negative.
And then I’ll feel stupid and relieved and I’ll buy myself a pastry as a reward for not losing my mind.
Bear watches me, head tilted.
“I’m fine,” I tell him in my new sing-song voice, that makes me sound like an utter maniac.
He wags his tail.
I glance at the clock.
The three minutes are up.
Okay.
My heart is beating way too fast.
I step into the bathroom.
The test sits on the counter where I left it.
I stare at it for a second too long without moving closer.
Then I force myself forward.
I pick it up.
And the world tilts.
Two lines.
Positive.
My breath leaves my body in one sharp exhale.
No.
No, no, no.
I stare harder, like I can argue it into changing.
It doesn’t.
My hand flies to my mouth.
Tears hit fast, hot and humiliating, blurring my vision.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
My knees go weak.
I sit down on the edge of the bathtub because I don’t trust myself to stay upright.
Bear pushes into the bathroom then, whining softly, his paws clicking on the tile. He nudges my knee with his nose.
I let out a broken sound that’s half sob, half laugh.
“Bear,” I whisper, and my voice cracks on his name. “What am I going to do?”
He licks my hand like that solves everything.
I cry harder.
Because we were finally getting it right.
Jake and me. We were building something.
And now this.
A baby.
The one thing he said there was no room for in his life.
My chest tightens painfully.
He never wants children.
And I know from the way he said it that he meant it.
How could he not resent me now?
How could he not look at me and see this as a trap?
The fear comes sharp and fast, digging into me.
What if he thinks I planned it?
What if he thinks I skipped pills on purpose?
What if he thinks I got pregnant to trap him and take his money?
My stomach churns.
Because the timing is so cruel it almost feels like a joke.
Just when what we had was so good. So right.
I wipe my cheeks with shaking fingers, but the tears keep coming.
I stare at the test again.
Positive.
My throat closes.
“I didn’t plan this,” I whisper, like I’m practicing a defense for a trial that hasn’t started yet.
Bear whines again, pressing his head into my thigh.
I wrap my arms around him, clinging to his warm little body like an anchor while my thoughts spin in frantic circles.