Chapter 29 Jake
JAKE
The Truth
Idrive home from a long day at the Metro Raptors’ facility with a purpose I can almost taste.
All day, Talia’s been in the back of my mind like a low-grade ache. I need to talk to her tonight. Find out what’s bothering her. How I can help. How I can make it better.
I tap the steering wheel as I pull into the neighborhood, already rehearsing what I’m going to say and how I’ll get her to open up.
I’m not going anywhere feels like a good place to start.
I turn into the driveway and cut the engine.
Bear barks once from inside, muffled through the door.
He goes insane whenever he hears the garage—tail thumping, nails skittering, his whole body vibrating with excitement because he’s convinced I’ve just returned from battle.
I grab my bag and step out.
The air is cooler than it has been, a hint of fall sharpening the edges of everything. I close the car door and start toward the front steps.
I’m already picturing her in the living room, probably wearing one of my hoodies, paint smudged on her hands, her hair twisted up in that messy knot that makes me want to pull it down just to watch it spill over her shoulders.
I open the door.
Bear launches at me.
He circles my legs, nudges my hand, then looks over my shoulder like he expects someone to follow me in.
“Hey,” I mutter, dropping my bag and crouching to scratch his chest. “What’s wrong with you?”
His tail wags, but he also whines softly and starts pacing the way he does when he needs to pee.
I straighten slowly, scanning the house.
“Tal?” I call out. “You home?”
Bear whines again and paws at my shin.
“Okay,” I murmur under my breath. “Relax. Let’s find your mistress together, alright?”
I walk farther inside, keys still in my hand, the house strangely quiet.
Where is she?
I glance around the living room.
She’s not in her usual spot where she likes to sit and paint.
And then I notice something else.
The easel isn’t there.
Weird.
I look around again and spot more things missing—her brushes, her yoga mat.
The space looks too clean. Too bare.
My throat tightens.
Bear trots into the room behind me, nails clicking on the floor. He sits in the middle of the room and looks up at me like he’s waiting for me to figure something out.
My pulse kicks harder.
“Tal?” I call again, louder this time. “Talia!”
Nothing.
I move faster now, the purpose in my chest sharpening into something else.
I head to the kitchen, but there’s no sign of her.
Instead, something else catches my eye on the counter.
A piece of paper.
Folded in half, placed neatly beside the coffee machine.
I pick it up.
It’s in her handwriting.
The words blur for a second because my eyes don’t want to focus.
Then they do.
Eight words.
I’m sorry. I just need some time.
My breath leaves my body. My vision tunnels.
I read it again, like the second time will reveal hidden lines that explain this better.
It doesn’t.
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
What does this mean? What’s bothering her so much that she couldn’t tell me?
And what does need some time mean?
Does she want to break up?
I turn and head up the stairs.
My footsteps are heavy, too loud in the quiet house.
My—no, our—bedroom door is slightly open, and for a split second I expect to see her sitting on the bed, waiting.
But the room is empty.
I cross the room and go straight to the closet.
Empty.
The hangers are there, but the clothes are gone.
I open the dresser.
The top drawer where she kept her socks and underwear is empty.
The second drawer, empty.
The third, empty.
I stand there for a second too long, staring at the empty drawers like my brain refuses to update to the new reality.
Then panic slams into me. Sharp and immediate.
I pull out my phone with trembling fingers and hit her number.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
Then voicemail.
“Tal,” I say into the phone, voice low and controlled because I don’t know what else to do. “Pick up. Call me back.”
I hang up and immediately text her.
Me:
Where are you?
Me:
Please call me.
Me:
Are you okay?
No response.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
I call again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
A feeling I haven’t experienced in years crawls up my spine.
Fear.
The kind that makes it feel like the floor has disappeared beneath you.
The kind that forces worst-case scenarios into your mind without permission.
I swallow hard.
Okay. Think.
I storm out of the bedroom and head down the hallway to check the guest room.
Maybe there’s some kind of clue there that will help me make sense of all this.
But the room sits quiet and empty.
Then my gaze catches on the small trash bin beside the vanity.
Something white near the top.
My brain doesn’t register it as important at first.
Until my body moves toward it.
I step closer.
The white thing is a thin plastic stick.
I stare at it.
It can’t be what I think it is… right?
I crouch and pick it up.
It’s a pregnancy test.
My hands go cold.
I turn it over. My eyes lock on the little window.
Two lines.
Clear as day. Positive.
My brain freezes.
I stare at it like it’s a foreign object, like I don’t know what it is even though I know exactly what it is.
A sound escapes me, low and rough. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a groan.
I sink onto the edge of the guest bed, still holding the test like it might burn me.
Pregnant.
Talia is pregnant.
With my baby.
My chest tightens in waves.
Shock hits first.
Then something else underneath it.
Something so strong it makes my throat ache.
A strange, fierce warmth.
Like the universe just handed me something I didn’t know I wanted and my body is already claiming it as mine.
My baby.
My family.
My heart pounds harder.
And then the second realization crashes into me.
She left because she’s scared of my reaction.
That has to be it.
Because I told her. I told her all about how I didn’t want kids. How I didn’t want to be tied down that way.
But that was before. Before I fell irrevocably in love with her.
Of course everything has changed now. There’s nothing I can’t imagine with Talia.
I want everything.
The happily-ever-after. The family. Growing old together.
I’m all in.
I squeeze my eyes shut and drag a hand over my face, the plastic stick still in my other hand like evidence.
“Tal…” I whisper, and my voice breaks slightly on her name.
I stand up again, shoving the pregnancy test into my pocket like I need it with me, like proof that this isn’t a dream.
Then I grab my phone again. I know she won’t answer my call.
So I text her again.
Me:
Tal, please. I know.
Me:
Call me.
Me:
I’m coming.
There’s only one place she could be.
And luckily, I know the way there by heart.
I grab my keys from the counter and head for the door.
Bear tries to follow.
“Hey,” I say sharply, then soften when he whines. “No, buddy. Not this time.”
He presses against my leg, eyes wide.
I crouch and grip his collar gently.
“Stay,” I tell him, my voice low. “Watch the house.”
His tail wags uncertainly.
I stand and open the door.
Bear whines again as I step outside, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I get into the car and slam the door. My hands are shaking as I start the engine.
This feeling in my chest isn’t like anything I’ve dealt with before.
It’s not anger.
It’s not fear anymore, either.
It’s… resolve.
A brutal kind of clarity.
I pull out of the driveway, my mind racing.
She’s pregnant.
She must feel so alone. Scared of my reaction. Thinking this will be the worst possible news for me.
God.
I swallow hard and blink against the sting in my eyes.
Traffic is light. I pass familiar streets, the route to Coach’s house etched into my brain from years of being pulled there for dinners, meetings and discipline talks.
I turn onto Coach’s street and my pulse spikes.
I pull up to the curb and cut the engine.
For a second, I just sit there, staring at the front door.
My hands are still shaking.
I take a deep breath.
Okay.
This is it.
This is the moment.