21. Archer
ARCHER
I’m halfway through my second set of deadlifts when the music in my speakers cuts off. I drop the bar, swiping my phone off the bench beside me to find my brother calling. “Hey, Z.”
“Arch, man, I think you need to come home.”
“At”—I pull the phone from my face, checking the time—“six-forty on a Tuesday evening?” I laugh. “I wish I was going to be there for our birthday too, but I’ve got a game on Sat—”
“Archer,” he rasps. “I’m serious. You need to come home right now.”
“What happened?” I ask, dread pricking the back of my neck. “Did someone get hurt?”
“Um… Not hurt.” He’s quiet for a beat. “I know you have practice and training, but you…you’ve got to figure out a way to get down here this week, if you can.”
“Is it life or death?” I swallow, fear sinking its teeth into my skin as my mind plays every possible scenario responsible for this phone call right now. “I can’t leave unless it’s that serious. You know that.”
Zander doesn’t respond for an excruciatingly long moment, the sound of him chewing on his nails—a habit he’s had his whole life—the only indication he’s still on the other side of the phone. My body becomes achingly numb as I wait for him to say, “Does pregnancy count as life or death?”
That numbness quickly morphs into frigid ice as the entirety of my being becomes frozen.
The urgency in his tone only has one name flashing through my mind. Only one person he’d tell me to come home for.
Already sure of the answer, I ask, “Who the fuck is pregnant?”
Allie
It’s just after seven in the morning when there is a knock at my door, followed by a hoarse and strained, “Allie.”
I didn’t need to hear his voice to know it was him.
I assumed Zander wouldn’t keep this secret, and just as I predicted, Archer’s outside my door—hardly twelve hours later. I pull myself out of bed, not bothering to pull a sweater over the tank top that no longer covers my growing belly.
Padding across my studio, I flick the lock on the handle before pulling it open.
Bloodshot, hollowed eyes, pale skin, wild hair, body slumped against my doorway like he’s lost the strength to even hold himself up—he looks as if he hasn’t slept in a day.
He looks…shattered.
I’m choking on emotion. Jaw trembling uncontrollably, a broken, “I’m sorry” is all that leaves my lips.
Those fractured eyes soak me in, handsome face twisting in devastation as he studies me, features morphing into something like astonishment when his gaze slowly tracks down my body, halting at my stomach. The swell of his child just beginning to dawn.
A sob wretches from his throat as he shakes his head in disbelief. His misty eyes flash back to my face as Archer asks, “Is it mine?”
I nod. “It’s yours.”
I wait for his rage. His anger and disappointment and fear.
Instead, Archer falls to his knees, dropping his head against my belly.
“Thank God.” He cries, tears dripping over my skin. “Thank God. Thank God.”
I fall with him as the emotion inside me finally crumbles too. We collapse together on the floor, right in the doorframe, sobs wracking us both as reality sets in.
A rattled sigh of relief echoes from my mouth. He knows. He’s here, and I’m not alone in this anymore.
His arms wrap around me, as if confirming the very thoughts in my mind.
My fingers sink into his hair where he rests his face against my stomach. He spreads his palm there, studying the swell in silence—and we watch our entire world change before our eyes.