Gabe
Iled Sabrina back down to her car, ignoring my ringing phone and the way Josh and Logan were waving at me from the other side of the barn.
“Let me drive,” I murmured. “I’ll come get my car later.”
She nodded, and without argument, she climbed into the passenger seat.
“I think we should talk. Do you want to come back to my house?”
“Okay,” she whispered as I started the SUV and flipped her seat warmer on.
For a moment I just breathed, trying to find the right words.
I should have been horrified, not just at the exposure, but by the way I’d acted. Normally, I’d be mentally drafting damage control statements and preparing for emergency town meetings.
Instead, I felt weirdly relieved.
There was no smoothing this over or calming people down. I’d lost control. I’d yelled and I’d sworn. Then I’d admitted to both fear and joy. Fuck, I’d even said I’d considered proposing.
This was my worst-case scenario.
Except that I felt lighter than I had in a long time. Like somewhere in that maple grove, I’d dropped the performance.
I could deal with the fallout later, including what my parents had to say.
What mattered now was Sabrina. Making sure she understood that we were in this together.
Because no matter how complicated my feelings were for this woman, she was the mother of my child.
And even though we spent most of our time together arguing, I liked being around her.
For most of my life, I’d worked to be what others needed me to be. Anticipating needs, compromising, and minimizing my own desires.
But with Sabrina? I couldn’t put on that mask. I was myself. Raw, messy, and unfiltered. She made me forget to smile politely and triple-think before I spoke. She made me honest.
Beside me, she looked out the passenger window, her beautiful face stained with tears.
And I knew for certain there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
As soon as we stepped into my house, we pulled out our phones to catch up. The silence between us wasn’t hostile. More shell-shocked. Like we were survivors of a twenty-first-century social media hurricane.
I had endless texts and voicemails. From my parents, members of town committees, even the local newspaper.
Logan:
Congrats on the baby. Also, you’re a meme now!
Harper:
I could hug you. The viewer count hit 12K. Fire emoji
Josh:
Can you please keep your drama off our farm?
Jasper:
Welcome to the club, Dad. It’s fucking great.
Mom:
Gabriel, call me right now!
Dad:
Your mother is quite angry. You should probably call soon.
Nina:
Wow, Sabrina punches HARD. #Goals
Nate:
This is great. Now Mom will get off my back about joining dating apps.
Olive Foster:
I’m already working on the baby blanket!
Mom:
You can’t just drop this on me. If you don’t pick up, I’m coming over.
Dad:
Your mother is threatening to come to your house. I hid the car keys, but she knows I’m weak. I probably bought you an hour, tops.
Mellie Becker:
I predicted this!
Logan:
For the record, “carrying my child” was hot. Book boyfriend worthy.
Harper:
We’ve got fan edits! You’re internet famous.
As I scrolled, they continued to pour in.
Marigold:
Don’t fuck this up.
I stared at that one longer than the others. Because beneath the chaos and memes, this was what mattered.
I put my phone down and centered myself. None of that stuff mattered.
“I’m scared,” I admitted softly.
Sabrina looked up from her phone, her eyes red rimmed.
A rush of affection washed over me. She’d marched onto my family farm to yell at me in front of God and several thousand people on the internet.
That was probably the closest thing to trust she could offer me. For now.
And I owed it to her to figure this out.
“The way I left was… not ideal.”
She huffed out a laugh.
Okay, that was a start.
“This whole day…” She scanned the living room, her attention snagging on the piles of laundry, the unopened mail, and the empty coffee mugs. A wave of self-consciousness barreled into me.
“Sit,” I said, gesturing toward the couch.
Once she’d settled, I joined her, and the two of us stared straight ahead for a moment. But eventually she turned to me, gently touching my face.
“I really didn’t mean to hit you.”
Her fingertips ghosted over my eye, the gesture startlingly tender for someone who had almost knocked me out earlier.
“I know. But you should be proud,” I teased lightly. “You punch like a drunk Marine.”
She smirked. “I trained with an ex-Navy SEAL for a couple of years. He taught me self-defense.”
“He did a good job. Clearly.” I snorted, palpating my bruised flesh.
We went quiet again, letting the chaos of the day swirl around us. Outside, the sun was setting, bathing the living room in golden light.
“I’d say you don’t have to be involved. But I know you won’t accept that,” she mumbled.
I would not. In fact, the suggestion was insulting. But I willed my mouth to remain closed.
“You’re a good guy. I know you’ll do the right thing,” she went on, her hands folded in her lap. “I’m planning to continue the pregnancy, and I assume you’d like to be part of that too.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” I said, rankled by the defeat in her voice.
Had I not made it clear? I was in. No matter what. And the way she kept acting like I was some bystander in all of this was frustrating. Like fatherhood would be an obligation to me, not the most important, terrifying, consequential job of my life.
She turned to me, worrying her bottom lip in a nervous way that was so foreign. “It is. Don’t you realize it would be so much easier that way? If I could just control everything? I like control. And if I’m going to raise a daughter, I want to do it right.”
Like a record scratch, all my thoughts came to an abrupt halt. “Did you say daughter?”
Lips pursed, she nodded.
“But it’s so early,” I said, heart thudding. “Did the doctor do a test?”
“God no.” She huffed softly. “From what I read last night, genetic testing isn’t done until at least fourteen weeks. But I just know.”
“How?”
She tilted her head and frowned. “She came to me in a dream last night. We had an argument about wardrobe choices suitable for preschool graduation.” Her lips twitched. “Obviously, she was at the top of her class.”
“In preschool?”
“Yes. Keep up.”
“So science has not confirmed this?” It had been a long day, and Sabrina was not exactly herself.
“I don’t need science. The girl had my dark hair and eyes. She was sassy as shit, and she had a crooked smile.”
Breath held, I brought a hand to my lips. A crooked smile. Just like mine. Okay, I guess it was a girl, then. The realization hit me square in the chest. A daughter. Our daughter. Half me and half Sabrina.
“Maybe she’ll be calm and easygoing,” I joked.
Sabrina cackled. “There is no woman in the history of my bloodline who has been calm or reasonable. We’ve been shit-stirring opinionated bitches since the Stone Age. Best to start preparing yourself now.”
Laughter rolled out of me, matching hers, the bruise on my eye throbbing with the intensity of my joy. She was absolutely right about that. I was cooked. This kid was the size of a pea, and she already owned me.
I leaned back against the cushions, an entire future flashing before my eyes.
One I’d never considered. Fatherhood. Carrying a little girl on my shoulders.
Sitting patiently while she painted my nails.
Standing on the sidelines, holding her water bottle while she brutalized the little boys on her kindergarten soccer team.
A whole life—a full-fledged destiny—playing in my head like a movie.
And instead of panic, contentment settled in my chest.
What if I’d never been given this opportunity?
“What do we do now?” I asked.
She sighed, slumping back. “I have no idea.”
I grasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I have to have a procedure,” she explained. “To remove the IUD.”
My breath caught. “Is it dangerous?”
She shook her head. “No, not really. But the longer it stays in, the higher the risk of infection. Dr. Storrow referred me to a specialist in Burlington, and I have an appointment Thursday.”
“I’m coming,” I blurted.
She made it sound like this was no big deal, but a procedure? Infection? My fingers itched to pick up my phone and start researching.
“You don’t have to.”
I pinned her with a glare.
She gave me a tiny smile. “But okay. Honestly, I’m worried. The risk is low, but there is still a risk.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. At first, she went rigid, and I was sure she’d pull away. Instead, she leaned toward me, settling into my side.
“Let’s get it done. I’ll drive.”
She said nothing, but she sagged, allowing me to support her while we quietly contemplated our new reality.
“Can we do this?” she asked after a while. The fight had gone out of her, no sharp edges or sarcasm left.
“It depends,” I replied. “Are you planning on maiming me every time we have a parenting discussion?”
She angled away, throwing my arm off her shoulder with a sharp glare.
I grinned. “There she is.”
“Are you planning to piss me off every time we speak?” she snapped back.
“Are you going to behave?” I retorted.
Though she kept her expression hard, her eyes danced. “Probably not.”
In that moment, a current of energy worked its way through me. One I hadn’t felt in years. Nothing would ever be the same after this. It was exhilarating and terrifying.
And I couldn’t wait.
All the panic and drama of the day was gone. And for once, neither of us was trying to best the other.
“Gabe,” she said softly.
I shifted her way.
“What’s up with your house?”
I examined the living room, only now remembering its state, with laundry everywhere, shoes piled up in the corner, and files all over the coffee table next to old take-out cups of coffee.
My stomach sank.
This place had become a dump. Not all at once, but gradually over years filled with apathy and exhaustion.
It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t like living this way. It had just happened.
“I thought I was having a baby with a perfect, people-pleasing mayor. Now I know you live in a hoarder house.”
“Hey,” I retorted.
She squeezed my hand. And against all odds, her presence grounded me. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Depression is real. And I want to help.”
“You think I’m depressed?” My heart stuttered. No one had ever suggested anything remotely close to that. I was Gabe Harding. The smiling, helpful mayor. The good guy, the star student. Oldest child and people-pleaser extraordinaire.
People like me didn’t get depressed. We didn’t burn out.
“I’m the last person who should be commenting on someone else’s mental health,” she said. “But I’ve experienced burnout. I’ve experienced depression. And I know it looks different for everyone.”
“But—” I snapped my mouth shut. Maybe she had a point. Life had been hard—impossible, really—for the last year.
“Because you’re not this guy,” she said, standing up. “You’re not a man-child or a slob.”
I grunted. “Maybe I am.”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “I’ve met your mom. Oh shit.” Eyes widening, she looked around at the mess. “Has your mom seen this?”
“No,” I protested, suddenly antsy to move. “No one sees my house.” Because if they did, they’d see beyond the clean-cut, smiling mayor to the mess beneath.
“What does that mean?”
“Logan is here occasionally, but we mostly stick to the garage. I don’t let anyone else in.”
“Why?”
“Because.” I let out a sigh and scooped up a pile of laundry that was draped over the armchair.
Beneath it, I found even more clean laundry I hadn’t bothered to put away. Jesus, I was a mess.
“The Gabe who exists out there”—I waved toward the door—“is not the Gabe who exists in here. My house is my sanctuary. No expectations here. No people to disappoint. No impossible standards to achieve.”
Arms crossed, she lifted a brow, signaling for me to continue.
“I can’t keep up with it all the time. Doing everything for everyone. Being perfect and kind and thoughtful and capable every minute of the day. It’s suffocating out there.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. “In here, I can breathe.”
She nodded like what she understood my idiocy. “I’m sorry.”
My mouth went dry. “You’re not going to judge me?”
She stood, leveling me with a look. “No. Because I understand, and I empathize.”
Something inside my chest loosened. Her response was more than unexpected. “Earlier, you were threating to castrate me, in your words, ‘like a bull.’”
“Yes, because I’m all hopped on hormones and I’m sleep deprived. But this?” She held out a hand. “This is human. And it’s surprising.”
“I am a human, Sabrina.”
“Yeah, yeah. But I assumed it was more of a Mayor Pro 2000–type robot situation.”
“Like a Terminator?” I resisted the urge to flex, instead putting down the laundry and walking toward her. Her hair was still wild, but her face was softer now.
I wanted to touch her. But I knew better.
“Yes, but less badass. Civil-servant Terminator.”
Amusement rushed through me. God, she was funny. I liked her. And that was a problem.
“That sounds boring,” I whispered, coming even closer, chasing the feeling that came from touching her.
She shrugged.
“So how do you do it?”
Her dark eyes were depthless as she studied me. “Do what?”
“Keep the perfection up? Be at the top of your game physically and mentally every day? Solve every problem, kick every ass.”
“Ever stop to think I’m just a more evolved human than you are?”
My hand moved on its own, despite the panic signals from my brain. Taking that strand of hair, gently brushing my fingertips across her jaw, and tucking it behind her ear. “I think about it every day,” I whispered. Shit. That slipped out. But I couldn’t stop myself. “You’re way out of my league.”
Cheeks going pink, she swayed closer, but then, like her good sense had kicked in, she took a step back. “I’ll help you clean.”
Shit. She’d had a hell of a day, yet she was offering to go out of her way for me. Damn. I was beginning to think she saw me. I’d avoided letting anyone look behind the curtain my entire adult life. Yet here she was.
And I think I liked it.
“No,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s the least I can do. I did show up here and threaten your life. That was not cool.”
Without waiting for a response, she wandered into the kitchen and opened the cabinet below the sink as if she knew exactly where I kept things.
“You also threatened my balls,” I reminded her as she returned with a trash bag.
That earned me a glare. “They deserved it. They know what they did.”