20. June
JUNE
I don’t know what I expected when we took our dog-and-pony show to a more private location. Maybe a chorus. Maybe a firing squad. What I get is a silence so thick you could lacerate yourself on it.
Ashton opens—of course he does. He’s got that elegant handshake with disaster down to a science.
He clears his throat, then does it again, and the sound bounces off the walls.
“First of all—” His voice cracks, hard edges.
“I apologize for the spectacle.” He motions to the test. “But I’m not leaving this room until someone tells me who this belongs to.
Which of you took it at the lighthouse, during the afterparty?
” It’s almost brave, except the tremor behind his jaw gives him away.
My blood spikes. Heat, then cold, then the old familiar static of panic.
I beat him to the punch. “Nobody’s answering that.
This whole setup is ridiculous.” I gesture at the table, the way everyone’s arranged like chess pieces, one blunder from checkmate.
“This isn’t an episode of CSI; it’s a family crisis…
or maybe a family blessing. I don’t know.
” The words come out too loud, but I don’t care.
“We are not putting anyone on the spot for something this personal.”
Meredith’s gaze flicks to me—appreciation, maybe, or calculation. I can’t tell her angle, and that feels weird. Sophie’s mouth is open, mid-fight-or-flight. I can feel her vibrating behind my right shoulder.
But the men? They dig in. And I get why they would. One of them could be a father-to-be, and I can understand wanting to know that truth.
Ashton narrows in on me, his stare drilling through any insulation I’ve got left. “June? Please.”
It sounds almost gentle. He’s terrified because he knows if it’s mine, that means I wasn’t faithful, but before I can answer, Meredith finds her voice.
“There’s no need for an interrogation. It’s not mine. That’s all I’ll say.” She angles her body to put a barrier between herself and Eddie, as if daring him to contradict her.
Eddie doesn’t miss a beat. He scans the room, resting on each suspect, his disappointment bright as neon. “So, if it’s not Meredith’s, who’s left?”
Sophie shakes her head. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here, not like this.”
But Noah bristles, moves a step forward. His eyes flick to Sophie, and there’s genuine hurt there. “You would’ve told me if it were yours, right? We don’t keep that kind of secret from each other.”
Sophie blanches, then shakes her head. “It’s not mine.”
I try to steady myself, squaring up. “This isn’t productive. If anyone has something they want to say, fine, but we’re not going to stand here and?—”
But Ashton interrupts, this time more brittle. “I need to know. June, is this yours?”
He doesn’t raise his voice, but every word is enunciated and precise, leaving no room for mistaking his question. Every memory of our disaster flashes between us—secrets, betrayals, my own impulsive idiocy. I want to say no, but the words wedge in my throat.
For a heartbeat, the world vibrates. The shadows move in.
Noah, sensing weakness, pivots. “If it’s not Meredith, and it’s not Sophie, then June?—”
Every gaze—every single one—swings my way.
There’s nowhere left for the suspicion to go but me.
If I was pale before, I’m paper now. Inside out, hollowed, sick with panic.
My hands don’t feel like hands at all—more like someone else’s, clumsy and wet.
I dig my nails into my palm, but there’s no anchoring.
Just the rush of blood in my ears, the certainty that the room is shrinking, the edges leaking closer and closer.
Ashton doesn’t blink. “June,” he says quietly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”
I try to form the words, but all that comes out is static.
“It’s not me. I swear, it’s not—” My cheeks blaze because, even to my own ears, I sound like someone weaving lies.
“I didn’t take it,” I choke out. “I haven’t— There’s no way.
I haven’t even—” My eyes dart to Sophie, then bounce back.
I’m on the edge of losing my sanity or letting loose what I’ve figured out and they haven’t.
The room gets smaller, the light gets meaner. The plastic stick is a beacon of shame, the way it anchors every eye, every accusation.
I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles ache. My breath is ragged. My vision goes misty at the edges. I am humiliated, crucified, and so desperate for rescue that I might confess to any crime, even this one.
But it’s not me.
However, the certainty I once wore like armor is gone. In this room, all the facts are irrelevant. All that matters is who breaks first. And right now, they’re betting on me.
I could almost laugh—if there was space for it. Instead, I’m silent.
Perfectly, furiously silent.
Time hiccups—one second, then another. The table is a gallows, the walls are closing in, and the only thing louder than my heartbeat is the scrape of someone’s shoe on the floor.
I brace myself.
The door handle rattles, and then it opens. Trent enters first, ticking with restless energy, Danny behind him—shoulders squared, worry marring his young face. My shoulders slump, and I let out a heavy sigh.
But it’s Rebecca who steals the oxygen. She’s barely through the threshold before the weight of the moment slams into her. Her skin goes translucent in the fluorescent splash, freckles vanishing as the blood drains out.
Her gaze snags on the plastic stick in the middle of the table.
Time slows—just slightly, but enough for the shift to register. The adults go stock-still, predatory. The men tense, the sisters rattle and snap to attention. And I’m the only one who isn’t blindsided. Or maybe Meredith knows, too, and she didn’t want to be the one to break the news.
The kids have walked into the heart of the vortex.
Rebecca doesn’t flinch, not in the way you’d expect. She breathes once, deeply, then steps forward until her shoes nearly brush the chair leg. Her voice is small, choking, but clear enough to slice the hush. “I take it one of you found my secret.”
There’s a beat where nobody absorbs it, like the words have to carve a groove into the world before they’re allowed to exist.
“I didn’t mean for anyone to find it. I took it after the game. I wasn’t sure, but then I was, and…”
Her glance flicks to Trent, and for the first time, he looks scared. Really scared—not just nervous, but skin-prickling, soul-level haunted. Although, shockingly, he’s not surprised. He closes the spaces between them and takes her hand, presenting a unified front.
The silence is stunning. I almost hear the whir of electricity in the ceiling, the hush of so many adult brains rebooting.
Sophie is the first to move. Her whole body curves forward, like she’ll throw herself between the kids and the blast radius. “Becca, honey—come here.” Her hand is up, every finger trembling, but her voice is soft as wool.
Rebecca doesn’t cry. She walks into Sophie’s arms and just sags, relief and terror in equal measure.
Danny hovers, an anchor for the other two, but you can tell he’s grateful he’s not caught in the impact this time.
Ashton’s exhale is a full-body collapse; you’d think someone slashed the ropes holding him up. For half a heartbeat, he’s nothing but relief, then the worry creeps in, brow furrowed, every inch the protector he probably wishes he could’ve been for me.
Eddie slumps against the wall, hands in his hair, letting out a noise somewhere between a curse and a prayer. Meredith blinks slowly, recalculating, brain already five moves ahead—if there’s paperwork to file or a way to shield these kids from the coming storm, she’ll find it.
Noah finds his way to Sophie’s side. Their stance is a wall that nobody will get through unless it’s with kindness.
I surprise myself. All that panic, all the shame—gone, replaced by something diamond-edged. All I want is to circle the wagons, keep Trent and Rebecca safe from the kind of aftermath I know too well. “It’s okay. We’re here. You guys did the right thing.”
Trent’s lip wobbles. “Sorry. We didn’t want…any of this.”
I hear him. I hear the grief and the fear. I see the shape of a future that just got compressed into a single second under the lights.
Sophie hugs Rebecca, cradling her as if she could absorb the fear and replace it with something better. “It’s going to be okay.”
Meredith circles the table to Trent’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll need options. Medical, legal—whatever you decide, we’ll make sure you know the score.”
Rebecca’s voice pipes up again, wavering but real. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t not say anything. Not after listening to you all go at each other.”
I nod, pride and fear all tangled. “You did the right thing.”
Suddenly, Meredith snaps out of shock and goes straight into command.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. First, we make sure you and the baby are okay—doctor’s appointment, no arguments.
Then we walk through your options. Nothing is off the table.
No pressure, no judgment, but you both deserve a say in how this unfolds. ”
Rebecca blinks, the threat of tears right there, but instead she just nods, leaning a little heavier into Sophie’s shoulder. Trent absorbs the speech like he’s memorizing the spread of lifelines in a poker hand.
Eddie exhales, rubbing a palm over his face, then up through his hair. He looks ten years older, which is funny, considering how many times we’ve all flirted with disaster. “They’re just kids,” he says, voice thick. “What do we even tell them?”
Over Rebecca’s curls, Sophie murmurs, “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”
Rebecca finally hiccups a shaky laugh and clings harder. “My parents are going to kill me.”
Sophie’s smile is bittersweet. “Not on my watch. Not when you’ve got all of us.”
Meredith straightens, smoothing her skirt with hands that only tremble when she’s about to lawyer the world into submission.
“You’ll need more than family. I’ll get the proper forms for confidential counseling, and we’ll set up a time with a social worker.
This doesn’t leave this room unless you want it to. ”
Trent’s voice is small. “We’re sorry.”
My heart wants to crack in two. I glance at him, then Rebecca, then my sisters—the whole messy constellation.
I say it because someone has to. Because it’s true.
“A baby is always a blessing. Even when it’s a surprise.
Even when it comes before you have it all figured out and maybe aren’t ready for it. ”
The words settle. They’re not loud but certain.
For one long moment, we all just stand there—cosmic stillness, the worst behind us, the wild unknown ahead.
Then the motion starts again—Sophie drawing Rebecca tighter, Noah shielding them both; Meredith sliding an arm around Trent’s shoulder, guiding him upright; Eddie at the flank, tapping his knuckles on the tabletop to signal we’re finished with the old drama.
Ashton’s voice is next, low but clean of suspicion. “We’ll help. Whatever you need. It’s not—” He glances at me, regret and pride in the mix. “It’s not your fight alone anymore. We’ve got your back.”
My heart swells with pride as my husband promises to stand by my little brother. All the men in our family nod, and I know, for once, Trent will see what it’s like for a man to show up for him, whatever they decide to do.
The final arrangement is automatic—all of us ringed around the kids, not in judgment but in defense. A wall, a promise. The old storm outside can howl all it wants, but for now, in here, there’s only family, battered and unbowed and absolutely, impossibly resilient.
We’re not perfect. We’ll mess up a thousand more times before breakfast.
But this? We do together.
Let the world gossip. Let the storm rage.
Let anyone try to break this.
Let them try.
We’ll be ready.