Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hailey
When it’s Time to Rough the Past, Embrace the Future
Somebody handed me the wrong bingo card for this year.
Things that weren’t included on it: being pregnant, moving into Leif’s penthouse, and somehow making my best friend—a man so emotionally unavailable he practically has a “Closed for Renovations” sign on his heart—my emergency contact.
Yet, here we are.
The waiting room is suspiciously comfortable. Plush chairs. Soft lighting. The air carries a faint scent of vanilla and something floral, probably designed to trick expecting mothers into believing they are stepping into a calm, nurturing experience rather than an existential free fall.
Across from me, a pregnant woman flips through a magazine with the ease of someone who belongs here. She looks composed, like she already has a birth plan, a carefully curated list of baby names, and a nursery aesthetic straight off Pinterest. She might even have a doula on retainer.
I grip the armrest of my chair, my knuckles aching from the effort. Nothing about this feels natural. My brain still refuses to accept that an actual human is growing inside me.
Leif sits next to me, one leg stretched out, looking around like this is an interesting detour in his day rather than a pivotal moment in my life. His gaze lingers on the soft pastel walls, the framed pictures of sleeping woodland animals. “They’re really committed to the whole ‘this is a peaceful, magical experience’ vibe, huh?”
I exhale slowly. “They have to be. Otherwise, people might start asking too many questions. Like why pregnancy books conveniently leave out the part where your organs become a real-life game of Tetris.”
His mouth quirks at the corner. “You want some light reading?” He gestures toward the laminated pamphlets stacked neatly on the side table. Stages of Labor and Breastfeeding Basics sit at the top, glaring at me like overdue homework assignments. “I could read them to you in a dramatic voice. Make it more entertaining.”
I arch a brow. “Are we talking inspirational sports documentary or psychological thriller?”
His voice drops into a deep, movie-trailer timbre. “In a world where nothing will ever be the same, one woman faces the ultimate test. Sleep deprivation. Cravings. And a tiny human who will one day demand snacks at two in the morning.”
Despite everything, my lips twitch. “You’re insufferable.”
“I prefer ‘morally obligated to provide comedic relief in times of crisis.’” He flips open one of the magazines and scans a page with mock seriousness. “Alright, let’s see what groundbreaking parenting wisdom I can offer. Hmm. Apparently, you should talk to the baby in utero to promote early bonding.” He pauses, tilting his head. “So basically, you need to start delivering monologues like a Shakespearean actor from the time. Or you can brainwash the child into obeying you—always.”
I blink at him. “That’s your takeaway?”
“Science doesn’t lie. Imagine the possibilities if you spend the next few months ensuring their first words are ‘My kingdom for a horse.’”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, the sound cutting through my tangled thoughts. The knot in my stomach loosens.
“I still don’t understand why you’re so calm,” I whisper, stealing a glance at Leif.
He lifts a brow, his expression neutral but somehow still infuriatingly amused. “You want me to panic?”
“I want you to at least pretend this is a life-altering moment.”
Leif tilts his head, like he’s genuinely considering it. “Hailey, this is a life-altering moment.”
“Too late. You wasted the opportunity.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue. He just reaches into his pocket and hands me a stick of gum.
Of course he does.
It’s such a Leif thing to do—annoyingly considerate, like he somehow knew I’d spend the entire morning feeling like I swallowed a porcupine. Like he knew I’d need something to do with my hands. I stare at the wrapper, my fingers tight around it, but for some stupid reason, my eyes start stinging. Everything he does has been making my eyes sting lately, and I don’t do crying.
My father has always said that crying is for the weak. It’s been his thing ever since I can remember. Mom would stop him, but during her funeral he made sure we didn’t shed a tear. We don’t show weakness—ever.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been so unbearable since Leif found me. When the world is trying to drown me, I can’t handle nice. Nice makes everything real, and real is terrifying. No one should be nice to me right now. I haven’t earned it.
“Hailey Castilla?”
I blink and look up. “That’s me.”
A nurse stands in the doorway, holding a tablet, her smile professional but kind. “We’re ready for you.”
My stomach flips. I nod, but my body doesn’t get the message right away. My fingers twitch against my thighs as I force myself to stand, pretending my legs aren’t becoming jelly, or butter melting because it’s suddenly a thousand degrees hotter than it was a few seconds ago.
Leif moves beside me, completely unfazed, like this is a casual day. Like he’s done this a thousand times. He doesn’t say anything, just walks at my pace, which should annoy me but somehow doesn’t. I swallow and follow the nurse, stepping through the doorway into a hallway that smells like antiseptic, lavender air freshener, and whatever medical-grade cleaner they use to scrub existential dread off the floors.
“This is your first?” the nurse asks as she leads us down the corridor.
I nod, gripping the gum like it’s a security blanket. “Yeah.”
Her eyes soften. “You’ll be fine. Rosie, our technician, is wonderful. She’ll walk you through everything.” She pauses, glancing at Leif. “And your partner can sit right beside you.”
“Oh, he’s not?—”
Leif beats me to it. “I’m staying.” His voice is firm, but his expression is easy, like there was never another option.
The nurse smiles like that’s the most normal thing in the world. “Great. Right this way.”
The exam room is small but bright, with a sonogram machine quietly humming in the corner. A rolling stool rests beside it, positioned in front of an exam table covered in crisp white paper. The walls are painted a muted shade of blue, clearly meant to be soothing, though it does nothing to settle the knot in my stomach.
I stare at the machine like it might sprout fangs.
The nurse gestures toward a small counter. “You can leave your things there.”
I nod, already feeling like I’m in some weird out-of-body experience where my responses are on autopilot.
She pulls a folded sheet of crinkly paper from a nearby drawer and places it on the exam table. “For this scan, we’ll be doing a transvaginal sonogram.” Her voice is warm, gentle, completely professional, but my brain screeches to a halt. “Undress from the waist down and cover yourself with this. The doctor will be in shortly.”
I blink at her. Then at the flimsy paper sheet. Then back at her. “Right. Of course.”
She gives me a reassuring smile before stepping out, the door clicking shut behind her.
As soon as she’s gone, I release a long, slow exhale and press my palms to my face. “I hate this.”
Leif’s voice is far too casual. “You haven’t even done anything yet.”
I drop my hands and glare at him. “I’m about to strip naked in a doctor’s office so they can poke around inside me with a magic wand. Forgive me if I’m not giddy with excitement.”
His lips twitch. “It’s an ultrasound probe, not a magic wand.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—do you have a degree in obstetrics now? Is there something you need to tell me?”
He lifts his hands. “I’m just saying, let’s not confuse Disney with modern medical technology.”
I groan and tug at the hem of my sweater, my fingers tightening around the fabric. “Okay, well, unless you want a front-row seat to a show you didn’t buy tickets for, you need to turn around.”
Leif doesn’t move. He just looks at me, his expression unreadable.
I wave a hand. “Hello? Privacy?”
His brows lift like I just suggested something completely unreasonable. “Hailey, I’ve seen you in a bikini. I’ve literally carried you out of a pool before.”
“This is different,” I snap, already feeling heat creep up my neck. “There’s nudity involved. And a table. And—” I wave toward the paper sheet like it personally offends me. “I don’t know, it’s just weird.”
His gaze softens, but he doesn’t tease. He just stands and turns his back to me. “I won’t peek. Promise.”
Something about the way he says it makes my throat go tight. Like there’s not a single doubt in his mind that he’ll keep his word. Like it’s just a given that he’s here for me in whatever way I need.
I swallow and quickly kick off my shoes, peeling out of my leggings with the grace of a newborn giraffe. The exam table is cold against my thighs as I sit down and wrestle with the paper sheet, trying to arrange it in a way that doesn’t make me feel completely exposed. Spoiler: it’s impossible.
I clear my throat. “Okay. You can turn around now.”
Leif turns, taking in my state of barely-covered vulnerability, and instead of making some kind of joke, he just sits back down beside me, like this is the most normal thing in the world.
I hate him a little for how calm he is.
I stare at the machine again, my pulse hammering in my ears. “What if something’s wrong?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
Leif doesn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
I scoff. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“I say that because it’s true.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hailey, I get it. You’re scared. You don’t do big, emotional life changes. You plan, you prepare, and when things don’t go according to schedule, you freak out.”
I blink at him. “Okay, wow. When did this become a TED Talk on my control issues?”
He smiles, but it’s soft, understanding in a way that makes my eyes burn. “I’m just saying you’re not alone in this. Whatever happens, you’re going to be okay. You’ve got people in your corner. You got me.”
And most of the time, he is enough. My throat tightens, and before I can stop it, my vision goes blurry. Dammit. Leif notices immediately. His brows pull together, and then, before I can protest, he shifts forward and pulls me into a very awkward hug.
I go stiff at first, my brain immediately short-circuiting at the contact, but he just holds me there, solid and warm and reassuring in a way I didn’t realize I needed until this exact moment.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’re not doing this alone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers gripping the back of his shirt. “I don’t know if I can do this at all.”
“You can.” His voice is steady, sure, like there isn’t a single doubt in his mind. “You’re Hailey. You can do anything.”
A wet laugh bubbles out of me. “That is such a lie.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my shoulders. “No, it’s not.” He taps my chin. “Now, wipe your tears, take a deep breath, and let’s get this over with. You can have an emotional breakdown later—preferably somewhere that doesn’t involve a paper cover up.”
I let out a wobbly laugh and swipe at my cheeks. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
“Deal.”
And just like that, I know I’m going to survive this. Maybe not gracefully, maybe not without a few more embarrassing moments, but with Leif here, I won’t completely fall apart.
“I’m here,” he repeats, squeezing my hand.
I drop my hands to my lap and swallow. “You know you’re allowed to have feelings about this too, right?”
He smirks. “I have plenty of feelings.”
“Yeah? And what are they?”
“He’s got decent lumbar support,” Leif says, shifting in his chair like he’s rating furniture for a living.
I groan. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Bad chairs are a dealbreaker.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch despite myself. That’s the thing about Leif—he always knows when to cut through the spiral. When to say something so ridiculous that I forget my brain is on a runaway train toward absolute panic.
Before I can call him out on it, the door swings open, and a woman in a white coat steps inside, flipping through a chart. “Good morning,” she says, her voice warm and efficient. She looks up and smiles. “I’m Rosie, your technician. And you must be Hailey.”
I nod, my throat suddenly dry.
She turns to Leif. “And you are?”
“Leif,” he says easily, like he belongs here. Like he’s not sitting in a doctor’s office about to watch me have a very intimate experience with an ultrasound wand.
Rosie gives him a quick nod before turning back to me. “Well, I’m here so we can meet your little one for the first time.” She moves toward the ultrasound machine, adjusting a few settings. “Just a heads-up, since you’re around eight weeks, the baby is still really small. We won’t be able to see much—right now, it’s a blob and you can hear the heartbeat, just a little rhythm on the screen. But it’s there, and we’ll get a good look.”
My stomach twists. “Right. Okay. Heartbeat. That’s great.”
Rosie smiles like she’s heard that brand of barely contained hysteria before. “It really is. Early scans help us check on the heartbeat, confirm the due date, and make sure everything looks good.” She grabs a pair of gloves and snaps them on. “Since it’s still early, we’ll be doing a transvaginal sonogram today.”
I nod like I didn’t already receive that horrifying news five minutes ago.
“Have you had one before?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. “Nope. First time.”
“Well, it’s a little different than the external ultrasound most people picture. Instead of the probe moving over your belly, this one is inserted vaginally so we can get a clearer image.” She pats the exam table. “Go ahead and lie back, and we’ll get started.”
Lie back. Right. Because that’s what normal, functioning people do in this situation.
I shift, hesitating, my fingers gripping the crinkled paper sheet covering my lap. “Okay, but . . . like, how far are we talking?”
Rosie smiles kindly, adjusting the stirrups at the end of the table. “It’s designed to be comfortable, and I’ll guide you through everything. You’re in control the entire time.”
Comfortable. Right. I doubt that, but fine. I glance at Leif, who is sitting there watching me like this is any other Tuesday and not a moment that will forever live in my personal hall of humiliation.
His eyes meet mine, and something flickers in them—something soft and reassuring, like he knows I’m a second away from bolting and is prepared to physically hold me down if necessary.
He tilts his head. “You good?”
I let out a slow breath. “No. But let’s do this anyway.”
Rosie moves the machine closer, grabs what is essentially a tiny condom, and rolls it onto the probe with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a thousand times. Then she squeezes a generous amount of gel onto the tip—so much that it dribbles slightly, like an overenthusiastic ice cream cone.
I stare at it. “Well, that’s not terrifying at all.”
Leif coughs to cover what is definitely a laugh. Rosie, to her credit, just smiles. “I promise, it looks way more dramatic than it feels.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s what they all say.”
“All right, Hailey, I’m going to help position your legs to make things more comfortable.” She pulls out two cushioned straps from the sides of the table, adjusting them over my bent knees. “These will keep your legs in place so you can relax a bit more. It takes some of the work off of you.”
Relax. Sure. That’s totally what I’ll be doing while this entire nightmare unfolds.
I glance down at the straps, then at Leif, who—of course—is watching this all unfold like it’s some kind of fascinating documentary on human endurance.
“You’re still here?” I ask, my voice an octave higher than usual.
His lips twitch. “I wouldn’t miss this weird show for the world. I’m just sad that I forgot to bring snacks.”
“This is weird, don’t make it even weirder,” I hiss, ignoring his comments about the snacks.
“All right, I’m going to insert this now,” Rosie warns me. “You might feel a little pressure, but it shouldn’t be painful. Let me know if you need me to adjust anything.”
I suck in a breath and grip the edges of the table. “I have never been more aware of my existence than I am right now.”
Leif leans in slightly. “You want me to narrate something to distract you? Maybe list off the top five best burgers in New York?”
I glare at him. “If you say another word, I will rip the straps off and take you out with one of them.”
Rosie chuckles. “You’re doing great, Hailey.”
And then, suddenly?—
“There it is,” she says, turning the screen toward me.
I blink, my brain struggling to catch up.
“That little blob?” Rosie continues, pointing to the tiny, pulsing light on the monitor. “You hear that? That’s the heartbeat.”
A low, rhythmic thump fills the room, deep and certain. It’s stronger than I expected—undeniable. I squint at the screen, searching for something more, something that makes this feel less impossible. And then I see it—a tiny, curled shape, a larger head, a barely-there body.
The sound hums through me, rooting me to the moment.
“That’s . . . it?” My voice wobbles slightly, my brain struggling to connect what I’m seeing with the reality of what it is.
Rosie nods, adjusting the image. “Yep, right here. You can see the head—it’s a little bigger than the rest of the body right now because the brain is growing quickly. And these little nubs? Those are the developing arms and legs.”
I blink. “So, you’re telling me my baby looks like a gummy bear.”
Rosie chuckles. “That’s actually a great comparison. A gummy bear with a strong heartbeat.”
I exhale, staring at the screen. It doesn’t look like much yet, but somehow, it’s everything.
I thought I’d see something vague. Some amorphous blob that wouldn’t mean anything to me. But that tiny heartbeat, steady and strong—it’s real.
It’s happening.
Leif leans in beside me, closer than before, and I swear I feel the shift in the air around him. “That’s it?” His voice is softer now, quieter than I’ve ever heard it, like he’s afraid speaking too loud might shatter the moment.
Rosie nods. “That’s it.”
Leif doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the screen, his jaw tight, his throat moving like he’s swallowing something back. His fingers flex against his knee, and when I glance sideways at him, his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to process a thousand things at once but doesn’t know where to start.
I expect him to make a joke. To nudge me and say something ridiculous, something to break the tension. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he just exhales, slow and measured, and nods once.
Something flickers in his gaze—something raw and unfamiliar that makes my stomach flip.
I don’t know what’s happening inside him, and I don’t ask.
Leif’s hand twitches against his knee like he wants to touch me but isn’t sure if he should. There’s hesitation in his posture, like he’s standing at the edge of something he doesn’t know how to cross.
I clear my throat, forcing a wobbly smile. “Well. I guess I officially have a gummy bear.”
Leif exhales a short laugh, but there’s something off about it—like he’s struggling to find his footing in a moment that feels too big. His gaze shifts between me and the screen, something unreadable tightening in his expression, and then?—
He moves.
It’s awkward at first—his hand reaching for mine, then hesitating, then shifting like he’s second-guessing himself. And in that hesitation, his fingers accidentally catch the crinkled paper over my lap, tugging it slightly.
For a second, I’m not even sure what happened.
Then I see his eyes widen just enough to make my breath hitch. His jaw locks, his throat bobs, and his gaze jerks upward so fast I almost laugh.
Did he see something? Maybe. Probably.
But the bigger thing is—I don’t care.
Not right now.
Not when I’m lying on this exam table, staring at the first glimpse of something I’m still trying to wrap my head around.
Not when he looks like he’s feeling something he can’t quite contain, and it’s making him act on pure instinct.
Before I can say anything—before I can even decide if I should be mortified or amused—he moves again, his hand pressing against my thigh, warm and grounding.
I freeze.
So does he.
Then, like he’s realized he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, he mutters something under his breath and shifts, sliding his hand up to my waist instead.
And suddenly, I’m in his arms.
It’s not a careful hug. Not one of those polite, reassuring squeezes people give when they don’t know what else to say. It’s solid—his arms locking around me, his grip firm, his chest against my shoulder like he’s holding on for both of us.
Like he needs this just as much as I do.
I don’t move at first. I just breathe him in—the warm scent of his skin, the way his heart beats a little too fast, the way his fingers press into my back like he’s anchoring himself to this moment.
When I finally let out a shaky breath, he shifts, his hand cupping the back of my head in a way that’s too much and not enough at the same time.
And then, his lips brush against my temple. Soft. Barely there. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
I go still, my breath catching, my fingers curling into his shirt.
It’s not a kiss. Not really. But it feels like something.
Something big. Something terrifying. Something that makes my throat feel thick and my skin go warm.
Leif exhales against my skin, his voice a low murmur. “You’re gonna be okay.”
I swallow, nodding against him because if I speak, I might break whatever this is.
His fingers tighten for just a second—like he’s making a silent promise neither of us fully understands—before he slowly pulls back, his hands lingering on my waist for a moment longer than necessary.
When I finally meet his gaze, my stomach flips.
Because he looks at me like I’m his.
Like I’ve always been.