Chapter 22
I lift my shirt and tug my leggings down just enough to expose my stomach, turning sideways to study my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not able to stop myself, I press my palm flat against my stomach, trying to feel something, anything, that confirms the news the doctor gave me yesterday.
Eighteen weeks.
I stare at the slight curve of my belly, wondering if I’m actually seeing a bump or if I’m imagining it. It could just be bloating. Or the angle. Or the shadows cast across my skin from the soft light of the sconces. But then I turn a little more, suck in a breath, and release it slowly.
There. A small distinct swell where there used to be flatness.
“Madison?” A knock at the door makes me jump, and I quickly right my clothes, afraid Aiden will barge in. “You okay in there?” he asks gently through the door.
“I’m fine,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’ll be out in a second.”
At the sound of his footsteps moving away from the door, I take one last look in the mirror, pulling my hair back into a messy bun.
The woman staring back at me looks tired, overwhelmed, and too young for the situation she’s found herself in.
It’s ironic that everyone thinks I have an old soul only for me to feel impossibly unprepared for this.
I splash cold water on my cheeks, pat them dry with a hand towel, and force myself to open the door.
Aiden waits for me in the hall, arms crossed over his chest as he studies me with the same sharp gaze he’s had since he picked Beckett and me up from the hospital this morning. The one that made it impossible to lie to him as a child and even harder to fool as an adult.
“Hey,” I say, brushing past him toward the kitchen.
“Hey,” he echoes, falling into step behind me.
The smell of coffee hits me before I round the corner, stopping in my tracks when I find Beckett standing by the pot, his back to us as he grabs a few mugs from the cabinet in front of him. Aiden takes a spot leaning against the island, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“I’ve managed to keep things quiet so far,” Aiden says, his voice low. “But I don’t know how much longer that’s going to last. You need to call Mom and Dad soon.”
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. “I will.”
Aiden’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, pushing off the counter like he’s about to head for the door, then stops. His eyes find mine and something in his expression shifts from brotherly concern to something more authoritative.
“Madison.” He says my name like a command. “What’s going on?”
I freeze, my gaze darting to Beckett who’s gone still by the coffee maker. “What do you mean?” I ask, my attention back on Aiden.
“You’re pregnant?” There’s steel in his voice but also something like wonder.
I sink onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, my legs suddenly unsteady. Before I can gather my thoughts, Beckett appears at my side, sliding a mug across the counter toward me—black coffee, exactly how I like it.
“It’s decaf,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how much caffeine you can have, but I figured it’s safer for the baby.”
I melt at the simple action. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since the doctor dropped the pregnancy bomb, and I haven’t even thought about all the things I’ve been doing that I can’t anymore.
But this amazing, wonderful man—a man who has nothing to do with the condition I’m in—has somehow managed to get me decaf coffee so I can still feed my unhealthy addiction, at least slightly.
Beckett doesn’t linger, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before moving back to the counter opposite me.
He leans back against it, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and shoving his other into his jean pocket.
He’s in my line of sight, still present, but he’s giving me space to have this conversation with my brother, and that gesture isn’t lost on me.
Wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic, I’m grateful for having something to hold. I look at Aiden, who’s waiting with the patience of a man who knows he won’t be leaving without the answer he’s looking for.
“I’m almost five months pregnant,” I say, the words still foreign on my tongue.
Aiden’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the way his shoulders tense. Most people probably wouldn’t notice it, but I’ve known the man for twenty-eight years.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt in his voice hits me harder than I expect.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “I didn’t know until yesterday. At the hospital. I had no idea.”
He stares at me and I can see him working through the timeline, doing the math. “You broke up with Mark in August.”
“Almost five months ago.” I take a sip of the coffee, needing something to do.
Aiden drags a hand through his hair, the gesture so like our dad it makes my chest ache.
What are my parents going to say?
“Jesus, Madison.”
“I know.”
“Have you had a chance to talk to Mark?”
“Not yet.” I set the mug down, meeting my brother’s eyes. “I need to tell him first, Aiden. Before anyone else finds out. No matter how he and I ended, he deserves to know he’s going to be a father. A chance to decide what he wants to do.”
“Decide what he wants to do?” Aiden’s voice rises slightly. “He doesn’t get to decide whether—”
“Aiden.” My voice is firm, cutting him off. “Don’t go there.” I give him a knowing look; one he can’t argue with. “We all get to decide what we do with our own futures. Just because Mark isn’t here doesn’t mean he loses that right.”
My brother studies me for a long moment, and I can see the war going on behind his eyes. Aiden’s always been protective, sometimes to a fault, but he’s always been on my side, even with our nine-year age gap.
It’s not fair of me to throw his past in his face, especially with how everything turned out, but it’s also not fair of him to think I wouldn’t tell Mark he’s going to be a father.
“I need you to keep this a secret. Just until I can talk to him…and figure out how to tell Mom and Dad.”
His eyes fall to the floor and he squeezes the back of his neck.
I can’t imagine the stress he’s been in for the last twenty-four hours.
Or how he’s managed to keep the fact an ambulance came to the house yesterday, but I’m grateful to him all the same, and I hate that I’m asking him to keep yet another secret.
“Okay,” he says finally.
Nothing else. No conditions. No real hesitation. Just trust that I know what I’m doing.
Aiden moves around the island and pulls me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe. I cling to him, burying my face in his shoulder, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the wood smoke from the fireplace at his place.
“I’m here for anything you need,” he murmurs against my hair. “Anything,” he repeats, pulling away from the hug but keeping a grip on my shoulders to make sure I see the sincerity in his eyes. “Call me later, okay?”
“I will.”
Aiden leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.
It’s such a dad move I can’t help but smile.
He releases me and heads for the door, pausing only to look back at Beckett.
They exchange a look I can’t interpret, some silent communication passing between them and then Aiden’s gone, the front door quietly clicking shut behind him.
The silence that follows is heavy, filled with everything I need to say.
I turn on my stool to face Beckett only to find him already watching me. Those blue eyes that seem to see everything I want to hide.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says before I can speak.
“We do.” I grip the edge of the counter, needing something to hold on to. I don’t think this conversation’s going to go the way either of us want it to. “You deserve to know the full story. To understand how we got here.”
Beckett pushes off the counter and crosses the space between us, stopping just close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He reaches out, his thumb brushing gently across my cheekbone.
“You don’t owe me anything, Madison.”
“I do.” The words catch in my throat and I have to clear it to continue. “Mark and I grew up together.” A self-deprecating laugh slips free at the words. “Small-town living, you grow up with everyone around you.”
“Madison,” Beckett murmurs, his voice strained with an emotion I don’t want to acknowledge.
“We started dating when we were eighteen,” I rush to say.
“Seniors in high school.” I look down at my hands, twisting them together in my lap.
“We were together for ten years. Everyone assumed we’d get married, have kids, the whole thing.
I assumed we would too, even though we never actually talked about it. ”
Beckett doesn’t move, doesn’t try to interrupt again. He just waits, his presence steady and patient.
“The last year or so, things just…faded. We stopped making plans. Stopped trying. We were both so busy with work, with our own lives…we forgot to make room for each other.” I look up, meeting his eyes.
“When we broke up, I wasn’t even that upset.
Not about the breakup anyway. I felt guilty because of the relief.
Like I’d just been waiting for him to finally say the words I think we’d both been denying. ”
“Madison.” Beckett’s voice is soft. No judgment or pity in the one word, just understanding.
“I need to tell him about the baby,” I press on, needing to get this out. “We haven’t talked since he moved out. He took a job in Nashville, but he deserves to know he’s going to have a son. He deserves the chance to be involved…or not. I can’t make that choice for him.”
Beckett is quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he lifts his hand, cupping my face gently, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
“You’re a good person,” he says finally. “You know that?”
“I don’t feel like one.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.” He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead, so different from the one my brother just gave me.
Beckett’s lips are warm against my skin, and I close my eyes, letting myself lean into the comfort he offers.
“I’m here,” he murmurs against me. “However you need me.”
When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. “I’m going to head back to the cottage. Give you some space to think, to make your calls. But I’m not far. You know that, right?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Beckett presses one last kiss to my temple, then grabs his keys and phone from the counter before letting himself out. I sit alone in the kitchen, the forgotten decaf coffee cold in front of me, and stare at the phone on the counter.
One call to Mark. That’s where this starts.
I pick up the phone before I can talk myself out of it, scrolling through my contacts until I find his name. My thumb hovers over the Call button, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Eighteen weeks. A baby boy. A future I never planned for.
I press the button and bring the phone to my ear, listening to it ring.