Chapter 34
The coffee pot gurgles to life as I lean against the counter, watching the dark liquid drip into the carafe.
The house is quiet, just the soft tick of the clock on the wall and the sound of the gentle breeze outside.
I grab a cup from the cabinet, keeping my movements slow.
Beckett’s still asleep upstairs and I’m doing my best not to wake him.
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I think about the last two weeks.
They’ve been…perfect. Better than I ever could’ve imagined.
Beckett came back from New York, and it’s like nothing and everything has changed, in all the best ways.
He still texts me throughout the day when he’s working on music or in town.
He still runs with me and asks me how I’m doing.
We still have our Saturday movie days. Those things haven’t changed and I hope they never do.
But the touches and the way he talks to me, those have changed, become more intimate.
He talks to my belly every day, telling Nugget about his day, about the songs he’s writing, about how excited he is to meet him.
I press my hand to my chest, feeling the warmth spread. I’m so in love with him it scares me.
It feels ridiculous to even think that way.
We’ve only known each other a couple months—even though it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.
I spent years with Mark and never felt a fraction of what I feel for Beckett.
But there’s something about the way we fit together.
It’s in the way we navigate the silence when words aren’t needed.
There’s comfort there I didn’t know relationships could have.
Or in the way the conversation flows between us, even when we talk about the hard things.
My fears. His stalker. That was a conversation I wasn’t expecting, and one that terrified me in a whole new way.
Not for myself or the danger it might bring, but for him and how he’s had to deal with it on his own for so long.
And the sex…
My heart spikes just thinking about it. Thinking about the way it feels when he’s buried inside me.
“What are you doing up?”
I jump, nearly spilling my coffee, as arms wrap around me from behind. Beckett’s chest presses against me, warm and solid, and his lips find the curve of my shoulder in a soft kiss that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I thought we agreed you’d sleep in more,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with sleep.
I smile, setting my coffee down and leaning back into him. “I didn’t set an alarm. I just woke up.”
His hand slides down to rest on the small swell of my belly, right where Nugget likes to kick in the mornings. Beckett’s fingers stroke the cotton of my shirt, almost like he’s waiting for a greeting.
“I didn’t want to just lie there in bed doing nothing.”
He growls, low and playful, spinning me around. Before I can process the movement, he pulls me flush against him, and I feel his erection—hard and ready—through the thin fabric of his boxers. His mouth finds my neck and my head falls back, a small moan escaping before I can catch it.
“You could have woken me up,” he says, his voice dropping to that husky register that does dangerous things to my pulse. “I would’ve occupied your time.”
“Hmm,” I hum, loving the feel of his tongue moving against my skin.
“We can go back to bed now. Take advantage of a lazy morning.”
My hands find his hips, gripping tight, and for a moment I let myself sink into it—the heat of him, the promise in his words, the way my body responds to his like it was made for this.
But then I feel it, that flutter of anxiety in my chest when I remember what today is and the question I’ve been battling with asking him for weeks.
I go still, and Beckett notices immediately. He pulls back, just enough to see my face, but keeps his arms around my waist, anchoring me to him. One hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with such tenderness it almost hurts.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Where’d you go?”
I bite my lip, hating how predictable I am. How I can’t just be in this moment with him without my brain sabotaging it.
“I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour,” I say, the words tumbling out. “Do you want to go with me?”
Beckett’s face breaks into a grim, bright and immediate. “Yes. Absolutely. I want to be there.”
“It’s a big one,” I rush to add. “My twenty-eight-week visit. They’ll run a bunch of tests and—”
“I don’t care,” he interrupts, still smiling. But then his expression shifts, his smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “Madison…were you scared to ask me that?”
I bite my lip and nod, unable to say the words.
He frowns, opening his mouth to say something, but I stop him. My grip on his hips tightens, holding him in place.
“I know how stupid it is.” The words come out in a rush.
“I know you haven’t done a single thing to make me think you wouldn’t want to be there.
You’ve done everything right, Beckett. I’m still…
” I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his eyes.
“I’m still working to accept that this is my life.
That I have someone as amazing as you and that you actually want to be here. ”
Beckett’s expression softens, something tender and understanding moving through his features.
He tucks a piece of hair that escaped my bun behind my ear, his touch gentle.
“The feeling’s mutual, you know,” he says, his voice low.
“Sometimes I wake up and have to remind myself that this is real. That I get to have this. That I get to have you—both of you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
The words settle in my chest, warm and reassuring. Those words becoming ours. A phrase we’ve traded back and forth since that first morning together when neither of us knew what this was becoming.
He kisses me then, deep and slow, and I feel it everywhere—the press of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the steady beat of his heart. It sets me on fire, burning away the last of my hesitation.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.
“We should get ready,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees, but doesn’t let go. “Madison?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be scared to ask me next time. I’ll always say yes.”
The exam room is too cold. I sit on the paper-covered table while Beckett occupies the chair against the wall. He’s been making me laugh with stories from his early tour day of disastrous venues and entitled musicians, trying to keep me relaxed.
It works. Mostly.
But then there’s a soft knock on the door before it opens and Dr. Wallace steps inside.
She doesn’t say anything at first, her expression soft and professional, the kind of smile she always wears. I don’t know how, but I know the second she steps inside that something is off.
My whole body goes tense, and Beckett feels it. He’s on his feet immediately, moving to my side and taking my hand in his.
Dr. Wallace’s smile widens when she sees him. “I’m Doctor Wallace.” She extends her hand in greeting and Beckett shakes it politely, introducing himself.
“I’m Beckett.”
Dr. Wallace’s brows pinch as her gaze meets mine. “The father?”
“He’s Beckett,” I repeat distractedly, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What’s wrong?”
Her smile falters and she wheels a stool over to me, giving me her full attention. Somehow the kindness in her eyes only makes the dread worse.
“Your blood pressure was high when the nurse took it,” she says calmly. “And your urine test came back a little abnormal.”
The words hit like a physical blow, and I feel Beckett’s hand tighten around mine.
“I don’t want you to worry,” Dr. Wallace continues quickly. “It could be any number of things. Many of them completely manageable. But I want to check your blood pressure again and run a few more tests just to make sure.”
She goes through the rest of the appointment with her usual efficiency—checking my blood pressure again, listening to the baby’s heartbeat, measuring my belly.
I go through the motions, answering her questions and asking my own, but I’m not really there.
I’m somewhere dark and terrifying, thinking about everything that could go wrong.
I didn’t plan for this baby, but I love him with everything I am. I can’t imagine him not being here, not getting to meet him or hold him. Not knowing who he’ll become.
Beckett stays by my side through all of it. He doesn’t say much, just holds my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles against my palm. His presence is steady—solid—the one thing keeping me from spiraling completely.
“Do either of you have any questions?” Dr. Wallace asks as she finishes up.
“How long before we hear about the results?” I manage to get out.
She squeezes my knee, her eyes warm with understanding. “I’ll call you in the morning with the results. I know it’s hard, but try not to worry. We’ll figure this out.”
She leaves and the room feels too quiet—too empty.
I look at Beckett and the tears I’ve been holding back finally fall.
He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me toward him, pressing a hard kiss to my temple, and then he holds me there, his hand cradling the back of my head.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he murmurs against me. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice, and he holds me like that until I can breathe again.
Everything about this morning is a stark contrast to yesterday.
I haven’t moved from the bed. I lie on my side, staring at the wall, watching the faint pattern of the wallpaper blur in and out of focus. Dr. Wallace should call soon. Or maybe not. Maybe the call won’t come until this afternoon. Maybe—
I feel Beckett wake behind me. He doesn’t say anything, just slowly curves his body around mine, his palm coming to rest against Nugget as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asks quietly.
“Some.”
It’s not really a lie. I drifted in and out, caught in that half-aware state where every thought feels louder, every fear more real.
Beckett doesn’t push, doesn’t offer empty reassurances or tell me everything will be fine. He holds me, his breath warm against the back of my neck and his hand steady on my belly.
We don’t move, staying exactly as we are for who knows how long. The clock on the nightstand ticks and the shadows on the wall grow shorter.
“We should get up,” Beckett says eventually, his voice soft. “You need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know.” He presses another kiss to my shoulder. “But you still need to take care of yourself. If not for you or for me”—his hand strokes gently over the baby—“for the little nugget.”
As if on cue, I feel a sharp kick against my ribs, strong and insistent. His way of saying he’s still here—still counting on me.
I place my hand over Beckett’s, feeling the warmth of his palm through my shirt.
“Okay,” I whisper.
We get up slowly, moving through the motions the way one does while moving through a fog. Beckett starts the coffee while I sit at the island, my eyes following him as he moves around with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where everything is.
The second the phone rings Beckett is by my side, his hand finding mine as I answer on speaker.
“Hello?” My voice cracks.
“Madison? It’s Doctor Wallace.”
My pulse races at the fact it’s her calling me and not a nurse from her office. It has to be bad if she’s the one breaking the news.
Beckett squeezes my hand, reminding me I need to respond. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“I have good news. Your twenty-four-hour test came back normal. No protein in your urine, which means no preeclampsia at this point.”
The breath I was holding rushes out, and Beckett’s grip tightens as I feel him exhale beside me.
“I’m still concerned about your blood pressure,” Dr. Wallace continues. “We’ll need to monitor that closely going forward, but for now, everything looks good. Just take it easy, rest when you can, and I’ll see you at your next appointment.”
“Thank you,” I say as the tears I’ve been holding back slip down my cheeks.
“Try to enjoy the rest of your day, Madison.”
I barely drop the phone to the counter before Beckett is pulling me up into his arms. I go willingly, melting against him.
“Told you,” he murmurs against my hair.
“You did.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes bright with relief and something that makes my heart stutter. Then he kisses me, deep and slow and full of everything we haven’t said out loud yet.
His smile when we break apart is so bright, I fall in love with him a little more—if that’s even possible.
“How about that breakfast?” he asks.
I laugh, the sound watery but real. “Yeah. Breakfast sounds good.”
Beckett presses another kiss to my lips before he moves to the fridge, pulling out the ingredients to make some eggs and toast while I sit at the counter to watch him. The baby kicks again, and I press my hand to my belly, feeling the flutter of movement.
A feeling of rightness washes over me. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. Everything is going to be okay.
For now, that’s enough.