Through the Storm (Rose Bay #2)

1. Katy

CHAPTER ONE

katy

REVENGE TOUR

I finally did it. The thing my mom always said I would.

I ruined my life.

I wasn’t perfect for once. I didn’t behave like I was expected to. And now everything’s a mess.

Apparently, I channel heartbreak through rage. And rage through revenge.

My original plan was simple: a glow-up. Maybe a tiny, sparkly revenge outfit. Not a full-blown revenge hookup tour with football players from his rival team. My school’s team, Harbor Point U.

It just… happened. Powered by tequila and humiliation.

Because Ben Davis didn’t call. He didn’t even text.

Not after knowing me forever. After knowing I’ve been half in love with him for most of my life.

Not after I gave him everything. And he treated me like any other random hookup.

So yeah, I spiraled. A little.

Okay, a lot.

I did a few shots. And a few football players. Several nights in a row.

And then the picture I posted. Me, making out with someone who was definitely not Ben, while I was wearing Ben’s high school hoodie. Which, in hindsight, was… maybe a bit much. It was not something I would have ever done. I guess heartbreak made me a little crazy.

But whatever. Life moves on, and everyone will forget about it. Right?

No.

Because what I definitely didn’t plan on were the two pink lines staring back at me. I just stand there, unable to look away from the test, for maybe ten minutes. I honestly have no idea how long it is until it slips from my fingers onto the counter.

“No.”

The word barely comes out in a whisper.

I keep waiting for the lines to disappear. For the test to admit it made a mistake. Of course, it doesn’t.

No. No. No.

This can’t be happening.

I shove the test back into the box and decide that for the rest of the semester, I’ll just pretend this isn’t happening. I have only three months left to go. I can do this. I will have it figured out by then. I hope.

I try to do the math. I google how to figure out conception dates. After reading the fifth article saying the same thing, the worst part clicks into place: I can’t know for sure.

Slowly, my legs give out and sink to the floor. Okay, deep breath, Katy. You can handle this.

Maybe I screwed up. Maybe I made every wrong decision a girl could make.

But one thing I know for sure?

I’m not going to be like my mom.

I take a shaky breath and whisper it out loud, because saying it makes it feel real: “This baby will never doubt his or her worth. Or my love.”

I need a plan. And step one is to come up with a good excuse to quit cheer.

I love performing. I love the adrenaline and the lights and the way everyone looks so perfect under stadium lights for two hours.

But I love this baby more already.

Besides, between cheer, the impossible business classes my mother insists will prepare me to take over the family business and trying to become the kind of daughter my parents actually approve of, I barely have time to breathe most days.

I definitely don’t have time for the one thing that’s ever really felt like only mine.

Writing.

Maybe now I’ll finally have time to finish my next manuscript. Silver lining.

God, I really need to get myself together. And fast.

I have someone else to think about now.

The spring semester goes by in a blur of lies and denial. But the thing about pretending everything’s fine? It only works until your big brother takes one look at you.

I made up excuses not to come home during spring break, but now that summer’s officially started, I can’t avoid him any longer.

So, I make the hour-and-a-half drive home to Rose Bay, a cute little beach town in Connecticut.

As soon as I park in the driveway, Declan is already outside, ready to help with my bags.

He takes one look at me as I come out of the car, and his dark blue eyes, identical to mine, narrow.

“Hey,” I say, a little too chipper. “Miss me?”

He stares. “Why do you look so pale?”

My hand tightens on the strap of my tote. “Finals.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not it.”

Damn it.

“You know you can tell me anything. Is your ankle still bothering you?” He steps closer, voice soft but steady. And that’s all it takes.

The tears I’ve been holding in for months break free before I even open my mouth.

He drops the bags and catches me. “Hey, hey,” he says, voice rough. “What’s going on? You’re shaking, Katy. Talk to me.”

But I can’t. The words are caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat.

“I messed up,” I whisper. “I really, really messed up.”

His arms come around me, solid and warm, like they did when I was five and scraped my knee on the boardwalk. “Hey,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re not alone, okay? Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”

“I lied about my ankle. That’s not the real reason I quit cheer,” I confess.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his expression changes, recognition slicing through denial.

“Oh, God.” His voice cracks. “Are you sick?”

My knees buckle, and I start sobbing harder.

“I didn’t mean to,” I choke out. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He wraps both hands around my shoulders, holding on tighter this time. “Katy, you’re freaking me out. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

The words are stuck in my throat, but I force them out anyway.

“I’m pregnant.”

His breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything.

After what feels like an hour of him patting my back while I sob, he finally says to me, “It’ll be okay, Katy. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

“Mom’s going to kill me,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

He huffs a tiny laugh, the kind that still sounds like heartbreak. “Yeah, that won’t be pretty. But I’ll handle Mom. You just… breathe.”

When I finally look up, I know he’s already making a list in his head—doctor, Grandma Patty, nursery. He’s terrified, but he’s moving forward. Because that’s what Declan does.

“How am I gonna do this, Dec?”

“If anyone can handle this, it’s you. You’ve always juggled a million things at once. You’ve been training your whole life for this. And I’ll help you.”

After months of being in denial, I’m strong enough to finally stop pretending. As long as my brother’s here, I’ll be okay.