She answered on the second ring. “Good afternoon, Mr. Prescott.”
“I’m heading to the penthouse. I’ll be working from my home office the rest of the day. Forward anything urgent to me.”
There was a soft shuffle of papers on her end. “Of course. Do you need me to prep anything specific?”
“No. Just hold my calls unless it’s critical.”
“Understood.”
I hung up and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles whitened, driving home on autopilot. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the exhaustion evident on Callie’s face.
By the time I stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse, my nerves were frayed. I paced the living room, gripping my phone like I expected it to vibrate any second.
It finally did, thirty excruciating minutes after I left the hotel.
For a half second, I just stared at the screen, terrified answering would break whatever fragile thread she’d offered me. Then I forced my thumb to move. “Callie?”
“I got an appointment. There was a cancellation for tomorrow morning.”
Relief hit so sharply I had to brace a hand on the back of the couch to stay steady. “That’s good.”
“I’ll text you the time and the address.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “I’ll be there early. If you want privacy, I can wait in the hall. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
There was the faintest pause on the line—barely a heartbeat, but enough that I felt it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
We hung up a moment later, and I stood in the middle of our living room, my phone still pressed to my ear, as though it kept me connected to her.
She’d texted me about being pregnant, but she’d called about the appointment.
It wasn’t forgiveness. Not even close. But it was a crack in the wall she’d been forced to build to protect herself from me.
Tomorrow, I’d show her I meant every promise I’d made, through actions instead of words.
17
CALLIE
Ethan was already in the waiting room when I arrived at my OB-GYN’s office. He sat on the edge of a chair with his elbows braced on his knees. The moment the door closed behind me, he looked up and shot to his feet.
“Callie.”
After checking in, I walked toward him, my heart skittering even though my steps stayed steady. I chose a seat with an inch of air between us—a small boundary, but a necessary one.
He sat again only after I did. “Thank you for letting me come.”
I didn’t trust my voice yet, so I just kept my gaze on the soft beige carpet and hummed, “Mm-hmm.”
When the nurse opened the door and called, “Callie”, I rose quickly. Ethan stood too, but then he hesitated. He didn’t follow me until I gave the smallest nod.
The kind of love I wanted was a verb, not a noun. I needed action, not just apologies. And that seemed to be what Ethan was giving me now.
The hallway was quiet as we walked back. I felt him behind me, not crowding or trying to take over. He was just there.
When the nurse led us into the exam room after my weigh-in, I sat on the table while Ethan took the chair in the corner. He waited quietly while she took my vitals, some of the tension seeping from his shoulders when she said they were all good.
