“If you need anything…” he says quietly. It isn’t a line. It’s a promise.
“I will,” I say. “I’ll call soon.” It’s the best I can give him.
I slip inside before I can change my mind, closing the door softly behind me. For a second, I just stand there with my back against the wood, taking in my living room like I’ve stepped into a set of my own life. Everything is exactly where I left it this morning. Notebook open on the desk next to my laptop. The throw blanket I kicked off the couch last night when I fell asleep revising a scene.
Same room. Same stuff. Completely different life.
I drop my bag on the couch and sink down beside it, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. I’m pregnant with Jake Reyes’s baby.
My hand drifts to my stomach again, almost on instinct. Twelve weeks. There is a baby in there. A tiny, impossiblecluster of cells that somehow already has the power to blow up my entire carefully constructed plan.
The thought terrifies me. The career implications. The financial questions. The logistics. The conversations I’m going to have to have.
But under all of that—buried way down deep under the panic and the anger and the fear—there’s something else. Something warm. Something that feels suspiciously like…awe. And maybe the tiniest flicker of excitement I’m not ready to admit to anyone, including myself.
I pull my hand away like I’ve been burned. I reach for my phone instead, scrolling through my contacts until I land on the one person who might understand how your entire life can tilt on its axis because of one night.
The phone rings once, twice.
“Hey! How’d the signing go?”
Her voice is so normal, so her, that something inside me cracks wide open.
“Mom,” I say, my voice breaking. “I need you.”
six
. . .
Jake
I drive on autopilot,my hands on the wheel and mind stuck on a loop. I went back to the office, but after an hour I canceled the rest of my day and left. I had to get out of there and think.
I might be a dad.
The city moves around me like it always does. Same clogged on-ramps, same half-faded billboards, same guy in a black SUV who thinks a turn signal is an optional suggestion rather than a necessary element of the highway code. By the time I turn onto my street, my brain has repeated the sentence so many times it has lost all meaning.
I might be a dad.
A baby.
The word is ridiculous and enormous at the same time. It sends a jolt through my chest, some wild mix of terror, awe, and something close to joy.
I have always wanted this. Kids. A family. The whole thing. Not in a white picket fence way, more in a Sundaymornings in pajamas with cartoons and cereal on the couch way. After the divorce, I kept telling myself it would still happen eventually, that I had time. But there was this small, quiet worry in the back of my mind.
But I definitely did not see this happening from a one-night stand, and certainly not with my boss’s daughter.
I pull into my driveway and put the car in park, but I don’t get out right away. My phone sits in the center console, silent. I grab it and see three missed calls from the office. Two texts from my assistant telling me to look at my email. One from the client I was supposed to meet confirming he’s fine to reschedule.
I fire off quick responses. Then I stare at Ryan’s name in my contacts. What am I supposed to say?
Hey, your daughter’s fine, just a little dizzy from low blood sugar. Oh, and by the way, she’s pregnant with my baby from a one-night stand we had three months ago.
Tomorrow. I’ll figure out what to say to Ryan tomorrow. Right now, I need to talk to someone who won’t fire me.
I dial Wyatt and wait for him to answer.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
