Now it’s just... haunting.
I stare at the empty space where she stood, every muscle in my body locked like I’ve just come off stage after the longest set of my life. Except there’s no adrenaline. No rush. Just the sting of betrayal clawing at my ribs.
She’s pregnant.
Withmychild.
And itshouldbe a good thing, right?
If you strip away everything—if this were just me and her, no lies, no background noise, no fucking fan forums—it might’ve even beensomething beautiful. A surprise, yeah, but something worth building on. Fighting for.
Instead?
Instead, all I can see are those screen recordings Jake shoved in front of me. All I can hear is her own voice in my head: “I was always careful.” Yeah, well, apparentlynot careful enough.
Or maybe she was just careful in a different way.
Maybe careful meantcalculated.
A groan slips out of me—sharp, guttural. I shove my hand through my hair, tugging at the roots like pain might tether me to something real.
I pace the living room, slow and stiff. The city glitters outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, all glass and steel and noise, but none of it penetrates the fog in my chest.
Sheliedto me.
I walk to the kitchen, grab a glass, pour two fingers of bourbon, and just... hold it. Watch the amber catch the light.
I don’t drink it.
I sit instead. Right on the floor, back to the counter, knees up, glass in one hand, the other gripping the back of my neck like it might hold me together.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
I’d started writing again. I was working on a new track—light, upbeat, even a little romantic. Fuckinghopeful.I haven’t written a hopeful song in years. I was happy. With her. On the road. In bed. Laughing at her weird book obsessions. Watching her become friends with the band. Watching her take over my world without even realizing it.
And now?
Now there’s this gnawing ache in my chest that feels dangerously close to grief.
I could’ve handled the surprise. I could’ve stepped up.
Hell, Iwillstep up.
Because that baby didn’t ask for this. They didn’t ask to be dragged into a twisted web of lies, hidden agendas, and calculated moves. They’re innocent. And I’ll be there—at every appointment, every milestone, every damn second.
I’llneverdo what my father did to me.
But Nora?
God.
Ilovedher.
And now I can’t even bear to look at her.
The look on her face when I told her to leave—it’s burned into my skull. Confused. Hurt. Like I’d smacked her instead of just said the words.
I slam the bourbon back in one swallow. It scorches all the way down, but the numbness stays.
