I close my eyes and let myself fold into him. Cedar and warm spice and Chris—the one who showed up at my father’s funeral when I was barely eighteen, who was still in Denver when college had taken Callie to the other side of the country. My safe place before Wyatt existed, before the Agency complicated everything. He’s still in there. I can feel it in the way his arms tighten, the way his breath steadies against my temple like holding me steadies him.
The guilt is immediate and devastating.
He’s holding me like I’m still the person he trusts completely. And I’m carrying a secret that would break this moment into pieces. Tell him. Right now, while he’s open?—
But Callie is six feet away, and Wyatt is standing behind me, and this is supposed to be a family dinner. The moment isn’t right. It’s never going to be right.
He pulls back, hands still on my shoulders. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, and hate myself for it.
Then his gaze shifts to Wyatt, and a look passes between them, weighted with shared knowledge I’m not part of. They’ve talked, I realize. About what, I don’t know, but there’s an understanding there that makes my skin prickle with unease.
“Wyatt,” Chris says, his voice carefully neutral.
“Chris.” Wyatt’s response is equally measured, but his eyes flick to me briefly.
An awkward silence stretches. Chris has never done small talk, but he clears his throat and tries anyway. “How was the flight?”
“Fine. Nikita wasn’t thrilled about it, but we managed.”
Chris’s entire posture shifts, his eyes sharpening as they cut to me. “Nikita?”
The edge in his voice is unmistakable—jealousy, concern, a territoriality he’s trying to mask as casual interest.
“His cat,” I clarify quickly, surprised by the heat in Chris’s reaction. “Calico with serious attitude. She’s actually really sweet once you bribe her with enough treats.”
“Cat.” Chris’s shoulders drop fractionally. “Right.”
“She’s the jealous type too, actually.” Wyatt’s tone is dry, easy. “Hisses if I pay attention to anyone else.”
Chris only narrows his eyes but refuses to take the bait. His attention returns to me, and vulnerability threads through his voice as he says, “Thank you for inviting me.” As if my invitation was the only thing that brought him here.
“Of course,” I manage, though the words feel inadequate.
It’s all I can manage with everyone watching. With Wyatt standing beside me, radiating the kind of controlled tension that means he’s still absorbing what I just told him. Processing the word pregnant and everything it implies.
The conversation we needed to finish hangs between us like a fresh wound. I can feel his quiet understanding, the way he’s not looking at me directly because he knows I’m barely holding it together.
Callie appears at Chris’s elbow with a glass of wine, her timing impeccable as always—rescuing us from the awkwardness before it can deepen.
“Well, this is cozy,” she says, but her voice carries warmth rather than sarcasm. “My brother finally shows up, Wyatt gets reassigned to LA, and Nina’s here for a family dinner. It’s like old times, except with better food and fewer disasters.”
Mason laughs from where he’s tending the grill. “Give it time. The night’s still young.”
Chris’s gaze flicks between Wyatt and me, something unreadable passing across his features. His posture shifts, suddenly wary, like he’s aware he’s walked into something he doesn’t fully understand.
He’s not wrong.
The November evening has settled into that perfect LA coolness—warm enough for short sleeves but with a crispness that promises actual seasons exist here. String lights have flickered on automatically as the sun begins its descent, casting everything in a soft amber glow.
Zoey toddles between adults, chattering in her delightful mixture of languages.
I should feel peaceful. This is exactly what I wanted—safety, family, the people I care about most gathered in one place. But instead, I feel like I’m carrying a bomb that only Wyatt knows exists. Every smile feels forced. Every casual comment from Chris lands like he’s talking to someone he doesn’t know at all.
Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t know about the positive test, the panic attack on my bathroom floor.
And Wyatt—God, Wyatt heard me say pregnant and was and immediately understood. I can see it in the way he’s standing, the vigilant stillness that could either mean he’s running interference, or that he’s still recovering from the bomb I dropped.
