“You showered already?”I ask, because it’s safer to ask about water than about babies and fathers and feelings that can ruin us.
“I did, then I thought about getting in the bathtub,” she says, tone casual like she didn’t just detonate our lives.“But I don’t know if it’s ...safe?Are there rules?Am I going to steam myself into a medical emergency?”
Cally’s phone is out in seconds.“Water under a hundred degrees and it’s fine.Don’t stay too long.”
“Wow,” she replies.“You’re like WebMD with better shoulders.Also ...I drowned my phone in the bathtub, and I think I might need a new one—or for someone to resuscitate it.”
Cally’s mouth twitches.“Harvey can get you one, baby.”
She mutters something that sounds like, “I hate you both,” but it’s the version of hate she uses when she’s annoyed at our antics.
The apartment exhales.
Cally looks at me again, and we’re back where we left off—two men in a borrowed space, both pretending this is about logistics when it’s always been about her.
“If we’re going to survive this,” I say, “we call a truce.”
His brows lift.“Since when do you do truces?”
“Since there’s a baby involved,” I say.“And since Ves is barely holding it together.”
Cally studies me, like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying.
“I’m not promising I won’t hit you,” I add, “but I’ll try my best.”
He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh.“You’re a romantic, Wade.”He keeps tapping on his phone.“Harvey found a chef.He’ll be here later for an interview.”Cally’s eyes lift.“It’s called dinner.”
“What else?”I ask, already running the list in my head—appointments, bloodwork, OB referral, travel, a schedule that isn’t going to bend just because we’re panicking.
His gaze drags around the living room.“How uncomfortable is your couch?”
I stare at him.“You can’t possibly think you’re staying here.”
“There’s no way I’m leaving her alone—with you,” he shoots back.
“This place barely fits her and me,” I say.“And you?You’ll pace holes into the floor.”
He doesn’t blink.“We’ll find a house.”
“In twenty-four hours?”I scoff.
“In as fast as it takes,” he says, and there’s that Cally thing—when he decides the universe is going to move because he wants it to.“Lake Oswego.Quiet.Space.Rooms.We put it in her name.”
My chest pulls tight, not with fear—something worse.
Something that looks like Cally building a future like he owns it.
He keeps going, voice gaining speed as if he can outrun reality by planning harder.“There might be changes in her career.If she needs to stay in New York, we’ll figure it out.I’ll retire.”
The words hit, and for a second, I just watch him.
Because he means it.
And I hate that he means it.
I hate that it makes my throat burn.
I hate that part of me wants to believe him—wants to believe someone can love her so loudly it becomes a shelter.
