Page 51 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

And once he understood, there would be no pretending this was temporary.

No hiding behind logistics. No clean escape.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Because saying it out loud makes it real.

Once one person knows, the rest will follow. And weeks of holding things together with practiced performance that I’m still the same person who walked through that door. All of it starts to crack.

Chapter eighteen

Chapter Eighteen—Ethan

Idon't let go of her wrist.

She looks at me. Chin up, nothing-to-see-here composure that might work on anyone else.

I let the silence run.

She breaks after a long moment.

“I'm fine, Ethan.”

“I know you're not.”

“You don't—”

“You've declined alcohol at five dinners. You've been up early every morning for a month and a half. You lost weight you didn't need to lose.” I keep my voice level. “I ran every other variable first.”

She stares at me.

“Stop being a doctor.”

“I stopped being your doctor the night on the rooftop.” I pause. “I've just been watching.”

I let go of her wrist. Give her room.

Something in Riley lets go.

Her shoulders drop slightly. She walks to the lower cabinets, puts her back against them, and slides down until she's sitting on the kitchen floor, legs pulled in, arms loose over her knees.

I stand there a moment.

Then I walk over and sit down beside her.

The tile is cold. Neither of us says anything about it.

Less confrontation, more pressure releasing.

It's still early. Everyone else is asleep.

“I'm pregnant,” she says.

“I know.”

She turns her head, searching my face for the thing she was braced for: the retraction, the reasonable exit, the version where I find a clean reason not to stay.

“How far along?” I say.