Page 93 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

By the time the sky shifts from black to that bruised purple-pink, I've been out here for over an hour.

My coffee sits untouched behind me. My hands grip the railing harder than I realize.

The sliding door opens.

I don't turn around. I already know who it is.

Connor steps out in yesterday's shirt, hair messy, eyes carrying the exhaustion of someone who also didn't sleep. He stops a few feet away.

He doesn't wait for an invitation. He never has.

“Talk to me, Riley.”

He starts listing things, calm and precise, almost clinical.

“You didn't touch the raw fish. You didn't drink alcohol. And you laughed half a second too late at every story Sarah told.”

Each one lands clean.

“I know you, Riley. Better than anyone. So don't do that thing where you tell me everything's fine and expect me to believe it.”

My hands tighten on the railing.

“I just wasn't in the mood for raw fish.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “You're being weird about this, Connor. It's been a long few weeks. That's all.”

He doesn't move or raise his voice. He just watches me with that relentless focus.

“I'm not being weird,” he says. “I'm being your brother.”

He takes one step closer.

“Don't do that. Not with me.” His voice drops, still controlled but firmer. “I sat with you every night for months after Mom and Dad's accident while you swore you were okay. I know what you look like when you're scared and trying to carry something alone. So whatever this is—talk to me.”

The pink edge of the sky is widening behind him as the city wakes up below.

I run through every deflection I've rehearsed for weeks. None of them work when he looks at me like this.

My throat tightens.

“I'm pregnant.”

The words come out smaller than they should. Saying them doesn't make it feel more real. It just makes it harder to take back. One of my hands drifts unconsciously toward my stomach before I catch myself and put it back on the railing.

Connor goes very still.

Then he crouches down so we're eye-level, the same move he's made since we were kids. Getting on my level so I can't hide.

His eyes search mine. Shock flickers across his face, then fear, then something else entirely. He locks it all down fast, but I still see it.

He exhales once through his nose.

“Who's the father?”

The question stays there.

I don't answer. I can't.

The silence stretches. The sky behind him has gone fully pink now, orange pushing in at the edges.