Page 153 of Double Standards

“No,” I grumble, eyes fixed on the road but hand reaching across to rest on her thigh. “I’m still thinking about how good you looked when you came apart on my cock.”

She blushes, and it makes me grin like an idiot—like the cocky bastard who just won the lottery and can’t stop staring at the prize. Because fuck, sheisthe prize. My smart-mouthed, fire-eyed, too-good-for-me Cassie, blushing like she’s not the one who just dropped to her knees and wrecked me before breakfast.

But when we pull up to the clinic, the mood shifts. Just slightly. Enough that I feel it in the silence stretching between us. She’s quiet now, lips pressed into a line, and her hands keep fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve like she’s trying to ground herself in the thread.

I reach for her without saying a word, fingers tangling with hers as we step through the sliding doors. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she grips tighter, like she needs the contact as much as I do.

Inside, the air smells too clean. Antiseptic and powdery, like baby lotion and bleach. The walls are a soft shade of blue meant to be calming, but all it does is make me more aware of how out of place we feel. Couples sit around us—some older, some barely out of high school. Pregnant women flipping through magazines. One woman talks softly to her bump, rubbing slow circles over her belly like she’s already in love.

And suddenly I feel like an impostor.

Cassie sits beside me stiffly, legs crossed, eyes scanning theroom like she’s memorizing the exits. Her other hand is still in mine, but she’s tense, holding herself in that way she does when she doesn’t want anyone to see she’s scared.

And I get it. Because so am I.

There’s something surreal about sitting in a waiting room under fluorescent lights, surrounded by soft pastel colors and the low hum of machines and conversations. Something disorienting about pretending we belong here. Like this is just another doctor’s appointment. Like we’re some normal couple, expecting a baby, filled with the usual nerves and excitement.

Like we’renormal.

But we’re not. We’re a storm that somehow found its calm in each other. We’re chaos and secrets and blood on our hands. We’re lust turned into something neither of us knows how to name yet, but wearehere. Together. Holding hands. Waiting to hear the heartbeat of the life we created.

And maybe that’s enough to make it real.

The nurse calls Cassie’s name. I rise with her, hand still wrapped around hers, and we follow into the exam room. She climbs onto the table, pulling up her shirt, and I sit in the chair beside her. The moment her skin is exposed, my eyes go soft. That curve of her belly. My fucking heart feels too big for my chest.

The doctor is an older woman, calm and confident, with kind eyes. She squeezes gel onto Cassie’s stomach and moves the device slowly, eyes intense following the monitor. The room is quiet for a moment, just the hum of the machine, the squelch of gel, and the sharp edge of anticipation.

Then—

“There’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says, pointing to the screen. “Strong and steady.”

Cassie exhales like she’s been holding her breath for weeks. I squeeze her hand tighter.

But the doctor doesn’t stop moving the probe. She angles it again, narrows her eyes.

“And… there’s another one.”

My brain stalls.

“Another what?” I ask, voice low.

Cassie stiffens beside me.

“Another heartbeat,” the doctor confirms. “You’re having twins.”

Cassie’s head snaps toward me. Her eyes are wide, lips parted in shock.

“Twins?” she echoes.

I stare at the screen. Two flickers. Two lives. Two heartbeats that somehow, impossibly, are mine.

Cassie laughs, half a breath, half a sob. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

My throat works, but I can’t find words. I look at her—my wild, chaotic, brilliant Cassie—and see everything I never thought I’d have. Not just one child.

Two.

I reach for her face, cupping her cheek gently. “You’re… incredible,” I manage, voice thick.