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NOAH

Fifteen weeks.

I don’t need to be a mathematician or have a PhD in Gynecology to know Charlotte’s not carrying my baby.

I don’t need to wonder if she’ll have my eyes or if she’ll inherit the Caruso charm.

I don’t need to worry if she’ll be allergic to nuts like my father or have a sun sensitivity like Mom.

I don’t need to bring my family history to every doctor’s appointment.

And the worst part of all, I don’t get to.

My eyes are fixed on the truck key in my hand, a Barracudas training bag heavy on my shoulder, reminding me where I should be. Coach Bexley gave me a late pass, and I’m already cutting it close, but how can I leave?

The rattling of tiny wheels draws my attention to Charlotte dragging her suitcase from the garage to our bedroom, and my body stiffens.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing,” she says, disappearing into the bedroom.

“What?” I drop everything to the floor with a thump, chasing after her. She yanks open her dresser drawer and scoops clothes by the handful, then tosses them in the suitcase like she’s trying to flee the country.

Is she?

“ What are you doing?” I repeat, hoping for a clearer response.

“Like I said.” She tosses a pair of shorts in the bag. “ Packing .”

“To go where?” My eyes bounce between the drawer and her suitcase as more items get haphazardly thrown inside.

“I don’t know,” she says, exasperated.

“Then why are you packing?” I ask, words made difficult by my full-blown inner fucking panic.

“Didn’t you hear the doctor? I’m fifteen weeks. Ding ding ding! Congratulations, Noah, you are not the father!” she says with a sarcastic laugh, but her attempt at humor only rotates the knife deeper in my chest.

“Charlotte,” I say, softly, blinking back tears so she can’t see how affected I am by this. “Please, stop.”

“Why?” She shrieks, throwing her arms in the air, a bra in each hand. “You should be relieved! Mr. Perfect still has his scot-free record, and you aren’t gonna be a daddy at twenty-three! You can go focus on football and your career, and we are not your problem anymore.” My chest aches, lungs constricting as she rushes off to the bathroom, clattering and banging away. Sure, I worry about my career, but I would have never wished for this.

Muffled rings from my phone by the door attempt to pull my attention, but I ignore it, following after her.

“Is that what you think I want?” I ask, entering to the sight of her throwing more shit in a small bag.

She stays silent and shrugs.

“You think I wanted this baby not to be mine?” I ask, heart bleeding, eyes stinging.

Stay strong, Noah.

Charlotte can’t see how devastated you are.

“I mean…” She glances up, catching my gaze in the mirror. “Isn’t it better this way?”

“For who?” I snap, tone harsher than intended. “For Jonathan? Is that where you’re going? Straight to your actual baby daddy?”

“What?” She fumes. “No.”

“Then where are you going?”

“I. Don’t. Know!” she shouts, shoving more stuff in the bag. “Somewhere I’m not a burden.”

“Char.” My voice cracks. I reach for her, but she steps away. “You are not a burden here.”

“How could I not be? It’s not your baby, Noah!” She throws her hands in the air. “You can stop faking it now.” She turns back to the vanity, and every item thrown in the bag jabs the wound more.

“You think I’m pretending?” My voice is calm, but inside there’s a black hole looming, ready to swallow me alive.

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I think everything got real so fast, and the baby made you believe the feelings were real too. And it’s fine, I understand. I really appreciated the fake boyfriend act.” Her eyes meet mine. “But fake baby daddy? That’s insanity.”

Anger thrums through me. “Seriously?”

“I’m giving you an out,” she says, exasperated. “Take it.”

“An out?” I step towards her. “I don’t want an out.”

“Then what do you want?” she cries, spinning to face me, tears pouring down her face.

“I want you!” I plead, and her glistening eyes widen. “I want you. And I want this baby.”

She analyzes me, stunned. “But why?”

“I told you I would be with you through all of this.”

“When you thought the baby was yours,” she points out.

“I still stand by my words.”

“Because you’re honorable.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. Heart aching.

“Then why?”

“Because!” Not like this .

“Because why? Why would you possibly want me? This?” She sobs, tears streaming down her face. “Why would you agree to stay with me when I’m carrying someone else’s baby?”

My phone rings for the hundredth time. “Che stress,” ? 1 I groan, shooting a death glare towards the noise. If I don’t leave for practice right at this second, I might not only be benched but fired, and then where does that leave Charlotte and the baby? I have to provide for them. “Fuck,” I say, dragging a hand down my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“My coach gave me a late pass, but I can’t—I don’t?—”

“Go,” she says, with a weak smile.

“No. This is important.”

“So is your job.”

A year ago, I’d have already been at practice, saving the personal stuff for after the stadium lights went out. Funny how two words can change everything.

Even your priorities.

And yet…

“Please, don’t leave,” I beg. “We’ll continue this when I’m home tonight, okay?” She stays silent. “Okay, soffione ?” I press, my voice cracking.

She nods. “Okay.”

I lean down, inhaling her, memorizing her, sending up a silent prayer for her, then press a light kiss on her cheek and drag myself out the front door. It clicks shut, the sound a bullet to my heart.

Then I get in my truck and cry.

* * *

Did she leave?

Does she not want me involved?

Will she push me away?

Should I let her?

A few days ago, I was cursing myself, wondering how the hell I got in this situation. And now? I’d wish on every dandelion in the world it won’t be ripped from my hands. They won’t be ripped from my hands.

“Caruso!” The shout penetrates my self-pity wallow fest, and my head snaps up to discover Coach Bexley with defined wrinkles on his forehead, eyes blazing. “What the hell’s going on out there?”

I blink the field into focus. The guys are staring at me, ball in my hand, and it all comes rushing back. The center hiked, offense started the play, and I froze—completely lost in my thoughts. Luckily, we were practicing a play with no defense, otherwise I would’ve been blitzed.

“It won’t happen again!” I promise. It can’t happen again.

I have to stay focused.

For Charlotte, and for the little baby girl growing inside of her. Even if it’s not biologically mine.

“It better not. We don’t pay you to daydream. If I wanted that, Knox would be out there!”

“Hey!” Knox says from the sidelines, and I crack a smile.

Inspira… due… tre… espira… due… tre.

“Down, set, hike!”

* * *

I’m ten houses from ours and already suffocating. Charlotte’s Bronco is in the driveway, which is a good sign, but the house is dark. Too dark. When I’m not home, she keeps every damn light on. That drove me crazy when the guys did it, but it makes her feel safer, so I won’t argue with that.

“Please be home, soffione, ” I mutter to myself, pulling in the driveway.

I barely have time to turn off the ignition before jumping out and running towards the house.

Releasing a shaky breath, I unlock the front door and head inside. “Charlotte?” I call out, dropping my duffle and flickering lights on as I walk through the house.

Silence.

“Charlotte?” I call out again, checking our bedroom. Empty . Bathroom. Empty. With each room I check, I grow more panicked. “Fuck!”

Pausing in the kitchen, I white-knuckle the counter in an attempt to steady my breathing, but it’s no use. Every muscle in my body aches. Including my heart.

Snatching my keys from the counter, I make a beeline for the front door. Where could she be?

The Baller Pad?

Andi & Stella’s?

Swallowing hard, I think of a third place I wouldn’t even know how to check.

Jonathan’s?

Settling back in the driver’s seat of my truck, I pull out my phone. My last three messages to Charlotte are unread and unanswered. I attempt to call, but it goes straight to voicemail. Did she block me? Oh, hell no. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I’m so going to regret this. Unfortunately, desperation overtakes giving a damn.

BIG STING ENERGY

ME

Does anyone know where Charlotte is?

THEO SCHROEDER

You lost your baby mama already?

ELIJAH ANDERSON

I’m gonna get y’all one of those toddler leashes for the baby shower so you don’t lose Gabriella too

JULIAN LISCERO

Now I know why you have your no pussy rule

You can get it but you can’t keep it

DESMOND BALL

guys there’s no point in busting his balls

wherever charlie is she has those with her I’m sure

I blow out a heavy breath. There’re too many emotions running through me to deal with this right now. And if one more comment gets made about her being my baby, I’ll implode.

ME

I’m calling immunity necklace.

The rule is simple. When you call it, no one can judge whatever ridiculous shit comes out of your mouth.

THEO SCHROEDER

You have to call that BEFORE saying the thing. That’s the rule.

ME

Do you know where she is or not?

JULIAN LISCERO

Nah, sorry cap

DESMOND BALL

She’s not in sin city

After a few minutes of no response from Elijah and Theo, I say fuck it and make the quick drive to their place. Technically my place.

The driveway is full, so I park on the grass near the mailbox, fly out of my truck, rush to the door, and throw it open. Glancing around, I find Elijah and Theo sitting at the island. They jump to their feet when they see me, eyes wide.

“Okay, okay,” Theo shrieks, hands in the air. “I’ll allow your immunity necklace. Calm Down.”

“I can’t,” I say, teeth gritted, heading his way.

“I’m sure wherever your baby mama is, she is just fine,” Theo says.

“Please stop !” I beg, my body buzzing with annoyance.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Theo asks, brows furrowed.

Gripping the edge of the counter, I blow out a shaky breath. “It’s not mine.”

“What’s not yours?” Elijah asks, concern etched all over his face.

I grip the edge harder, knuckles turning white. “The baby.”

“What?” Theo shrieks, and he and Elijah share a look.

“It’s not my baby,” I choke out, shaking my head, eyes stinging in disbelief. “It’s Jonathan’s.”

“Oh shit,” Elijah says.

“Isn’t this good news?” Theo asks, and my muscles tense.

“No, it’s not good news!” I snap, pulse pounding in my ears. “It’s the worst news I’ve ever heard in my fucking life.”

“Most guys our age would be happy to find out they’re not the father,” Theo says.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Maybe she went to see a friend,” Elijah suggests.

“Well, maybe she did!” I say, throwing my arms in the air, unable to suppress my frustration.

“So relax then,” Theo says, gesturing down with his hands.

“Relax?” I shriek. “You want me to relax? Charlotte’s out there convinced she should leave me because… because why?!”

Theo places a hand on my shoulder, our eyes meeting. “Because she knows this baby is not your problem.”

“This baby,” I seethe, pushing Theo’s hand away. “This perfect little girl Charlotte is growing”—I blink hard, shoving down the overwhelming emotions—“is not and never will be a problem. And neither is she.”

“Noah,” Charlotte’s voice fills my ears, and I freeze, every hair standing up.

Theo flashes a smug grin. He knew she was here.

Turning, I find Charlotte standing near the island with her arms crossed. I move toward her slowly on unsteady legs. Her eyes meet mine, and I place my hands on her face, analyzing every inch of it, as if to make sure she’s real. “ Stai bene.” ? 2 I throw my arms around her, tugging her against my chest. She loops her arms around my waist, nuzzling into me. She’s here.

Dropping my face in the crook of her neck, I inhale deeply, her sweet scent flooding me with a cosmic wave of relief. The surge is so strong, tears escape my eyes as I hold her tight. Afraid if I let her go for even one moment, she’ll vanish.

“You left,” I mumble into her hair, attempting firmness, but the words come out broken. Just like I am.

“No, I didn’t,” she says, the shakiness in her tone showing she’s just as distraught. Pulling away, I hold her face in my hands, lips pursed. “I just needed a little friend time,” she adds, fingers gently wrapping around my wrists, the physical contact reducing my anxiety.

“Did it help?”

“A little,” she admits.

“I couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“My phone’s dead,” she explains, and I release a frustrated breath.

“You’re lucky you’re pregnant, because you’re oh for two, and that tattoo of my phone number would be on your ass today .” She rolls her lips together. “When I got home, you were gone, and I…” Lost my ever-loving mind. “Panicked.”

She fights a smile, and someone clears their throat, pulling me back to reality, reminding me of our audience.

“ Soffione , go get in the truck,” I tell her. Because there’re a few things I need to tell my asshole best friends that I don’t want her here for. She cocks a brow, unmoving, and I grip her chin, our eyes connecting. “Please?”

She nods and I pull her to me, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then hand her my truck key. A minute later, she’s out the door with Sophia on her heels.

Grinding my teeth, I spin to face Theo and Elijah.

“Bro,” Theo says, that smug smile still plastered on his face. “You are so fucking gone for her.”

“Read the damn room,” Elijah tells him.

“You should’ve told me she was here,” I grit out, and they share a look. “Did you already know the baby wasn’t mine?”

“No,” Elijah says quickly. “I swear.”

“She showed up about an hour ago,” Theo says. “She and Soph have been locked in the room ever since.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” I press, searching for clarity.

“Probably because I’m an asshole?” Theo says.

“Well, that checks out,” I mutter, turning my attention to Elijah. “What’s your excuse?”

“I was kinda hoping you’d make some big love confession she’d overhear.”

Is he for real? “I could’ve also said something idiotic because I’m freaking the fuck out!”

“I hadn’t considered that…” he responds, eyes darting to the floor.

“ Did I say something dumb?” I ask, trying to recall the conversation, anxiety coursing through me.

“Nah, you’re good,” Theo assures me. “Go take care of your girl.”

Don’t have to tell me twice.

I hurry to the truck.

When I open the door, my eyes find Charlotte’s. I’m unable to conjure up a single word as I pull onto the road. Itching to touch her, I extend my hand, and she laces her fingers with mine, tethering us. I grip it tight the entire silent ride home.

When we finally make it through the front door, she trails me to the living room, and I throw a pillow on the ground by the coffee table, gesturing toward it.

She stares at the pillow. “What are we doing?”

“Sit.”

“Should I stay too?” she asks teasingly, lowering herself to the cushion, and her attempt at humor lessens more of that anxiety.

“Only if you’re a good girl.” I wink, playing along, and grab a small box from the sideboard under the TV. I return to her, dumping a hundred little bricks onto the table.

“We’re playing with Legos?” She picks one up, analyzing it. “Like, right now?”

“Yep,” I say, grabbing a pillow and situating myself on the floor across from her. “Because we’re about to have a serious conversation,” I say, sorting the pieces for an orchid set I bought to make Charlotte for her bedside table.

She laughs. “And that equals Legos?”

I pause my organization and look up at her. “Mom and I always do this when we have something serious to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Because no one is allowed to get up and walk away until either the Lego build is finished or the conversation is.”

She smiles softly. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”

“And highly effective,” I say, continuing to sort the pieces.

“Where should we start?” Charlotte asks, joining me timidly.

I swallow hard. “Do you want this baby?”

“Would it hurt you if I said yes?”

“Hurt me?” I repeat, holding her gaze. “Why would it hurt me?”

“Because it’s Jonathan’s.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about you and what you want.”

I definitely do care.

“He might want to be involved,” she reminds me.

“Do you want that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, placing a hand on her stomach. “I feel like I have to at least tell him. Give him the choice, you know?” I’m trying hard to understand, but involving him will only cause her pain. She sighs. “It’s weird. I spent a large part of my life dreaming about having his children, and now that it’s happening, all I want to do is make it go away.”

A sickening feeling creeps up my throat at her mention of her former planned future. Her current future.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, my chest constricting. “To make it go away?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I meant—I didn’t?—”

“You don’t have to filter yourself with me,” I say, connecting two more blocks. “We have to be open and honest, or this conversation is pointless.”

A few minutes pass as we put pieces together, pausing to check directions, and she finally says, “I don’t want an abortion.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“The second I saw that screen”—she smiles softly—“I had this overwhelming sense of joy. Like there was so much of it, it may come bursting out of me.” She glances away and huffs out a laugh. “Well, I suppose it will come bursting out at some point.”

I scrunch my nose. “Yeah, I’m going to have to do some reading up on that part.”

She releases a heavy breath. “You really don’t have to do this.”

Abandoning the little brick, I place my hand on hers and stare into her caramel eyes. “I want to.”

“I appreciate all this,” she says, waving at the house. “Truly. But you just made the NFL. You have everything in life you’ve ever wanted. Why not let me handle this and forego all the inevitable drama?”

“Because I wouldn’t have you,” I say, rubbing circles on her palm, and her eyes drop to our hands.

“I’m not that special,” she says, shaking her head.

“Yes.” I tip her chin up, and our eyes connect. “You are.”

“Noah,” she says, her gaze not leaving mine.

“Yes, soffione ?”

“Mi fai impazzire tu anche.”

The second that broken Italian leaves her lips, I know I’m well and truly fucked.

Because I am, without a doubt, devastatingly in love with her.

1 ? IT: Che stress. EN: How stressful.

2 ? IT: Stai bene. - EN: You’re okay.