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CHARLOTTE

I’m officially doom scrolling.

Noah’s on his way home from practice and I’m curled up on the couch, phone in my hand, jittering with nerves. He’s been gone so much the past few weeks, including the away game last weekend, and I’m desperate for connection. Girl, you are thirsty.

As I tap through stories, a sickening feeling sits in my stomach at a post from a high school friend that includes Jonathan’s smiling face at the Longwood Springs.

Jonathan.

My cheating ex-boyfriend, and by unfortunate circumstance, father to this child.

You need to tell him.

I’ve struggled with this decision. It would be so easy to pretend the baby is Noah’s, although given how far along I am, most people could piece it together, and I’m really not trying to hide anything. I am not ashamed of her.

I want to tell him and get it over with. Rip the final band-aid off the gaping wound of our relationship and see how it heals.

A text pops through.

Mother

I have a campaign fundraiser in Longwood tomorrow evening. Would appreciate it if you’d come.

What she means is she’d appreciate it if she can show the porcelain persona of a perfect family while people are watching. You need to tell them too.

Groaning, I throw my head against the pillow. Might as well make it a double band-aid rip.

I toss my phone on the other end of the couch and pick up a book. Sophia suggested I try reading to get my mind off things, but I can barely keep my eyes on the page. I’m exhausted from the nights waiting up for Noah, and my mind is a tangled mess pulling me in every direction.

The front door opens, and I perk up to the sight of Noah walking through. He drops his practice duffle and strides my way, a handsome smile on his face.

“Well, hey, honey,” I say, and his smile deepens.

“Hi, soffione .” He beams, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on my lips. “You have a good first week of classes?” he asks, sinking on the other end of the couch and taking my feet in his lap.

“Yeah.” I fold my book with a clap. “It was nice having something to do.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much,” Noah says, squeezing my foot.

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine.

“I don’t want you feeling lonely,” he says, eyes concerned, thumb stroking my ankle, making it impossible to concentrate. Even when I try to hide my emotions, he reads me like this damn book.

“I’ve always got my fictional boyfriends,” I say, waving the paperback at him.

He grabs my calves, and I yelp as he drags me across the couch, pulling me into his lap. He wraps his arms around me, tugging me against his chest, and I melt into him. It’s the most physical we’ve been in ages and very much needed. He plucks the book from my fingers, tossing it to the other end of the couch. “And what about your real boyfriend?”

“Have you seen him?” I ask, glancing around, a teasing grin on my face. “He hasn’t been here much lately.”

“I know.” He sighs, splaying his fingers over my stomach. “I hate being away from you so much.”

A sting pangs my chest. “Baby, I’m kidding,” I say, putting a hand on his face, hoping the pet name will show him how sincere I am. “I know you’re busy.” And I definitely do. “I just miss you when you’re gone.”

I’m trying my best not to be the needy girlfriend who’s carrying another man’s baby, but fuck , it’s hard to be the supportive one when my world is crumbling around me.

“Let’s go out tomorrow night when I’m home from practice,” he says. “A proper date with your real-life boyfriend.”

“As much as I’d love that…” A weight settles inside me. Rip off the band-aid. “Mom is having a fundraiser in Longwood for her campaign, and I thought I’d use it as an excuse to tell them about the baby.” The heartbeat was confirmed, we know it’s a sweet baby girl, and I’m definitely far enough along now to share the news. “I don’t really want to wait any longer even though I know she’s going to rip my joy away from me.”

“Maybe not,” Noah says optimistically.

“Trust me. Georgia Benson is a politician at her core. All she’ll see are the headlines this could make.”

“Well, whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.” He squeezes my thigh, his reassurance calming.

I bite my cheek, anxiety creeping up my spine. Double band-aid rip. “I’m also thinking of stopping by Jonathan’s.”

“What?” Noah says, pulling away to look at me.

“He’s in Longwood, and I kinda wanna get it over with.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says quickly.

“You have practice,” I remind him.

“But I don’t like the idea of you going alone.” His voice is firm.

“Noah, I just want to get it over with. I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “Jonathan and I dated for years. I can handle him.”

My voice is calm and collected, but a whirlwind of doubt spirals inside me. I have no idea what to think. What to expect. I definitely don’t want to get back together, but part of me hopes he’ll still want something to do with this baby’s life. Not for me, but for his child.

Noah pulls his phone out.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Calling Elijah.” He places his free hand on my thigh. “I won’t say you can’t go. But you can’t go alone.”

I press my lips together, heart soaring at his overprotectiveness. “That’s really not necessary.”

Noah’s concerned eyes hold mine. “I do not trust Jonathan.” He moves his hand to my stomach. “You are not alone in any of this. Elijah said to call him if we need him.” He drops his forehead to mine. “We do.”

I release a sigh. “Okay.”

Five minutes later, Elijah has more than agreed to be my bodyguard. With shaky hands, I grab my phone up off the couch.

MOTHER

ME

I’ll be there.

* * *

Elijah pulls in the driveway, parking next to Jonathan’s car. It’s the only one here, which suggests he’s alone. Definitely don’t want his parents around for this conversation.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I tell Sophia before turning my attention to Elijah in the driver’s seat. “And thanks for driving.”

“Any time,” he says, with a weak smile, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Besides, you really think Noah would let you come face this prick alone?”

“I can handle him.” Tilting my head, I cock a brow. “And you should wait in the truck. I think your presence would piss him off, all things considered.”

Elijah’s lips press together, and he rolls down his window. “Holler if you need me.”

I open the door of his truck and hop out, Sophia following suit.

“I really can do this on my own,” I tell her.

“Of course you can, but”—she takes my hand—“you don’t need to.”

I take a deep breath, holding her gaze. “Please wait here.”

“Char—”

“I appreciate it, I really do. But I need to do this alone.”

“Okay,” she concedes reluctantly, pursing her lips. “You’ve got this.”

Swallowing hard, I stroll up the path, passing the rose bush that supplied all the flowers Jonathan would bring me. He insisted buying them was a waste of money. As I walk up the stairs, my eyes pause on the spot where he asked me to be his girlfriend.

The wooden porch creaks beneath me as I walk slowly to the front door I’ve stepped through hundreds, if not thousands of times. Often greeted with make-up kisses from the time we’d spent apart.

I place a hand over my stomach. Four years of my life. Four years that a young, naive girl, who had no clue about life, or love, or anything, really, wanted nothing more than to spend her life with this person.

I’ve suppressed Jonathan from my mind, but being here, surrounded by all things him —or rather, us —has those memories flooding back.

Sucking in a breath, I knock three times, then fold my arms over my chest, hoping the pressure will hold me together.

Reality? I’m seconds from blowing away like a dandelion in the wind.

There’s no response, and I jam my finger into the doorbell.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Another moment of impatience and I’m pounding again, psychotically. I did not come all this way to lose my nerve at the last second. Muffled noises draw closer behind the door, and it swings open.

“Jesus, give me a—” Jonathan freezes, lips parted open. “Charlie.”

“Hey,” I say, shifting on my heels.

“What…” He eyes me up and down, and I’m suddenly grateful I went for a loose sundress hiding any hint of the breaking news I’m about to share with him. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure.” He gestures inside, and my eyes fall past his shoulders to the living room. The couch where two teenagers shared a sloppy first kiss. The kitchen where I baked so many cookies trying to perfect my snickerdoodle recipe that Jonathan threw up at football practice. The spot on the floor where we spent hours playing Uno on a rainy Saturday, a day that ended with us tangled in the sheets in his room. My eyes sting, and I blink back tears.

This house is a living memorial of all the times we shared. Memories where we were very much in love from a time we’ll never get back. Just because I’ve moved on doesn’t mean I don’t remember.

“Let’s talk here,” I suggest, motioning to the front porch, and he steps out, eyes darting past me.

“What is he doing here?” Jonathan asks, tone sharp.

“He gave me a ride.”

“What do you want, Charlie?”

I take a deep breath, feeling queasy for more reasons than one. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.” Instinctively, I put a hand on my stomach, and Jonathan’s eyes drop.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Jonathan.” My tone is gentle.

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No way.”

“You haven’t even let me talk.”

“Are you gonna say anything other than, ‘I’m pregnant?’” My lips smash together, and he laughs maniacally. “Why are you telling me this? Just to hurt me?”

My brows pull together. “To hurt you?”

“It’s Noah’s, isn’t it?” he asks, and I stay silent. His tone softens. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” I say, and his lips part open. “It’s yours.”

He blinks at me. “No.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t…” Shaking my head, I try to gather my thoughts. “From spring break, I guess.”

His eyes analyze me, brain clearly on overdrive. “You’re five months pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” His tone is accusatory.

“I only found out like a month ago,” I argue.

“A month ago?” he snaps. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because…” The words fall off my tongue.

“Because you thought it was Noah’s,” he says with a sarcastic laugh.

I look down at my feet, unable to conjure up any words. Am I ashamed? Am I sad? Am I angry? Why should he care? “Yeah.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because I thought you’d want to know about a child that is literally half of you?”

“Well, if you wouldn’t have blocked me, you could have saved yourself a trip.”

My mouth falls open. Okay, I’ve decided. I’m angry. No, I’m furious. “In case you forgot, the only reason I blocked you is because you cheated on me.”

He releases a heavy breath. “Can we not start this again?”

“Start this?” I laugh humorously.

“I don’t…” His eyes drop to my stomach. “I just—I can’t deal with this.” He turns towards the house, and I grab his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“Like I said.” He wiggles out of my grasp. “I don’t need this.”

“So, what? You’re walking away?” I don’t know what I expected from him, but as the memories of our past pounded into my mind, I guess I thought he’d at least want to be involved.

“Charlie, I’m a sophomore and already getting calls from prospective NFL teams,” he says as if that’s even remotely relevant.

“And?”

“And do you think they’re going to want some guy who has a fucking baby at twenty?”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” I say calmly. “You don’t want to be involved at all in your child’s life because you might have a shot at the NFL?”

“Let me make this easy for you,” he says, pulling out his wallet and shoving something in my hand.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask, glancing down at a few crumpled hundred-dollar bills.

“That should cover an abortion.”

I gasp. “An abortion ? I’m five months pregnant!”

“Okay?” he says with a puzzled expression. “Are they more expensive when you’re that far along?” He digs in his wallet again.

“No,” I seethe, swatting it out of his hand. “I don’t need more money. I’m not getting an abortion!”

“Well, I’m not being involved, so consider this my only child support.”

“I don’t want your money!” I scream at the top of my lungs, throwing the cash at him, unable to shove down the anger exploding out of me.

“If anyone asks if that’s my baby, I’ll deny it,” he says, bending down to collect the bills and his wallet. If only I’d done the same. “I don’t want anything to do with it,” he spits out, standing to his full height, and our eyes connect. “Or you.”

And just like that, the roses are wilted, there are cracks in the stairs, and the front door is only an exit.

His eyes dart behind me, becoming murderous as Elijah appears at my side.

“Go to the truck, Char,” Elijah says, gaze glued to Jonathan’s.

“It’s okay, I’m?—”

“I let you deal with this like you asked,” Elijah says, gaze connecting with mine, leaving no room for argument. “He’s done disrespecting you. Please, get in the truck.”

“Come on,” Sophia says, grabbing my arm gently, tugging me away, and my eyes meet Jonathan’s.

“I never want to see your face again,” I shout as Sophia drags me away from the house.

“Too bad you’ll be looking at it for the rest of your life,” Jonathan says, and I rear back as if he slapped me.

“Fuck you!” Tears sting my eyes as I fight the urge to throw up.

A sickening smirk spreads across his face, and he places his hand on the door frame. “Well, babe , that’s what got you into this mess in the first place, isn’t it?”

Elijah snatches Jonathan, shoving him up against the wall of the house. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Get off me,” Jonathan says, pushing Elijah away. Sophia holds me back and I try to shake her, but she won’t let me go.

“Men take responsibility,” Elijah continues.

“The only thing I’ll take responsibility for is fucking that cunt without a condom,” Jonathan snarls, and Sophia gasps.

Elijah cocks his fist and slams it directly into Jonathan’s nose. One point, Anderson. My body trembles with rage.

“ Oww !” Jonathan cries out like a little bitch, back against the wall, then turns to Elijah, eyes full of fury. I can’t even pretend I’m upset Elijah did it.

“You deserved that,” Elijah tells him, backing away. He totally deserved that.

“I’m calling the cops,” Jonathan says, spitting blood on the front porch.

“Go ahead!” Sophia shouts, gripping my arm. “Elijah, give him your dad’s number.”

“That’s bullshit.” Jonathan slips inside, his eyes connecting with mine. He shakes his head and slams the door. A final nail in the coffin.

In a haze, I walk to the truck. Sophia helps me inside, pulls the buckle over me, clicks it in, and I’m on autopilot the entire drive to my parents’ house.

My stomach flutters. I place my hand over it, and a little kick responds to my touch. I gasp. This is new.

“You okay?” Sophia asks.

“Yeah,” I say, a smile spreading across my face, heart swelling. “My little girl was just reminding me she’s here.”

I’m so happy you’re here.