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Chapter thirty-five

Katarina

I t's strange how fast things can change.

Just a few days ago, I passed out during Brody's BMI check-in, convinced my life was falling apart. Now I'm sitting on my couch, legs curled beneath me, watching Liam slice strawberries with the concentration of a man performing delicate heart surgery.

"Are you making me a fruit salad?" I ask, lips twitching into a smile.

He glances at me, the corners of his mouth lifting. "No. I'm practicing for my next career in competitive charcuterie."

"Charcuterie doesn't usually involve strawberries."

"Then clearly, you've been living in the wrong snack circles," he deadpans.

I laugh, shaking my head as I lean back against the cushions. It's been like this for the past couple of days—slow and weirdly domestic, like waking up in someone else's life but not hating it.

Liam shows up daily with some kind of food, claiming it's for the baby but always making enough for both of us. He brings pre-cut veggies, little containers of hummus, fresh bread, soup from that one overpriced place I love across town.

One night he brought over frozen pancakes and claimed it was 'a pregnancy craving via spiritual connection.'

He's also been staying here most nights.

Initially, he insisted it wasn't in the 'let's-make-a-baby-again' kind of way, but more in the quiet, comforting, sharing-space way.

I wasn't having that. It was my idea that we make up for all the sex we missed, and he's been making good on that.

I mean, don't get me wrong, we also watch TV.

We talk.

But, honestly, we don't do much of anything.

Sometimes we just fall asleep on the couch like two exhausted people clinging to a very strange new normal.

But mostly, we just hang out tangled up in each other's arms, and I've never felt more safe.

And the craziest part,

I like it.

I like him.

A lot.

And that terrifies me more than passing out in front of Kyle ever did. Especially with the first game of the season just a couple weeks out.

I should be obsessing over player meal plans and arguing with some rookie about how pizza isn't a carb-load strategy. Instead, I'm wondering if Liam will stay over again tonight.

Which is why I'm sitting here now, holding my phone in my hand, staring at Griffin's name, knowing I have to call him. I'm dreading it. But I've given him enough time to cool off. It's time for us to talk.

I blow out a breath, thumb hovering like the call button might bite me back, then hit it before I can chicken out. He answers after two rings, and I know he was waiting.

"Hey Kat."

"Griffin," I reply. "We need to talk."

"I know," he sighs. "You alright?"

I swallow hard at the concern in his voice. Even when we're fighting, he still worries about me. "Yeah. I'm fine. As fine as someone can be when everything feels like it's spiraling and their brother tried to kill the guy they might actually be falling for."

Griffin exhales like he's been holding it in for days. "Kat, come on."

"No, you come on," I snap. "You've been acting like Liam's the devil incarnate and I'm some clueless idiot. I'm not stupid, Griffin. I know who he is. I know his reputation.

I also know he stayed here three nights this week just to make sure I ate and slept and didn't cry myself into a hormonal spiral."

He goes quiet. I press on.

"I'm pregnant, Griffin, and yes, it's Liam's. I triple-checked the timeline just to be sure, in case you were planning to argue paternity like this is some soap opera or I just spread my legs for anyone."

"Jesus, Kat—"

"No," I cut in. "You don't get to talk over me. Not this time.

You want to be mad? Fine. Be mad. But figure your shit out, because I'm having this baby, and that kid is going to need an uncle who doesn't start a fight every time its dad walks into the room."

Silence. Just the soft sounds of Liam moving in the kitchen and my own heartbeat.

"He called me."

I blink. "What?"

"Liam," Griffin mutters. "He called me yesterday. Said he owed me an apology. Said he wanted to step up—not just for the kid, but for you."

My chest gives a traitorous flutter like I've just been caught staring at the hot captain in high school. "He did?"

"Yeah," Griffin sighs. "Didn't expect it. Honestly, didn't believe it was him at first until he called me a dick and told me to shut the fuck up so he could apologize. Thought he was just saying what he had to."

"And now?" I ask.

"Now…" He pauses. "Now I think maybe you're a good influence on him.

Doesn't mean I like him. But if he's serious, and you're serious, maybe I can try not to punch him every time I see him."

I snort. "Wow. What a generous offer."

"Don't push it," he mutters, but I hear the reluctant smile in his voice. "You sure about this, Kat? Really sure?"

I glance toward the kitchen. Liam's humming under his breath, lining up little containers like it's a game. When he catches me looking, he winks.

"Yeah," I say softly. "I think I am."

Griffin sighs again. "Alright. Then I'll try to be nice. For you. Not for him."

"Duly noted."

"And Kat?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm still your big brother. If he screws this up, I will deck him again."

I smile. "Fair enough."

We hang up a minute later. I set my phone down just as Liam walks over with a bowl of strawberries and yogurt. He sits beside me, nudging the bowl into my lap.

"Why the look?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"I just had a conversation with my brother where he didn't threaten to disown me. So yeah, I'm feeling kind of victorious."

"Oh, was that what that was about?" he asks casually, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "Did he say anything about me?"

I grin. "Only that he still doesn't like you but might not cut your dick off next time he sees you."

Liam exhales, mock-serious. "That might be the nicest thing a sibling has ever said about me."

I bump his shoulder. "He told me you called him."

"Yeah, well, it was the least I could do. I meant what I said, Kat. I'm not just showing up for the easy parts."

"I'm in this. For you. For the kid. For all of it."

My voice catches somewhere low and sticky, like the words might choke if I try to say more. I lean my head against his shoulder, balancing the bowl between us.

"I know," I whisper. "That's what scares me, the all of it."

He kisses my hair. "Me too."

But he doesn't move. He just sits there, steady and warm beside me, his hand finding mine and squeezing once.

And for the first time in a long time, that steady warmth might be enough for me to believe in.