Page 40 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter forty

JAKE

T he sterile chill of the exam room does nothing to steady my nerves.

Fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, casting a pale glow across the white walls and laminated posters that line them—charts about fetal development, stages of pregnancy, stark reminders of what’s coming.

The air smells faintly of disinfectant and latex. Too clean. Too cold.

I’m not even the one lying on the table, but my hand is slick in Maya’s. I tighten my grip a little, hoping she feels how solid I am for her—even if I’m barely keeping it together inside.

My knee bounces until I force it still. Calm. Strong. Present. That’s what she needs from me right now.

Maya is propped up slightly, the thin paper crinkling beneath her as she shifts. The gown is loose, draped over her legs, her belly just barely visible beneath the lifted hem.

She’s biting her bottom lip, her other hand fisting the edge of the table. She looks radiant and absolutely terrified at the same time—eyes wide, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Ethan stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, but his entire focus is on her. He looks like he’s bracing for impact. Like one wrong move will shatter the air between us.

Liam is behind her, tall and still, his fingers lightly brushing her shoulder—silently reassuring her, steadying her in the same way I’m trying to.

The quiet reverence in the room is thick, like we’re all standing in a cathedral rather than a medical office. None of us speak. There’s not much to say.

The technician—a middle-aged woman named Carmen with kind eyes and a voice as smooth as honey—rolls her stool closer to Maya’s side.

“All right,” she says gently, reaching for the ultrasound wand. “This might be a little cold, okay?”

Maya flinches slightly when the gel touches her skin. I see the panic flash in her eyes, and I squeeze her hand tighter.

“You’re okay,” I murmur, leaning in just a little. “We’ve got you.”

She nods but says nothing.

Carmen begins moving the wand, her eyes flicking to the screen mounted on the wall. At first, there’s just static—gray and white fuzz that doesn’t mean a thing to me.

The air is heavy with anticipation, the silence pressing down like a held breath.

And then…

Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

The sound is soft at first, like it’s coming from miles away, but it grows stronger, more distinct, and it hits me square in the chest.

That sound? That steady, rhythmic beat?

It’s our kid.

My throat gets tight. For once in my damn life, I can’t come up with some smartass comment to cover how wrecked I feel.

There’s no sarcasm strong enough to protect me from this.

Instead, I just squeeze Maya’s hand tighter and whisper, “That’s our kid.” My voice cracks halfway through, raw and real. “That’s our freaking kid.”

Maya turns her head toward me, eyes wide and wet, but smiling. Her lips tremble like she’s trying to hold herself together, but she looks… radiant. Glowing in a way I’ve never seen before.

Like this moment has lit something inside her, and we’re all just lucky enough to witness it.

Ethan clears his throat, the sound shaky. “I didn’t think I could feel more connected to you than I already did,” he says. “But this? It’s beyond words.”

Liam steps in closer, his hand drifting from her shoulder to her hair, brushing it gently behind her ear. He leans down and kisses her temple, his body curving around hers protectively.

“No matter whose blood runs in its veins,” he says softly, “this baby is part of all of us. We’re in this together.”

Carmen hesitates for a moment, glancing between the three of us like she’s trying to put together a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit. Her brows lift just slightly as she asks, “And who’s the father?”

We don’t even have to look at each other.

“I am,” we say in unison.

Maya lets out a sound—half laugh, half sob—and clutches my hand even tighter, like it’s the only thing tethering her to the ground. Her grip is trembling, fingers digging into mine, but I don’t pull away.

I anchor her. I want to be her anchor.

She’s shaking all over, every breath she takes shallow and wavering, like her heart’s trying to catch up to everything she’s feeling.

And I can feel it too.

Relief.

Fear.

Joy.

Love.

God, so much love. It pours off her in waves—thick, overwhelming, suffocating in the best damn way. I’ve never been so completely swallowed by something in my life, and I don’t want it to stop. Not now. Not ever.

The exam room is so quiet, it’s like we’ve all forgotten how to breathe. The soft whoosh of the ultrasound machine, the distant beeping from the hallway, the gentle rustle of paper as Maya shifts against the table—those are the only sounds breaking through.

Even the tech has gone still, respectful, giving us this moment like she knows it’s sacred.

I glance over at Ethan. He’s standing stiffly at the end of the bed, his hands clenched at his sides like letting go might cause him to break open.

His jaw’s tight, but his eyes—those usually calm, steady eyes—are glassy and shining beneath the overhead lights. He’s feeling it, too.

We all are.

Liam’s still bent over her, his fingers sliding gently through her hair now. He’s whispering something I can’t quite catch, his voice warm, soft as smoke, and whatever it is makes Maya laugh through her tears.

It’s that watery, breathless kind of laugh, the kind that means she’s barely holding herself together but grateful to still be upright.

I’ve never loved her more than I do right now.

I can’t stop staring at that grainy screen.

The shape of our baby is barely discernible. A tiny blur, smaller than a thumbprint, floating in a sea of gray.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

That heartbeat isn’t just sound anymore. It’s rooting us in the reality of the moment.

That little bean in the middle of the screen?

That’s going to change everything .

I swallow hard, my chest tight, and I rub a hand over it.

This is it.

This is real .

This is ours .

Not just Maya’s. Not just mine.

Ours .

I feel it down to my bones—something permanent, something sacred. As I look around this tiny, sterile room with its cold tile floor and buzzing fluorescent lights, I realize it’s not about the setting.

It never was. It’s about us .

We are a family. Right here. Right now.

A little messy, a little unorthodox, but full of more love than I ever thought one life could hold.