Page 5 of Tiny Precious Secrets (The Brothers of Calloway Creek The Montanas #4)

Allie

Antigua is a beautiful island. It’s not the first time my family or I have been here. Ever since we were little, our parents would take us on fun, exotic, educational vacations.

Although it’s been more than a dozen years since we came here, the white sandy beaches, breezy trade winds, and million-dollar views are what drew Dallas back to the place where he’ll make Asher’s sister his wife.

I’m currently looking at one of those views right now.

My beach bungalow sits up on the side of a hill.

There are exactly seventy-three steps winding down to an exclusive beach tucked back in a bay, protecting us from the harsher ocean waves.

That barrier makes it easier to see the outlines and shadows of sea life beneath the blue-green water, and at the moment I’m tracking a stingray as he flies just underneath the surface.

It truly is paradise.

A slow smile creeps up my face as I remember what Asher said he wanted to do to me here.

He arrives later tonight. Along with Bug.

I’m not as worried as I was about getting alone time with him.

She’ll want to spend every moment she can with her cousin, Charlie.

Plus, what teenager wouldn’t want to spend her days on one of the best-rated beaches in the world?

It’s the nights that concern me the most. Will we be able to sneak away and accomplish Asher’s ‘under the stars’ wish?

I find myself fantasizing about all the things we’ll do if we get the chance. He’s texted me a few times since our last meet-up. Mostly to tell me how much he’s been enjoying the videos. I have to admit, I’ve watched them a time or ten myself.

Mia Cruz, my best friend, once forced me to watch a porn movie when we were teens. I found it mostly funny. And at times, a bit scary. The cocks on the guys in those movies are massive, and they put them in places I thought they definitely shouldn’t be putting them.

I silently chuckle. Because Asher and I have most definitely been testing the limits of sexuality.

And even though he’s older and a lot more experienced, it’s felt like somehow, we’d both been waiting for that person who was so sexually compatible, it made all those things way more fun and not the least bit embarrassing.

Mitchell makes a noise, shifting in my arms. I avert my gaze from the stingray to my eleven-week-old nephew and sigh.

Every time I look at him, touch him, hold him, memories from my past bombard me.

But no matter how painful those memories are, they can’t keep me from this amazing, tiny, perfect human.

I gladly babysit whenever needed. And this week, it’s been needed a lot.

While my mom has been tasked with keeping Maisy and Charlie occupied, mostly by following them around at the beach as they add to their growing collections of shells and sharks’ teeth, my job has been Mitchell.

And I do it willingly. Even as it sends shards of white-hot pain right into the center of my heart.

“Are you hungry, little guy?”

He confirms my suspicion when he arches his back and lets out a ravenous wail.

I laugh. “Okay, okay. Lunch is coming.”

After fetching Mitchell’s bottle of breast milk, I settle back outside, once again enjoying the view as I feed him.

When he’s finished, I watch his little eyes flutter open and closed.

He’s milk-drunk and sleepy. I hold him in one hand and pull the bassinet out onto the lanai with my other.

There’s surely no better place to get a nap than here.

Gently settling him down, I lie on the outdoor couch next to him, watching him through the white mesh side of the cradle as his little mouth puckers and his hands twitch as he falls into a deep sleep. I find the sight of him mesmerizing as my own eyelids grow heavy.

He’s cute. He’s amazing. He’s perfect in every way.

“Miss Montana. Mr. Platt,” the doctor says, looking anything but joyful. She gestures to the two chairs opposite her desk. “Please sit. I have some concerning results to go over with you.”

Jason and I share a look. I shrug. What could be concerning? My heart thunders. Maybe we’re having twins. Oh my gosh, how fun would that be? Mom would probably kill me, though. She’s going to kill me as it is. Just as soon as we tell her I’m having a baby at nineteen.

Knowing how people are in Calloway Creek, Jason and I decided to keep this a secret until we get married—which will happen exactly three weeks from today.

We could have done it sooner, which would have made it so much easier.

Because at twelve weeks, I’m going to start showing soon, and I still have to hide it for three more.

But Jason insisted we get married on June twenty-eighth. It was his parents’ wedding anniversary. They died when he was fifteen. Killed by a drunk driver. It’s his way of honoring them.

My high school sweetheart, Jason and I started dating at sixteen.

He lives with his aunt, who basically has no rules, so it’s been easy for him to sneak around.

And I live at my parents’ house—Montana Manor—over one of the banks of garages with a separate outdoor entrance.

It’s every hormonal teenager’s dream setup.

My parents have never suspected that Jason sleeps over pretty much every weekend since we started having sex two and half years ago.

My best friend, Mia, is the only person who knows about our present situation, and she’s been sworn to secrecy. Being a twin herself, she would totally flip out if I had twins. I know she’ll be a huge help. She’s even insisting on being called Aunt Mia.

Dr. Miller shuffles a few papers around.

I like the way she never judged us from the start.

We picked her from a google search. We needed a doctor outside of Calloway Creek.

No way were we going to someone local. Despite those laws that are supposed to keep medical information private, everyone knows everyone else’s business in our small town.

So we’ve been coming to the city that’s just a short train ride away.

When it seems like the doctor has been hesitating far too long, I ask, “Are we having twins?”

She shakes her head. “No, not twins.”

Jason sits up straighter. “Triplets?” he squeaks out.

“No,” she says. “What I have to tell you is going to be difficult to hear. The blood work we did last week revealed your baby likely has a genetic disorder that occurs when a person has three copies of chromosome eighteen instead of two.”

“Wait, no,” Jason says, clearly upset. “Are you saying our kid has Down’s Syndrome?”

“Babies with Down’s have three copies of chromosome twenty-one,” she explains. “Your baby is showing markers for what is called Trisomy 18, or Edwards syndrome.”

I swallow hard, feeling like the ceiling is about to come crashing down. “What exactly does that mean?”

“First off, I’d like to schedule you for an amniocentesis in three weeks, that will give us confirmation.”

A relieved sigh bellows out of me. “Oh, good. So you aren’t sure.”

“Allie.” She looks at me with sympathetic eyes.

“The blood tests are very accurate. They measure free fragments of fetal DNA in the bloodstream. The detection rate of the NIPT blood test showing Trisomy 18 is around ninety-seven percent. That means, in all likelihood, your baby does have it. We just do the amnio to be one hundred percent sure.”

Jason reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Okay, so assume the baby has it. What does that mean? Will he or she have issues like a Down’s Syndrome baby?”

“He or she”—she looks down at her file—“do you want to know the sex?”

“Yes,” Jason and I say in tandem.

“Okay, he then—it’s a boy.”

“Oh my god,” Jason murmurs. “I’m having a son.”

“Allie. Jason. You need to understand this genetic disorder is not the same as Down’s Syndrome. Life expectancy with Down’s Syndrome is sixty years.”

I swallow again. Harder this time, as if there’s a walnut in my throat. “And with this? What can we expect with our baby?”

She sighs big, as if not wanting to answer.

“Anatomically, babies with Trisomy 18 can be low birth weight, have smaller-than-normal heads, clenched fists, short breastbones and extra skin folds at the back of the neck. Physiologically, they can suffer from heart defects, seizures, high blood pressure, and kidney problems.”

My hand flies to my mouth as I absorb this information.

“There’s more,” she says sadly, and my eyes seal shut, not knowing what could be worse than what she’s already said. “Only about fifty percent of babies with Trisomy 18 are born alive.”

I’m gasping for breath, barely registering the rest of her words when she says, “Ninety to ninety-five percent will not survive the first year. Most of them will pass within the first two weeks of life.”

I almost slide out of my chair. I want to fall to the ground and be swallowed up. I want to wake up from this nightmare.

Jason drops my hand. He’s stunned into silence. Shell-shocked like me.

The doctor is quiet for a beat as we process what we’ve been told.

Jason is the first to speak. “Is there anything we can do? What do most people in our situation do?”

Dr. Miller sighs. “Statistically, a great number of women choose termination considering the life-limiting consequences of the diagnosis.”

My eyes snap open. “You mean abortion?”

She nods.

“That,” Jason says. “Let’s do that.”

I sneer at him and his quickness to agree to such lunacy. “I’m not aborting our baby.”

“You heard the doctor. Odds are, he’ll die before birth anyway. And if by some miracle he doesn’t, he will shortly after. Why would you put us through that, Allie?”

“Because he’s our son.” I put a protective hand over my belly. “And the test could be wrong. Right, Dr. Miller? You said ninety-seven percent. That means there’s a chance it’s wrong. Three percent is not nothing. The test could be wrong.”

The doctor nods but adds, “Allie, I don’t want you having false hopes here.

Over my career, I’ve never seen that happen.

Of course you should wait for the amniocentesis to make any decision.

There is another test you could do today even.

It’s called chorionic villus sampling. It involves inserting a thin tube through the cervix into the uterus to collect a sample of tissue.

Both tests would confirm the diagnosis, but each comes with a statistically significant chance of miscarriage. ”

I stand and put distance between myself and the two others in the room.

“I’m not killing my baby. I don’t care what any test says.

In fact, I’m not going to have any tests.

Especially not ones that can cause a miscarriage.

I don’t care what he has. If he dies inside me, so be it, but I’m not killing him. ”

“If that’s your choice, I’ll support you and help you any way I can,” Dr. Miller says. “But to be clear, and just so you fully recognize the severity… Allie, Trisomy 18 is a chromosomal abnormality that’s incompatible with life. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nod.

“Your baby will not survive. If he makes it to delivery, it will still only be a matter of time. A day. A week. Probably not even a month. If you choose to continue the pregnancy, you will have to live with that certainty.”

“I’m not getting an abortion.”

Jason stands, walks over, and puts his hands on my shoulders, looking me straight in the eyes. “Allie, there isn’t a choice here. You have to get one. The alternative is horrific. I won’t just sit around and wait for him to die. It’s crazy. It’s inhumane. And it’s not fair to any of us.”

“There is a human being growing inside me.” I’m sure I sound a bit hysterical, but I’m unapologetic as I’m apparently the only one here set to fight for this baby. “He’s our son, Jason. I can’t just kill him.”

“And I can’t just sit around and watch.”

“No one’s making you.”

His hands drop from my shoulders. “Is this your final decision?”

“Yes. No matter what happens, yes.”

“Then you’re on your own.” He goes for the door, not bothering to look back. He walks through and shuts it, abandoning me—his fiancée—and his unborn child.

I hate him right now. I hate him as much as I love the little boy growing inside me. I crumple to the floor, sobbing for what was. What could have been. What’s going to be.

Arms come around me. It’s Dr. Miller. “Is there someone I can call, Allie?”

Through my sobs, I nod. “I want my mom.”

Cries from a baby wake me from my nightmare. For just a split second, I think it’s Christopher. But once the beautiful tropical vista fills my vision, I remember where I am.

And that the baby crying is not mine.

Picking up my nephew and snuggling him close, we cry together. Me more so than him. I cry until I can’t cry another single tear.