Page 37 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Josie

I won’t cry.

I almost do, twice, once in the walk-in and once in the alley behind The Marrow, where I went to “check the trash” and ended up gripping the dumpster like it could hold me together.

But I won’t cry.

Because if I let myself fall apart now, I won’t stop.

Savannah is still here. Still in his space. Laughing with the staff like she owns the damn place, trailing her expensive perfume through the air like she’s marking territory. I don't know what kind of spell she has on Knox, but whatever it is, it's working.

Or maybe... maybe he’s letting her because it’s easier than making a scene.

Because she’s dangerous in ways I don’t understand.

He barely looks at me, though.

And I’ve seen enough.

He made his choice, whether he said it out loud or not.

So I move. I chop. I breathe.

And then, without really planning to, I take off my apron and find Toni.

“I’m heading out early,” I tell her. My voice is calm, level. Not like I’m unraveling inside.

Toni arches a brow. “You okay?”

“I will be.”

That’s all I give her. She doesn’t press.

I slip out the back door just as Maya’s car pulls up along the curb like some kind of cosmic timing. She’s got her sunglasses on and a coffee in hand. She looks at me for a beat, then gets out without a word and opens the passenger door.

I climb in.

The second the door shuts, I feel it, how close I am to breaking.

Maya doesn’t ask anything at first. She just drives, letting the hum of the road and the quiet of the car settle around us. I stare out the window at Silver Peak rolling past. The bakery. The antique shop. Cold Snap Café. All the places I used to love.

“I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” I finally say, my voice low.

“Then don’t,” she says, without hesitation. “Walk me through it.”

I stare out the window, my throat thick. “She just showed up. Out of nowhere. Like something out of a movie. Cream sweater, perfect hair, those boots that probably cost more than my car. And the way she looked at me, like she already knew I didn’t stand a chance.”

Maya doesn’t say anything, just tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

“And Knox,” I continue, “the second she walked in, he just… changed. Like a switch flipped. One-word answers. No eye contact. It's like I never mattered.”

Maya lets out a breath. “Damn.”

“I tried to talk to him. Tried to give him space. I even thought maybe he just needed time to sort through whatever this is. But Maya, she calls him Knoxie.”

Maya makes a face. “Ew.”

“Right?” I half laugh, but it’s shaky. “And he doesn’t stop her. She touches him, his arm, his chest, like it’s hers. Like I was a placeholder.”

“And he lets her?”

I pause, then shake my head. “It’s not like that. I think… I think he’s trying. I’ve seen it a couple of times. He starts to come toward me, starts to say something, and then she’s just there. Interrupting. Clinging to his arm or laughing too loud or steering the conversation like she owns it.”

Maya frowns. “She doesn’t give him an inch.”

“No,” I say quietly. “And he doesn’t push back. Not really. It’s like he’s stuck. And maybe he doesn’t know how to fix it. Or maybe he doesn’t think he can. I don’t know, it’s like I’m missing something .”

“Has he said anything to you?”

“No. That’s the worst part. He looks like he wants to, but then… nothing. It’s like we’re caught in this loop, and every time I think we’re about to break out of it, she pulls him right back in.”

Maya exhales, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

I press my fingers to my temple. “He was different with me, Maya. He really was. There was something real there. And now, it’s like he’s standing on the other side of a glass wall. Close enough to see, but too far to reach.”

Maya’s voice is quiet. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” I murmur. “It’s like I’m slowly disappearing. Not because he doesn’t care. But because she’s always there, and I don’t see that changing.”

We’re quiet for a minute.

Then I whisper, “I think it’s over. Not because he walked away, but because she never did.”

Maya reaches across the console, takes my hand. “Then we move forward. One step at a time. Starting now.” I nod. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, but it settles.

“I feel stupid,” I admit. “Like I should’ve known better. Like maybe this was always going to happen. Me on the outside again, watching someone else be chosen.”

“You’re not stupid,” she says, her voice fierce now. “You’ve fallen for someone. That doesn’t make you stupid, Josie, it makes you brave. But this isn’t a one-way street, and Knox isn’t walking toward you anymore. So maybe it’s time to stop standing still.”

I swallow hard, biting back the ache in my throat. “I can’t keep this up. It’s too much.”

“Then don’t,” she says again, softer now. “Start looking. Get out. Start over. But don’t you dare let this man define your worth.”

I nod because she’s right. I am looking. For jobs. For a reset. For a way to rebuild my life without all the splinters.

I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We’re almost there.”

I glance at the dashboard clock. 10:22 a.m.

The ultrasound.

For a moment, panic kicks up in my chest. The kind that whispers, What if everything’s already going wrong?

But then I feel it again, that small, growing thing inside me. That quiet sense of purpose. Of certainty.

I have to do this. I get to do this.

We pull into the clinic parking lot, and Maya kills the engine.

“You ready?” she asks.

“No,” I say honestly. “But let’s do it anyway.”

We head inside together.

And this time, I don’t feel quite so alone.

The waiting room smells like lemon cleaner and overbrewed coffee.

A dated magazine rack leans against the wall, half the covers dog-eared or curling at the edges.

A mom with a toddler bounces him on her knee while scrolling her phone.

Someone behind the reception desk chuckles softly at something on their screen.

It’s normal here. Quiet. Like the rest of the world hasn’t collapsed.

I’m not sure how I’m breathing.

The nurse calls my name, and Maya squeezes my shoulder before we follow her down the hall. I’m given a dressing gown and told that, this early on, stomach ultrasounds aren’t as accurate.

The nurse shows me a wand and explains everything softly to me, clearly seeing from my expression that I did not expect to be probed today. That I’m not prepared for any of this motherhood thing. My heart is pounding.

“Relax,” the technician says kindly. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

She turns the monitor toward herself and begins moving the wand. The screen fills with static and shadows and that familiar grainy swirl. I squint, trying to make sense of it.

There’s a beat of silence. Then two. The technician tilts her head, squints, and moves the wand again.

And then she smiles.

“Well,” she says gently, “it looks like we’ve got two heartbeats.”

The words hang in the air like thunder.

“What?” I whisper, blinking hard.

She taps a few buttons. “Two. See here?” She points to the screen. “One here, nice and strong. And a second one just behind. They’re both right on track.”

Maya leans forward in her chair, her eyes huge. “What— Twins?”

The technician nods. “Congratulations.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Two heartbeats.

Two .

A strange sound escapes me, half laugh, half gasp. “You’re sure?”

She nods again, all calm professionalism, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb in the center of my life.

I look at Maya. She’s speechless too, her hand clapped over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

And then the wave hits me.

Shock. So much shock, it’s dizzying. Followed by panic. Fear. Awe. A wild, rushing cocktail of every possible emotion crashing through me at once.

Two babies.

Two.

How the hell am I supposed to do this?

How do I afford it? Where do I go? Who do I even tell now?

But under all that, beneath the static and noise and fear, there’s something else. Something fierce. Something deep.

A bone-deep certainty that no matter how impossible this feels right now, I will do it.

Because they’re mine.

Because I have to.

Because I want to.

A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it. Then another. I don’t sob. I don’t break. I lie there quietly, my hands resting protectively over my stomach, and I feel it.

That shift.

That small, sudden bolt of resolve in my chest.

This isn’t the life I planned. Not by a long shot.

But it’s mine now.

And I will find a way to rise for them.

Two heartbeats.

Twice the fear. Twice the unknown.

But twice the love, too.

Maya leans in, her voice soft. “You okay?”

I nod slowly. “No.”

Then I wipe my face and say, more clearly this time:

“But I will be.”

On the drive home, it crashes in.

Not all at once, more like a slow implosion, wave after wave of realization that keeps slamming into me until I can barely breathe. My hands rest on my stomach like I’m trying to anchor myself to something real. Something solid.

But there’s nothing solid about this. Nothing steady.

I’m going to be a single mom.

Of twins.

My heart pounds in my ears. My chest feels too tight. I stare out the window at Silver Peak sliding past like a dream I can’t wake up from. The river, the cliffs, the little shops I used to love. They don’t feel like mine anymore.

Knox doesn’t know. And with the way things are now, with Savannah hanging around like a curse that won’t lift, with the way he won’t even look at me, I don’t know if he ever will.

How do you tell someone who’s already halfway gone?

Maya hasn’t said much. She just drives, her fingers flexing on the wheel every so often. She keeps glancing over at me like she’s waiting for the break. Like she already knows it’s coming.

And it does.

As we round the bend toward Summit Ridge Overlook, my throat tightens, my vision blurs, and I can’t hold it in anymore.

“Pull over,” I whisper, my voice barely working.

Maya doesn’t ask why. She just nods and steers the car onto the gravel shoulder, throwing it into park.

I push open the door and stumble out into the cold mountain air. It hits my lungs like ice, painfully so, but I welcome it. I need it.

I walk a few steps toward the guardrail and grip the metal like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

And then I break.

The sob rips out of me so fast, so loud, it feels like it tears something loose in my chest. My knees buckle a little, and I lean forward, clutching the rail with both hands as my body shakes with the force of it.

I don’t try to stop it this time. I don’t try to be strong. I just cry, ugly, gasping, heartbroken tears.

“I can’t do this,” I choke. “I can’t. Maya, it’s too much. It’s too much.”

The car door opens behind me, and I hear her footsteps crunching over gravel. She comes up beside me and wraps her arms around my shoulders from behind, steady and warm.

“You can,” she says, her voice low and sure. “Josie, you are so strong.”

I shake my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. “It’s twins, Maya. Two. And he doesn’t even... he doesn’t want me. He picked her. He barely even sees me now, and I’m carrying his... his... babies .”

“I know,” she whispers, pulling me tighter against her. “I know.”

“It hurts,” I sob. “It hurts so much I can’t breathe.”

She holds me through it. Through the shaking and the crying and the raw, gutted emptiness that I can’t seem to fill. I cry like I haven’t cried in years, even though I feel like I have breakdowns all the time lately. It’s loud and messy and real. Like I’ve finally given up pretending I’m okay.

Because I’m not.

I’m not okay.

I’m terrified. I’m shattered. I’m so alone.

And worse than that, I loved him. I let him in. I gave him everything. And now I’m standing on the side of the road with my heart in pieces and two lives growing inside me.

“I don’t even know where to go from here,” I whisper, once the tears slow down. “How do I start?”

Maya steps beside me, leaning on the rail like I am, looking out at the valley below. Her voice is calm, certain.

“One breath at a time. One day at a time. And when it gets too hard, you lean on the people who love you. Even when it’s messy. Even when you don’t know what comes next. And maybe just tell Knox. Forget about Savannah. Give him a chance and see.”

I wipe my face with my sleeve. My body feels heavy. My heart aches in a way I didn’t know was possible.

But I’m still standing.

Somehow, I’m still here.