Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Justin watches me without watching me, that way he always does—quiet, protective, never pushing.
“You ever just feel like the world hit you sideways?” I ask, voice low.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Once or twice.”
The waitress sets down our plates, and we eat in a silence that’s not heavy, just present.
His voice comes soft when he speaks again. “You gonna tell me what’s got you pacing your condo like it’s a cage?”
I freeze. Of course he knows. Of course he senses it. He always has.
But I’m not ready. Not here. Not in a booth with ketchup packets and old men playing cards in the corner.
I shake my head. “Later.”
He nods. Doesn’t push. Just goes back to his fries like he’s giving me time to find the words. He takes me home around midnight.
Walks me to the door. Doesn’t turn to leave. “You gonna be okay?”
I stare at the knob. My hand rests on it, but I don’t twist. “No.”
I open the door, and he follows me inside without being asked. That’s the thing about Justin—he doesn’t wait for me to invite him when he knows I need him.
I stand in the living room, arms limp at my sides, heart thudding like I ran here instead of rode.
He steps closer.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I whisper.
He tilts his head. “For what?”
I look up. It’s Justin my heart screams at me. He will handle you with care. “Pregnancy.”
His breath catches. He blinks once, slow. But he doesn’t flinch. “And you just found out?”
I nod.
His voice is low now. Careful. “Do you...God I hate to even ask this. Do you want to keep it?”
I nod as tears fill my eyes. “You need to know, I don’t,” I pause, and it shatters me. “I don’t know whose it is. It could be Benji’s.” I pause again and take a deep breath, “It could be yours. And no matter what I want this baby, yes.”
The words hang between us like smoke.
He doesn’t run. Doesn’t curse. Doesn’t shut down.
Justin just stands there, absorbing it all. “Okay,” he says finally.
Just that.
Okay.
I break then. Not into sobs, but into silence—falling against him, letting him wrap his arms around me like he’s the last solid thing on earth.
I don’t know what happens next. But right now, he’s holding me.
And somehow... that’s enough.
NINE
TOON
"The bear adapts to changing seasons; embrace life's transitions with courage." — Unknown
I hold her while her world caves in. Dia isn’t crying. Not in the way people expect. She just presses herself against me like her bones might shatter if I let go. Her arms don’t even move—just hang at her sides, limp like she’s hollowed out.
Her voice is a whisper into my chest. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
I breathe in her hair, my hand rubbing soft circles on her back. “You don’t have to know right now.”
She shifts slightly. Her forehead presses into my collarbone. “It could be Benji’s,” she says again, like maybe I didn’t hear her the first time. “My cycle hasn’t been regular since he passed. But then it could be yours.”
I close my eyes. The lie I want to tell her perches on the edge of my tongue. But I can’t do that to her. Not to Dia. So I say what I do know without a shadow of a doubt.
“It’s not mine.”
Her whole body tenses.
She pulls back enough to look at me, confusion written in the furrow between her brows. “What?”
I nod once, slow. “It’s not mine.”
Her eyes search mine. She’s trying to understand. “How can you know that?”
She’s not accusing me, simply asking. Her voice is too tired to be angry.
I open my mouth. But the truth—the real reason—I can’t tell her that. Not yet. So I just say, “I know. Trust me.”
Dia stares at me for a long second. Her lip trembles. She looks like she wants to ask again. Press harder. But instead, she remains quiet.
Maybe it’s too much. Maybe it’s easier to believe me than to question anything else right now.
She nods slowly, biting her bottom lip until it goes white.
I brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Whatever you decide, I’m here.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, wide and fragile. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do,” I cut in, firm. “And I want to. Because it’s you. That baby is yours.”
I let the words hang there between us. Truth. Weight. Promise.
Dia leans into me again, forehead to my chest. “I don’t feel strong enough.”
“You don’t have to be strong alone. I’ll hold the line until you can.”
Three days later
We haven’t told anyone, outside of Maritza who isn’t going to share. Dia’s not ready. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I am either.
This isn’t a clubhouse conversation. It’s not something you bring up between beers and prospects doing cleanup. It’s personal. Sacred, in a way that most of the world doesn’t get.