Chapter 128 Three Tests
Chapter 128 Three Tests
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cade
I wake before dawn with my hand still over my stomach.
For one blissful second, I forget.
Then I remember the three tests beneath the bathroom sink.
Pregnant.
The word no longer feels like a possibility.
It feels enormous.
Real.
Alive.
I lie still and listen to the house.
The furnace turns on.
Pipes creak.
Jordan shifts in his room across the hall.
Ordinary sounds.
Nothing about the world announces that another person has begun to exist inside me.
I expected something to feel different.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
A revelation this large should come with thunder.
Instead, there is only morning.
I get out of bed and go to the bathroom.
The tests are exactly where I left them.
I take the bag out.
Line them up again.
Positive.
Positive.
Pregnant.
Maybe I hoped they would change overnight.
They didn’t.
My reflection looks back at me from the mirror.
Thirty-seven.
A teacher.
A father.
An omega who should understand his own body better than this.
“How did you not know?”
I know the answer.
I did know.
I refused to name it.
Naming it would have forced me to think about Charlie.
About the bond.
About what happened between us.
About the future I had tried to shut out.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub and remember my first pregnancy.
The comparison comes without permission.
At fifteen, I had stared at a test with shaking hands and a heart full of frightened hope.
I thought the alpha would be happy.
We had talked about forever in the careless way young people do when forever is an idea instead of a responsibility.
I pictured us telling our families.
I pictured a little apartment.
I pictured him beside me through everything.
He left before the day was over.
No explanation beyond fear.
No apology worth remembering.
No return.
The pain shaped every choice after.
I promised myself Jordan would never feel unwanted.
I promised I would never depend on someone who could disappear.
I promised I wouldn’t build a future around hope.
Then Charlie arrived.
Loud.
Young.
Persistent.
He made hope feel less like foolishness and more like something I had denied myself.
And I punished him for it.
A wave of nausea rolls through me.
I barely make it to the toilet.
Afterward, I sit on the floor again.
Apparently, this bathroom has become the setting for every crisis in my life.
A quiet laugh escapes me.
It surprises me.
The sound isn’t happy exactly.
But it’s not despair either.
I press my palm to my stomach.
“How are you already causing trouble?”
The words soften something.
My baby.
The thought comes with a tenderness so immediate that tears fill my eyes.
I want this child.
That truth is steady now.
Whatever happens with Charlie, whatever Jordan says, whatever complications wait ahead, I want this baby.
The realization doesn’t erase fear.
It gives the fear something to stand beside.
Love.
By the time Jordan wakes, I’ve showered and hidden the tests again.
I make toast because the thought of anything else is impossible.
He walks into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and one sock.
“Why are you awake?”
“I usually wake before you.”
“Not on Sundays.”
“It’s Saturday.”
He looks toward the wall calendar.
“Oh.”
I slide a piece of toast onto a plate.
He studies me.
“You look better.”
“I feel better.”
That isn’t entirely a lie.
The nausea has passed.
The panic remains manageable.
Jordan pours cereal.
The smell of the milk turns my stomach, but I breathe through it.
He sits across from me.
For a moment, I imagine telling him now.
Jordan, I’m pregnant.
The words rise.
Stop.
I cannot drop this into the middle of breakfast.
Not before I understand what I am going to say about Charlie.
Not before I have prepared myself for the questions.
Who is the other parent?
Does he know?
Are you together?
What does this mean?
I have answers to only one.
Charlie doesn’t know.
The guilt of that sits heavily.
He has a right to know.
I found out less than twenty-four hours ago, but every minute that passes feels like secrecy.
After breakfast, Jordan leaves to meet friends.
I’m relieved.
Ashamed of the relief.
But grateful for the quiet.
I call Patrick.
He answers with, “Are you okay?”
No greeting.
No joke.
My throat closes.
“How did you know?”
“You never call before nine on a Saturday.”
“It’s after ten.”
“Then I have no explanation.”
I close my eyes. “Patrick.”
His tone changes immediately. “What happened?”
I look toward the hallway even though the house is empty.
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
For one second.
Two.
Then Patrick breathes out.
“Oh.”
Tears rise again.
I laugh shakily. “That’s all you have?”
“I’m trying not to say the wrong thing.”
“There is probably no right thing.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want the baby?”
“Yes.”
The answer comes instantly.
Patrick exhales again, softer this time.
“Then congratulations.”
I cover my mouth.
The tears spill anyway.
“Thank you.”
“Does Charlie know?”
“No.”
“Does Jordan?”
“No.”
“Who are you telling first?”
“Jordan.”
Patrick is quiet for a moment. “You think that’s best?”
“He’s my son.”
“I know.”
“He deserves to hear it from me before anything else happens.”
“I agree.”
I sit at the kitchen table.
The white mug is still in the cabinet.
I haven’t touched it in days.
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“What if Jordan hates me?”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know Jordan.”
“So do I.”
“Yes, and you also imagine the worst possible outcome before every difficult conversation.”
“That habit has kept me prepared.”
“It’s kept you terrified.”
I look down.
Patrick’s voice softens. “He might be shocked. He will probably be uncomfortable. He may need time. But he loves you. And he loves Charlie. That may make it more complicated, but it also means neither of you is a stranger he has to fear.”
I rub my thumb along the edge of the table.
“What if Charlie thinks I was hiding it?”
“You found out yesterday.”
“What if he doesn’t want this?”
Patrick doesn’t answer immediately.
The silence reveals more than reassurance would.
“You think he will,” I say.
“I think Charlie loves you.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
My chest tightens.
Patrick continues carefully. “I can’t promise how another person will react. You know that. But Charlie has spent months trying to convince you he wants a life with you. A baby makes that life real in a way neither of you planned. He may be scared. You’re scared too. Fear isn’t the same as rejection.”
The words settle.
I think about Charlie returning after his week away.
The apology in his voice.
The way he stood before me without excuses.
He left once.
Then he came back.
I told him to leave.
He respected it.
Even when it hurt.
“I need to tell him.”
“Yes.”
“After Jordan.”
“Yes.”
I look toward the front door. “I should do it today.”
Patrick makes a thoughtful sound. “Do you want me there when you tell Jordan?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“This has to be between us.”
“I understand.”
We speak for another twenty minutes.
Mostly, Patrick listens.
When the call ends, I feel no more prepared than before.
But the decision is made.
Tonight.
I’ll tell Jordan tonight.
The rest of the day crawls.
I clean.
Grade papers.
Try to eat.
Fail.
Around five, Jordan texts that he’s on his way home.
My pulse climbs.
I make dinner I can’t stomach.
Pasta.
Garlic bread.
Salad.
Normal food for an abnormal conversation.
Jordan walks in at six and immediately smells the air.
“Are we celebrating something?”
My hand tightens around the spoon.
“No.”
“Then why is there garlic bread?”
“I make garlic bread.”
“Not from scratch.”
He steals a piece from the tray.
I slap his hand with the towel.
“Ow.”
“Wait until dinner.”
“You’ve changed.”
I almost laugh.
Instead, nausea swirls.
Not from food.
Fear.
We eat at the table.
Jordan talks.
I nod.
The words gather behind my teeth.
Halfway through the meal, I set down my fork.
“Jordan.”
He looks up.
The seriousness in my voice changes his expression immediately. “What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
His eyes widen. “Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Did you lose your job?”
“No.”
“Did someone die?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to tell me someone died.”
I take a breath.
My hands are shaking beneath the table.
“There’s no easy way to say this.”
Jordan slowly lowers his fork.
My heart beats so hard it hurts.
“I’m pregnant.”
The room becomes perfectly still.
Jordan blinks.
Once.
Twice.
His gaze drops to my stomach.
Then returns to my face.
“You’re what?”
“Pregnant.”
“I heard the word.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes biological sense.”
“Dad.”
I close my eyes.
This is going well.
When I look again, Jordan is still staring.
His face shifts through confusion, alarm, calculation.
Then realization.
His mouth opens.
Closes.
His eyes widen further. “Oh, my God.”
I say nothing.
He points at me.
Then toward nowhere.
Then back at me.
“Charlie?”
My throat tightens.
“Yes.”
Jordan pushes away from the table and stands.
“Charlie got you pregnant?”
The sentence echoes through the kitchen.
I wince.
“Keep your voice down.”
“There’s no one else here.”
“The neighbors exist.”
“The neighbors can’t hear through walls.”
“You don’t know how loudly you’re speaking.”
“I’m speaking loudly because you just told me my best friend got my father pregnant.”
He begins pacing.
I remain seated because my legs no longer feel dependable.
“Jordan.”
“How?”
I stare at him.
He freezes.
“No. Not how. I know how.”
“Thank God.”
“I mean, when?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks—”
He stops.
His face changes again.
“You two have been acting weird for months.”
I look down.
“Oh, my God.”
He presses both hands to his head.
“You’re fated mates.”
It is not a question.
“Yes.”
“How long have you known?”
“A few months.”
“And no one told me?”
“We weren’t sure what we were going to do.”
“You clearly did something.”
“Jordan.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to process.”
“So am I.”
That quiets him.
He looks at me.
Really looks.
The anger recedes slightly.
“Are you okay?”
The question breaks something inside me.
“I’m scared.”
Jordan’s expression softens.
He sits again.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he asks, “Does Charlie know?”
“Not yet.”
Jordan’s head snaps up.
“You haven’t told him?”
“I found out yesterday.”
“You need to tell him.”
“I know.”
“Like now.”
“I was planning to go after we talked.”
Jordan reaches for his phone.
My eyes narrow.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Put it down.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Jordan.”
He sets the phone face down on the table.
Too quickly.
Suspicion flickers, but I am too emotionally exhausted to chase it.
“I’m going to tell him.”
“Good.”
Jordan looks toward my stomach again.
His face is still pale.
“This is weird.”
“I know.”
“Really weird.”
“I know.”
“But…”
He rubs the back of his neck.
“You want the baby?”
“Yes.”
He nods slowly.
“Then okay.”
My breath catches.
“Okay?”
“I’m not saying I understand everything. I definitely don’t want details. I might need several years before I can look Charlie in the eye without thinking about this conversation. But you’re my dad. And he’s my best friend. And there’s a baby. So…” He lifts one shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”
Tears blur my vision.
Jordan notices and immediately looks uncomfortable.
“Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m emotional.”
“Yeah, that’s worse.”
A laugh escapes me through the tears.
Jordan smiles faintly.
Then reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
Only once.
Briefly.
Enough.
I stand.
“I’m going to talk to Charlie.”
Jordan nods.
“Good.”
I clear the table with unsteady hands.
Upstairs, I change my sweater twice.
Put on my coat.
Take it off.
Put it on again.
By the door, I call toward the living room.
“I’ll be right back!”
Jordan shouts something I can’t understand.
I reach for the handle.
At the same moment, someone knocks.