Chapter 129 Why Is My Dad Pregnant?

Chapter 129 Why Is My Dad Pregnant?
Chapter Thirty

Charlie

The message arrives at 7:14 on a Saturday evening.

I am standing in my kitchen, eating cereal directly from the box because cooking for one has become increasingly depressing.

My phone vibrates on the counter.

I expect a meme.

Possibly a complaint about Cade making Jordan do chores.

Instead, I read: \[Why is my dad pregnant?\]

I stop chewing.

The cereal turns to paste in my mouth.

I read the message again.

Then a third time.

The words remain the same.

Why is my dad pregnant?

My first thought is that Jordan sent it to the wrong person.

My second is that this is a joke.

My third arrives with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.

Cade's pregnant.

I grip the counter.

The apartment seems to tilt around me.

The symptoms.

The nausea.

The exhaustion.

The food aversions.

I knew.

Some part of me knew.

I refused to believe it without proof.

Now, proof is staring at me in the form of the most Jordan-like message imaginable.

My fingers shake as I type.

\[What?\]

The response doesn’t come.

I call him.

Straight to voicemail.

I call again.

Nothing.

“Jordan.”

My voice cracks.

I grab my coat.

Keys.

Phone.

I leave the cereal box open on the counter.

The hallway blurs as I move toward the elevator.

My heart pounds too quickly.

Thoughts collide.

How long has Cade known?

Why did Jordan tell me?

Was Cade going to?

Does he want the baby?

Is he afraid?

Is he alone?

Does he think I'll run?

That last question nearly stops me.

Of course he does.

His history.

My disappearance.

The way I left for work and stayed away for nearly a week because guilt convinced me silence was safer than honesty.

I came back.

But fear doesn’t care about evidence when it has years of experience behind it.

The elevator takes too long.

I use the stairs.

By the time I reach the parking lot, my hands are numb despite my gloves.

Snow begins to fall as I start the car.

The drive should take forty minutes.

I make it in thirty-two without speeding enough to get arrested.

Probably.

Traffic lights feel personal.

Every red light is an insult.

Every slow driver has chosen this exact evening to test me.

At one intersection, I call Jordan again.

No answer.

I go to call Cade.

My thumb hovers over the name.

Then stops.

What would I say?

Are you pregnant?

Why didn’t you tell me?

Do you want me there?

None of it belongs over the phone.

I drive.

The snow thickens.

Headlights catch the flakes, turning them into white streaks rushing toward the windshield.

My pulse doesn’t slow.

A baby.

Cade’s baby.

Mine.

The thought is enormous.

Terrifying.

Wonderful.

I don’t know which emotion comes first.

I know only that I want to be there.

I want Cade.

I want the child.

The certainty is so complete it frightens me.

There is no debate.

No calculation.

No moment when I weigh what this could cost.

The fear is not about whether I want them.

It is about whether Cade will believe me.

Whether he will trust that I’m not going anywhere.

Whether I deserve that trust after leaving once.

I turn onto his street.

The familiar houses blur past.

His porch light is on.

A car sits in the driveway.

For one horrifying second, I wonder if he’s already leaving.

I pull in behind him, barely remembering to put the car in park.

My boots slide on the driveway.

I catch myself against the hood.

The front window glows with warm light.

I walk toward the porch.

Every step feels too slow.

I raise my hand to knock.

Before my knuckles touch the door, it opens.

Cade stands there wearing his winter coat and scarf.

He is looking over his shoulder into the house.

“I’ll be right back!”

Then he turns.

Sees me.

Stops.

The world narrows to his face.

He looks pale.

Tired.

Terrified.

Beautiful.

For several seconds, neither of us speaks.

Snow lands in his hair.

Cold air rushes through the open doorway.

My rehearsed questions disappear.

Only one remains.

“Were you going to tell me?”

The words come out quietly.

Too quiet.

Cade’s expression hardens instantly.

“I just found out.”

“I—”

“I wasn’t hiding it.” His voice rises. “I took the tests yesterday. I told Jordan tonight. I was coming to see you. I know I should have told you first, but Jordan is my son, and I needed him to hear it from me before—”

“Cade.”

“You don’t get to show up and accuse me of keeping this from you when I’ve had less than a day to understand it myself.”

“I’m not accusing you.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

His scent spikes.

Cinnamon.

Vanilla.

Fear threaded through both.

My instincts surge.

Protect.

Comfort.

Move closer.

I stay where I am.

“I asked if you were going to tell me.”

“And I said I was.”

“I believe you.”

The words stop him.

His mouth remains slightly open.

The anger doesn’t vanish, but confusion breaks through it.

“You believe me?”

“Yes.”

Snow gathers on my shoulders.

I barely feel the cold.

“Then why are you here?”

I pull out my phone.

Unlock it.

Hold it toward him.

“Jordan texted me.”

Cade stares at the screen.

His eyes move across the message.

\[Why is my dad pregnant?\]

Silence.

Then Cade closes his eyes.

“That idiot.”

From inside the house, Jordan shouts, “I CAN HEAR YOU.”

Despite everything, a laugh escapes me.

It’s small. Unsteady.

Cade opens his eyes and looks back over his shoulder. “You were supposed to stay out of this.”

“I panicked,” Jordan says.

“You panicked by texting Charlie?”

“I needed context.”

“You had context.”

“I needed additional context.”

Cade pinches the bridge of his nose.

I laugh again.

This time, he almost smiles.

The moment loosens something between us.

Not enough.

But a little.

Cade looks at my phone again.

“I was coming to tell you.”

“I know.”

His eyes lift to mine. “You do?”

“Yes.”

The defensiveness drains from his posture.

What remains is exhaustion.

Fear.

Vulnerability so open that my chest aches.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“For reacting like that.”

“You were scared.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No.”

I lower the phone.

“But I understand.”

The wind blows snow across the porch.

Cade seems to notice for the first time that I’m standing outside.

“You should come in.”

The invitation is cautious.

Not a reunion.

Not forgiveness.

A door opening.

Literally and otherwise.

I step inside.

Warmth surrounds me.

So does Cade’s scent.

My body responds instantly, but I push the reaction down.

This is not about the bond.

Not right now.

Jordan stands near the living room entrance, holding his own phone.

He looks from me to Cade.

Then back.

“Hi.”

I stare at him. “You sent me that and then ignored my calls.”

“My phone was on silent.”

“You texted me ten minutes before.”

“I put it on silent after.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Self-preservation.”

Cade points toward the stairs. “Go upstairs.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Then use your adult judgment and leave us alone.”

Jordan looks at me. “Are you okay?”

The question surprises me. “I don’t know.”

He nods. “Same.”

Then he retreats toward the stairs.

Halfway up, he pauses. “Don’t yell.”

Cade glares.

Jordan disappears.

The house settles.

I turn back to Cade.

He’s removed neither his coat nor his scarf.

His fingers worry at the edge of one glove.

“How far along?”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t seen a doctor?”

“Not yet.”

“When did you find out?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

Three tests.

He tells me without being asked.

Different brands.

All positive.

He explains the symptoms.

The nausea.

The fatigue.

The smells.

I listen.

Every detail makes the baby more real.

Our baby.

My throat tightens. “Are you okay?”

Cade looks down. “I’m scared.”

I step closer.

Only one step.

He doesn’t retreat.

“Do you want the baby?”

His head lifts immediately. “Yes.”

Relief hits so hard I nearly sway on my feet. “Okay.”

Cade’s brow furrows. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“No.”

I breathe in slowly.

The room smells like him.

Home.

Fear.

Hope.

“I want the baby too.”

His face changes.

Not dramatically.

A small break in the guarded expression.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“I thought about it the entire drive.”

“That was thirty minutes.”

“Thirty-two.”

Despite himself, Cade exhales something close to a laugh.

I continue before fear can close him again.

“I’m scared. I don’t know what this means for us. I don’t know what you want from me. But I know I want this child. And I know I want to be there.”

His eyes shine. “You say that now.”

The words are barely audible.

I understand what he means.

People say things before reality arrives.

Before appointments.

Before sleepless nights.

Before responsibility becomes permanent.

I resist the urge to promise forever.

Promises are easy.

Cade needs more than words.

“So let me prove it.”

He looks at me. “How?”

“One day at a time.”

“I’ll go to appointments if you want me there. I’ll help when you’re sick. I’ll listen when you’re scared. If you need space, I’ll give it to you. If you need me, I’ll come. You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

His mouth trembles. “What if I don’t know what I need?”

“Then we figure that out too.”

Silence fills the entryway.

The distance between us is less than two feet.

It feels like miles.

Cade looks toward the coat rack.

Then at the front door.

“I was really coming to see you.”

“I believe you.”

“I stood here for almost ten minutes before I opened the door.”

I smile faintly. “I drove through three yellow lights that were probably red.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

His eyes meet mine again.

For the first time since I arrived, the fear in them is not the only thing I see.

There is want.

Love.

The fragile beginning of trust.

“I don’t know if we can fix everything,” Cade says.

“We don’t have to fix everything tonight.”

“I don’t want the baby to be the only reason you’re here.”

“It isn’t.”

“You were waiting for me.”

“Yes.”

“And if Jordan hadn’t texted?”

“I would still be waiting.”

His face tightens.

Guilt.

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Turn that into another reason to punish yourself.”

“I chose to wait.”

“You were on your way to me. That matters.”

Cade looks down at his gloved hands.

Slowly, he pulls them off.

Sets them on the small table beside the door.

Then removes his scarf.

His movements are careful.

As though undressing from winter clothes requires concentration.

Finally, he looks at me. “Stay for a while.”

My heart stumbles.

Not forever.

Not even overnight.

A while.

It’s enough.

“Okay.”

We move into the living room.

Cade sits on one end of the couch.

I take the other.

The space between us remains.

Not a wall.

A choice.

Jordan makes noise upstairs, clearly proving he’s not listening.

Neither of us comments.

For a few minutes, we say nothing.

Then Cade places his hand on the cushion between us.

Palm up.

An offering.

My breath catches.

I reach across the distance.

Our fingers touch.

The familiar electric tingle passes through us.

Softer than before.

Not demanding.

Recognizing.

Cade’s fingers curl around mine.

He doesn’t pull away.

Neither do I.

Outside, snow covers the tracks leading to the house.

Inside, for the first time in weeks, we stop moving in opposite directions.