I was trapped in a whole family that had already decided I didn’t belong.
And the worst part?
Part of me was starting to believe them.
Chapter 11
Hadley
The hotel bathroom smelled like bleach and the faint vanilla from the body wash I’d been using for two months straight. The scent clung to everything, my skin, my hair, the towels folded too perfectly by housekeeping like they were trying to convince me this place was stable, clean, safe. I sat on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn up, staring at the plastic stick on the counter.
Two pink lines. Clear as the Vegas sun outside the window. I’d taken three tests over the last week, always the same. Always positive. I’d bought the pack on a whim during one of Zariah’s rare visits, when she’d dragged me to the gift shop downstairs because “you look like death and maybe you’re just anemic.” I laughed it off then. Didn’t laugh now.
The air conditioner hummed softly above me, the only steady thing in the room. The mirror reflected a girl I barely recognized, skin dull, lips cracked, shoulders tense like I was bracing for impact that never stopped coming. I kept waiting for the lines to fade, for the plastic to magically change its mind if I stared long enough. They didn’t.
My stomach rolled again. Not the morning sickness kind, though that had been brutal the last ten days, but the kind that came from knowing everything had just gotten infinitely worse.
Three weeks since the “two weeks” lie started. Three weeks of staged smiles and scripted answers. One interview, somemorning show couch where Cal sat next to me, arm slung casually over the backrest for the cameras, answering questions about “how we knew it was love at first sight” while his thumb never once brushed my shoulder. I’d smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. Said all the right things. “It was unexpected, but we’re happy.” The clip went viral. Fans screamed “couple goals.” Hate accounts called me a homewrecker, a gold-digger, worse than Sydney ever did to my face.
After that, one more outing, holding hands outside a coffee shop for paparazzi. His grip was loose. Cold. The second the car doors shut he dropped my hand like it burned him. Didn’t speak the whole ride back.
I remembered staring out the tinted window of the SUV, watching palm trees blur past like they were escaping something too. The silence between us had felt louder than the screaming fans outside. I kept waiting for him to say something, anything. A joke. A complaint. A sigh. Instead, he just checked his phone and adjusted his sunglasses like I wasn’t sitting inches away from him, like I was another piece of luggage Ron forced him to carry.
Since then? Nothing. Cal barely looked at me unless Ron was watching. Slept in his own room. Ate alone. Left early for whatever “band stuff” he had. Came back late, smelling like whiskey and cigarette smoke even though he swore he’d quit.
When we were forced into the same space, he was short. Snapped at small things; Eli’s tablet too loud, the way I folded laundry too slow, me asking if he wanted dinner. Never once asked how I was. Never checked on Eli. Never apologized again after that one half-assed conversation in the living room.
I’d survived on autopilot. Kept Eli calm with room service chicken nuggets and endless train videos. Ordered groceries through the concierge so we never had to leave the floor. Avoided mirrors because I hated seeing the ring still on my finger. I couldn’t take it off. Not yet. Part superstition. Part fear that if I did, the whole fragile thing would collapse.
Some nights I twisted it around and around until my finger went numb, wondering if it felt heavier because it meant something or because it never had.
Zariah came when she could. Brought snacks. Sat with Eli while I showered. But even that felt strained. Holland pulled her in two directions, loyalty to the band, loyalty to me. She’d hug me tight before she left, whisper “I’m sorry” like it was her fault. It wasn’t.
I stood up. Washed my face with cold water. Looked at myself, pale, eyes hollow, hair in a messy knot. Twenty years old. Married. Pregnant. Trapped.
The word pregnant echoed in my head like a dropped glass shattering over and over again.
I hid the tests in the bottom of my makeup bag. Deep. Under tampons I didn’t need anymore. Then I went out to the living room.
Eli was on the couch, tablet balanced on his knees, headphones on. He looked up when I walked in. Pulled one ear off.
“You okay?” he asked. Voice small. Serious.
“Yeah, bud.” Lie. “Just tired.”
“You keep going to the bathroom. Are you sick?”
I forced a smile. “Maybe a little bug. I’m fine.”
He frowned. “You’re lying. Your face is all red.”
I sat next to him. Took his hand. “Sometimes grown-ups get surprises they didn’t expect. I’m figuring it out. Okay?”
He stared at me. Then at my stomach. Instinctive. Not understanding. “Is there a baby in there?”
My breath caught. Tears burned instant. I nodded once. Couldn’t speak.
Eli’s eyes went wide. Then he hugged me tight. Arms around my neck. “I’ll protect the baby too. Like I protect you.”
