I cried then. Quiet. Ugly sobs into his shoulder. Held him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. His small hands rubbed my back in uneven circles, the way I did when he got overwhelmed. The innocence of it broke something deeper inside me than fear ever could.
The suite door opened.
Cal walked in. Sweaty from a run. Earbuds dangling. He stopped in the doorway. Saw us, me crying, Eli holding on. His face went blank.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Flat. Not concerned. Just… curious.
I wiped my face with my sleeve. Looked at him over Eli’s head.
“I’m pregnant.”
He stared. Didn’t move.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
He rubbed his jaw. Hard. “Fuck.”
That was it. One word. No hug. No “we’ll figure it out.” No hand on my shoulder. Just “fuck.”
The word hung in the air like smoke, bitter and suffocating.
He turned. Walked out. Door clicked shut behind him.
Eli pulled back. Looked at the door. “He doesn’t like us.”
I swallowed the sob in my throat. “He… doesn’t know how to like people very well.”
Eli touched the ring on my finger. “The ring man.”
“Yeah.”
He frowned. “Is the baby his?”
I nodded.
Eli hugged me again. Tighter. “We don’t need him. We have each other.”
I rocked him. Whispered into his hair. “Yeah. We do.”
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. Zariah.
I answered. Voice wrecked.
“Had?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence. Then: “Oh God. Okay. Breathe. Where are you?”
“Suite. Eli knows. Cal just walked out.”
“I’m coming up. Right now.”
She hung up.
I sat there. Eli curled against me. Staring at the door Cal had disappeared through. I kept listening for footsteps outside, half expecting him to come back, to knock, to say he overreacted. The hallway stayed silent.
