Page 48 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

Her eyes meet mine across the table, quick and tender, with something underneath that I can’t name.

She looks at me like she has already made a decision I won’t like.I run the calculation I’ve been running since the rooftop. Connor. The company. The situation we’re already in. Every reason to hold the distance I’ve kept for months.

For the first time, the numbers don’t produce an answer.

Liam's gaze flicks between us once more. He looks like a man confirming something he already suspected.

Harrington wraps the projections. Andrew closes the conversation with the right question. The dinner moves toward its natural end and everyone at the table believes the evening went well.

But I know Riley is hiding something.

And whatever it is—this conversation isn't over.

Chapter seventeen

Chapter Seventeen—Riley

Eight weeks pregnant. That’s the doctor’s number, not mine. Six weeks since it actually happened, pregnancy dates from your last period, not the night that changes your life. The distinction felt meaningless until I needed it to explain why the math worked. Connor's due back in two weeks.

Crackers first. Water. Vitamin.

The kitchen is dim, lit only by the stove light. I run my thumb along the edge of the cracker sleeve, feeling the rough paper catch against my skin.

I've gotten precise about the brand. Only plain saltines work—nothing flavored, nothing with seeds. I bought six boxes and hid five in the back of the closet. That counts as a win these days: hiding carbohydrates like state secrets.

The vitamin rests in my palm—yellow, larger than it needs to be. A supplement easy to explain away if no one looks too closely.

Every piece of this routine has a hiding place. Nothing gets left where someone else might notice.

Three days since the test. Feels like longer. Probably because the symptoms started weeks ago.

I've thought this through more than I want to admit.

More nausea rolls through me. Dizziness follows, creeping at the edges of my vision. I grip the counter, knuckles whitening against the cool stone, but the cracker sleeve slips.

It clinks against the glass—too loud in the quiet.

The sound cracks through the room like something breaking.

The glass wobbles.

I catch it just in time.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs.

One wrong sound and the system collapses.

Connor's not back for another two weeks. That's all the runway I have left.

Two weeks to figure out what to do. Two weeks to decide who needs to know first. Two weeks before everything changes whether I'm ready or not.

The margins are gone. There's no slack left.

Every morning feels like a countdown now.

Every sound in this kitchen feels louder than it should.

Too loud.