Page 62 of Three Months Yesterday

I lift my shirt and tug my leggings down just enough to expose my stomach, turning sideways to study my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not able to stop myself, I press my palm flat against my stomach, trying to feel something, anything, that confirms the news the doctor gave me yesterday.

Eighteen weeks.

I stare at the slight curve of my belly, wondering if I’m actually seeing a bump or if I’m imagining it. It could just be bloating. Or the angle. Or the shadows cast across my skin from the soft light of the sconces. But then I turn a little more, suck in a breath, and release it slowly.

There. A small distinct swell where there used to be flatness.

“Madison?” A knock at the door makes me jump, and I quickly right my clothes, afraid Aiden will barge in. “You okay in there?” he asks gently through the door.

“I’m fine,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’ll be out in a second.”

At the sound of his footsteps moving away from the door, I take one last look in the mirror, pulling my hair back into a messy bun. The woman staring back at me looks tired, overwhelmed, and too young for the situation she’s found herself in. It’s ironic that everyone thinks I have an old soul only for me to feel impossibly unprepared for this.

I splash cold water on my cheeks, pat them dry with a hand towel, and force myself to open the door.

Aiden waits for me in the hall, arms crossed over his chest as he studies me with the same sharp gaze he’s had since he picked Beckett and me up from the hospital this morning. The one that made it impossible to lie to him as a child and even harder to fool as an adult.

“Hey,” I say, brushing past him toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” he echoes, falling into step behind me.

The smell of coffee hits me before I round the corner, stopping in my tracks when I find Beckett standing by the pot, his back to us as he grabs a few mugs from the cabinet in front of him. Aiden takes a spot leaning against the island, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“I’ve managed to keep things quiet so far,” Aiden says, his voice low. “But I don’t know how much longer that’s going to last. You need to call Mom and Dad soon.”

I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. “I will.”

Aiden’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, pushing off the counter like he’s about to head for the door, then stops. His eyes find mine and something in his expression shifts from brotherly concern to something more authoritative.

“Madison.” He says my name like a command. “What’s going on?”

I freeze, my gaze darting to Beckett who’s gone still by the coffee maker. “What do you mean?” I ask, my attention back on Aiden.

“You’re pregnant?” There’s steel in his voice but also something like wonder.

I sink onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, my legs suddenly unsteady. Before I can gather my thoughts, Beckett appears at my side, sliding a mug across the counter toward me—black coffee, exactly how I like it.

“It’s decaf,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how much caffeine you can have, but I figured it’s safer for the baby.”

I melt at the simple action. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since the doctor dropped the pregnancy bomb, and I haven’t even thought about all the things I’ve been doing that I can’t anymore. But this amazing, wonderful man—a man who has nothing to do with the condition I’m in—has somehow managed to get me decaf coffee so I can still feed my unhealthy addiction, at least slightly.

Beckett doesn’t linger, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before moving back to the counter opposite me. He leans back against it, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and shoving his other into his jean pocket. He’s in my line of sight, still present, but he’s giving me space to have this conversation with my brother, and that gesture isn’t lost on me.

Wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic, I’m grateful for having something to hold. I look at Aiden, who’s waiting with the patience of a man who knows he won’t be leaving without the answer he’s looking for.

“I’m almost five months pregnant,” I say, the words still foreign on my tongue.

Aiden’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the way his shoulders tense. Most people probably wouldn’t notice it, but I’ve known the man for twenty-eight years.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt in his voice hits me harder than I expect.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “I didn’t know until yesterday. At the hospital. I had no idea.”

He stares at me and I can see him working through the timeline, doing the math. “You broke up with Mark in August.”

“Almost five months ago.” I take a sip of the coffee, needing something to do.

Aiden drags a hand through his hair, the gesture so like our dad it makes my chest ache.