Page 64 of Three Months Yesterday

Beckett is quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he lifts his hand, cupping my face gently, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

“You’re a good person,” he says finally. “You know that?”

“I don’t feel like one.”

“That doesn’t make it less true.” He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead, so different from the one my brother just gave me. Beckett’s lips are warm against my skin, and I close my eyes, letting myself lean into the comfort he offers. “I’m here,” he murmurs against me. “However you need me.”

When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. “I’m going to head back to the cottage. Give you some space to think, to make your calls. But I’m not far. You know that, right?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Beckett presses one last kiss to my temple, then grabs his keys and phone from the counter before letting himself out. I sit alone in the kitchen, the forgotten decaf coffee cold in front of me, and stare at the phone on the counter.

One call to Mark. That’s where this starts.

I pick up the phone before I can talk myself out of it, scrolling through my contacts until I find his name. My thumb hovers over the Call button, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Eighteen weeks. A baby boy. A future I never planned for.

I press the button and bring the phone to my ear, listening to it ring.

The December air bites at my cheeks as I step out onto Madison’s porch, the screen door falling shut behind me with a finality that echoes in my chest. I pull my coat tighter and start down the steps, gravel crunching beneath my boots.

Halfway across the driveway, I stop.

The cottage sits dark and quiet fifty yards ahead, but I can’t make my feet move toward it. Instead, I turn back toward the house I just left, the warm glow of light spilling from the windows. Madison’s in there, carrying news that would level most people, and I just walked away.

Should I have stayed?

The question gnaws at me. I told her I’d be right next door, that she had space to think, to make her calls. But standing here in the cold, the distance between us feels like miles. She’s about to call her ex—the father of her child—and I’m retreating to a rental cottage like a coward.

I rub a hand over my face, breath fogging in the mid-morning air. It’s not my place. That’s the truth I keep circling back to. We’re not together—not really. We’ve shared a few moments, a few kisses, but I’m a guest in her life. A temporary blip on the radar. Offering to stay through that phone call would be overstepping. She’d have asked me to stay if she wanted me there.

Wouldn’t she?

My phone vibrates in my pocket, the buzz startling enough to make me flinch. I pull it out and the screen illuminates with Ian’s name.

Ian

Call me as soon as you can.

I stare at the words, the timing feeling almost orchestrated by some cosmic force determined to keep me from second-guessing myself. With Ian waiting for the details I promised him yesterday, I have direction. Purpose. An excuse not to stand in this driveway all day wrestling with instincts I don’t trust.

The text I sent Ian last night was deliberately vague—just that my location might be compromised due to a riding accident, that I’d call with more details tomorrow. I hadn’t wanted to explain everything through text, hadn’t wanted to deal with all the questions. But tomorrow’s arrived, and Ian’s patience has clearly expired.

The cottage is cold when I step inside, the wood stove long since burned to embers. I don’t bother building it back up. Instead I drop onto the couch and dial Ian’s number before I can find another reason to delay.

He answers on the first ring. “Start talking.”

No greeting. No how are you? Just the clipped, efficient tone of a man who’s been managing crises longer than I’ve been famous.

“Ian—”

“Details, Beckett. Now.” I can picture him in his New York office, probably in the suit he hates wearing, but does anyway because he knows people take him more seriously, an expression carved from granite. “I’ve got a situation brewing here and I need to know if I need to get the team mobilized.”

I force myself to organize the facts and give them to Ian like he asked. “Madison took a fall yesterday—a bad one. I rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital in Gettysburg.”

“And you were seen.”