Page 67 of Three Months Yesterday

I dig deep, finding something I didn’t know I had and press the bar upward one final time. Sam guides it back to the rack, and I lie there for a moment, chest heaving, the rush of endorphins finally quieting the noise in my head.

“Thanks,” I manage.

Sam nods, stepping back. “Anytime.”

He still doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push. Just offers a small salute and heads toward the treadmills, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering burn of muscles pushed to their limit.

I sit up, grabbing my water bottle, and stare at my reflection in the mirror across the room. A man I barely recognize stares back—a beard where there should only be stubble, shadows under his eyes, hair unkempt. But there’s something else there too. A stubbornness. A refusal to walk away from something that matters, even when every instinct screams that he should.

Madison matters. Whatever this is between us, whatever it could become, it matters enough that I’m still here. Still trying. Still hoping that when the dust settles and the threat passes, there might be something worth building.

I pull out my phone and type a text before I can second-guess myself.

I don’t want to bother you, just want you to know I’m here if you need me. Really here.

I hit send and set the phone face down on the bench. Whatever her answer is, whatever comes next, I’ll deal with it. Not because I have to, but because I’ve finally found something I don’t want to run from.

And that might be the most terrifying thing of all.

The phone rings twice before Mark answers. “Madison?” His voice is cautious, surprised.

“Hey.” The word comes out softer than I intend, barely more than a breath. I grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white, and force myself to keep talking. “Sorry to call you out of the blue like this.”

“No, it’s fine.” There’s a rustling on his end, like he’s shifting position, getting comfortable. “I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear from you.”

I close my eyes, letting the familiarity of his voice wash over me. Ten years together, and I still know the exact cadence of how he speaks, the way his tone lifts when he’s genuinely pleased about something. It should feel strange, talking to him like this after everything, but instead it feels dangerously easy.

“How are you?” I ask, falling into the pattern of small talk like a well-worn sweater. “How’s the new job?”

“I’m good. The job…it’s good. Different from what I was doing before, but I like the team.”

“That’s great.” I pause, grasping for something easy to say. “Have you…have you met anyone?” That’s not the right question to ask, but somehow it feels like all of this will be so much easier if he has. Like I won’t have to feel so guilty for possibly moving on with Beckett…maybe.

I still don’t know how I start something with someone like Beckett when I’m pregnant with another man’s baby. Beckett is…he deserves so much better than the mess my life has become.

Mark laughs, low and warm. “No. Not yet. I’ve been focusing on settling in, figuring out the city.”

“Right. Of course.”

Silence stretches between us. Even with our history—or maybe because of it—it’s not awkward, but it’s heavy. I have no doubt Mark knows there’s a much bigger reason for this call. I should just tell him. Rip the bandage off and get it over with. But the words stick in my throat, thick and immovable.

“Sooo,” Mark says, drawing out the word. “How’s the inn?

“The inn’s good. Busy. We’re fully booked through New Year’s.”

“That’s fantastic, Mads. Really.”

The nickname slips out naturally, and neither of us acknowledge it. I stare at the calendar on the wall, yesterday’s date circled in red. December twelfth. A date that will mean something for the rest of my life, whether I want it to or not.

“Mark,” I start and immediately stop.

I don’t know how to tell him this. Not only because it’s such a surprise, but it changes everything for both of us. No matter what Mark decides here, his life will be changed forever.

“Madison.” The way he says my name, patient and familiar, makes my chest tight. “Come on,” he says gently.

“Come on what?” It’s so stupid of me to play dumb. We both know I’d never call out of the blue like this without a specific reason. And asking him how his life’s going isn’t it.

“You know what.” He sighs, but there’s no anger in it, only resignation. “We may not have worked out in the end, but I still know you better than I know myself. You didn’t call me at ten o’clock on a Saturday to ask about my job and dating life. What’s going on?”