Page 72 of Three Months Yesterday

“Some of your stuff is her stuff too, though. That’s kind of what happens when you’re in it together.”

I stop pacing, my eyes going back out the window. “We’re not in it together. We’re not together at all. Not officially.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “From where I’m sitting, you’re already in it. You’re calling me to talk about a woman you’re not anything specific with, and her pregnancy is eating you up. That sounds pretty specific to me.”

I don’t have a good answer for that, so I don’t try to give one.

Ryan sighs, and I know I’m won’t love what he has to say, but that’s exactly why I wanted to talk to him. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know what to tell you here. This is outside my wheelhouse in every aspect. But I’ll tell you what I think, and you can take it or leave it.”

“I always want the truth.”

“You’ve spent your whole career—your whole life, really—worrying about what people think. Your label, the press, your fans…and I think you’re doing it now. You’re worried about what it looks like, stepping into a messy situation. Not just about your circle, but her circle too.”

“I’m not,” I interrupt him. “But I’ve known her for two weeks. How can we possibly build anything real now?”

“Beckett.” The word is almost a whisper and I know it’s because he wants me to really hear him. “You’ve got to stop running. Follow your heart on this one. Do what feels right. Not what the world thinks is right, not what I think is right. What you think is right.”

I let that sit for a second, taking in everything he’s said to me. “That’s very wise for a guy who likes to say he’s a dumb as a doorknob.”

“Shut up. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” I look back at Madison’s house, at the window in the front room where the Christmas tree shines bright. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“Anytime. And Beckett?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t figure out what you are to each other before I get there in the new year, I’m going to ask her myself, and I will embarrass you.”

I laugh, and this time it comes out right. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later, man.”

The call ends, and I slip my coat on before slipping out the front door. I stand on the porch for a minute, the cold biting my cheeks, my breath fogging in the air in front of me. It’s not technically winter but it feels like it more and more with every passing day.

The gravel of our shared driveway crunches under my boots as I make my way to her house.

I think back to Saturday and the conversation we had. After she told me about her talk with Mark, I asked if she called her parents. I wanted to know if her mom showed up for her, helped her in a way only a mother could. It felt like the natural next question. I watched her face as I said it. I watched the way her jaw tightened just slightly before she shook her head and then immediately nodded.

She called them about the accident, made sure they knew she was okay, but she didn’t want to overshadow Jackson’s birthday. His birthday dinner was just around the corner and she didn’t want to take any attention away from him. Not more than she already would simply by showing up injured from the accident. She swore she’d tell everyone after.

After the dinner we’re headed to tonight.

I pause at the base of her porch steps, my eyes catching on the window of the front room where the piano sits. The one she so easily offered to let me use. The one that’s become the only thing keeping me tethered to her some days. I think about Sunday night, about the dinner at her parents’ house with Aiden and Jackson. It felt strange being there without Madison. No one blamed her for staying home. Everyone knew about the accident and her concussion. About the doctor’s orders to take it easy.

When her mom clucked her tongue and said Madison should be more careful with the horses, I had to fight to keep my mouth shut. When she continued to explain an accident just like this was the exact reason she told Madison she didn’t want the horses on the land in the first place, I almost walked out.

It was the look Aiden and I shared across the table that kept me in my seat. The quiet understanding that passed between us, the kind that comes from knowing someone well enough to communicate without words. Even when I’d only known him for two weeks.

He knew I was thinking the same thing he was. Madison was going to do what Madison was going to do, and no amount of maternal worry would change that. Especially when Ruby didn’t seem to know her daughter all that well.

I take the porch steps slowly, trying to prepare myself for the stilted conversation and hesitant looks I’m about to share with the woman I’ve grown so comfortable with. Just as my boots hit the top step the door swings open.

Madison stands in the doorway, her fingers gently tugging at the hem of her shirt, pulling it away from her stomach in a way that immediately puts me on alert. She turns to her side, one hand still on the fabric, and looks at me with something close to panic flickering in her eyes.

“Can you see it?” she asks. “The bump?”

I freeze.