Page 75 of Three Months Yesterday

He reaches out and wipes the tears from my cheeks, his thumbs gentle across my skin, the same way he wiped them last week. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His eyes hold mine and a few more tears slip free. “Life threw us a curveball. You’re figuring out how to move forward, and I respect the hell out of that.” He bends and presses another kiss to my forehead. This time I lean into the touch, savoring the feel of him. “Figuring it out doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. You’re stuck with me now.”

And standing here in my living room with the snacks he remembered and the movies he picked, his hands still warm against my face, I know he’s telling the truth.

The girl in the mirror stares back at me and I don’t recognize her, not entirely. Not the way I used to.

I’m standing in my bathroom in nothing but my bra and underwear, my hand resting on the curve of my stomach. It’s more pronounced than it was two weeks ago, but still not enough that anyone would notice, not when I’m wearing the right clothes. But I notice. I notice every single day.

I turn to the side, my fingers tracing the gentle swell. It was real the moment I saw him on the screen at the hospital, the moment I heard his heartbeat, but it’s getting more real by the minute, and tonight, it’s going to be unavoidable. Everyone will know after tonight.

My chest tightens at the thought.

I think about the last two weeks. About how different they’ve been from the two weeks before. How different yet the same Beckett has been.

He hasn’t pulled away or made me feel guilty for telling him I needed to take a step back. If anything, he’s made me feel better about that decision, like he knows it’s the right choice. That putting myself first is the bravest thing I could have done instead of the most selfish.

We still see each other most days. Either in the evening when I’m getting back from the inn, or in the morning when I’m leaving for my run. Beckett doesn’t go with me every morning, but he’s started running with me a few days a week.

He had a lot of questions around whether that was safe for the baby, but the doctor said it was fine. She told me at my appointment that as long as I was listening to my body and wasn’t doing anything too strenuous it would be fine, especially since running has been part of my morning routine since I was in high school.

I appreciated that he wasn’t smothering me with his concern, but he wasn’t afraid to let me know about it either. It was nice knowing someone cared about how we were doing.

But none of our time together beat our Saturdays watching a few classics from his list of Top 100 Hollywood classic movies. They’ve become my favorite part of the week. He shows up around lunchtime with a bag of food, snacks, and the next round of movies to watch. We sit in the living room, and for a few hours I’m not the woman pregnant with her ex’s baby. I’m just Madison, a woman sitting on a couch next to someone who makes me feel like myself.

Beckett doesn’t shy away from talking about the baby either. He asks me questions and listens to my answers. He encourages me to share whatever I’m thinking, even when what I’m thinking is messy and complicated and doesn’t have a clean resolution. And he’s always checking in.

How are you feeling? Do you need anything? How’s the little nugget? Are you sure you’re okay?

And I am. With him, I am.

I think about Aiden and how he hasn’t pressured me about telling our parents or Wyatt. Not once. He checks in every day, a text or a phone call, sometimes he drops by the inn or the house. He doesn’t feed me excuses. We both know exactly why he’s there, wanting to make sure I’m okay. That I’m still standing.

I can’t stop my mind from wandering to the conversation we had after I told him about my talk with Mark. He got so quiet and his eyes went blank, a faraway look taking over. I couldn’t follow, but I was pretty sure I knew where he went.

He was thinking about his own difficult conversations. The ones he had with his wife when she told him she was pregnant with Jackson.

Aiden never questioned being a father. It was always in his life plan, and he loves Jackson with everything he has. He did from the moment he found out about him. But I know he hates the way it happened. It’s not the way he would’ve chosen starting a family. It wasn’t planned—wasn’t expected. And I think, in some small way, watching me go through something similar has stirred up things he thought he put to rest.

All of it leads me back to my parents. To Wyatt.

I don’t know how they’re going to take the news. I don’t know if Mom will cry or if Dad will go quiet, the way he does when processing something he doesn’t want to say out loud. And I don’t know if Wyatt will joke to deflect or if he’ll be serious.

My eyes fall to my stomach in the mirror and I find myself stroking the small bump, my thumb moving in a slow circle over the curve.

“I know,” I whisper. The baby doesn’t respond, but I swear I feel something. A warmth. A certainty that settles somewhere beneath my ribs and stays. “No matter what happens tonight, they’re all going to love you. I know that the way I know my own name.”

My throat tightens and I press my palm flat against the swell, holding the warmth there like I can transfer it through my skin.

“Madison,” Beckett calls from downstairs, and I jump. My hand flies to my chest, my heart hammering against my palm.

How did I miss the sound of the front door opening?

“How many times do we need to have this conversation about keeping the front door locked?” he calls.

I press my hand to my chest, willing my pulse to slow. “I knew you were coming and I wouldn’t be ready when you got here. The door’s only been unlocked for the last thirty minutes!” I yell back.

“That’s not an excuse when I have a key,” he calls back, his voice closer now, like he’s moving up the stairs.

I ignore his words and roll my eyes. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. Eat a snack or something!”