Page 85 of Three Months Yesterday

“That bad?”

“Not bad. Just depressing. Please tell me Singin’ in the Rain is happier than the last few movies we’ve watched?” I ask. “Classics are depressing.”

Madison laughs. Not a polite laugh, not a chuckle. A real one, that kind that takes her whole body and has her double over, pressing her forehead to her knees. Her shoulders shake and when she finally sits up again there are tears in her eyes.

She opens her mouth to answer, but the only sound she releases is a gasp, her hand flying to her belly.

Everything in me goes tight. I’m on my feet before I know I’m standing, my hands hovering over her, afraid to touch in case I might hurt her. “What’s wrong? What happened? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

Her eyes meet mine, the tears slipping free, but she’s smiling. It’s not small or careful. It lights up her entire face and she shakes her head, reaching for my hand.

“Give me your hand,” she says, not waiting for me before she takes it, placing it flat against her stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shh. Just wait,” she whispers.

Her fingers press mine into the fabric of her sweater, and all I can focus on is the warmth of her through the knit. I wait, not sure what I’m waiting for. The credits still scroll on the muted TV, but the only sound in the room is the hum of the heater and the tick of the clock on the wall.

Then I feel it.

A small nudge, a gentle push against my palm, like someone knocking to say hello.

My eyes go wide. “Was that a kick?” My gaze bounces between her face and stomach, having no idea where I want to look, but when I catch Madison’s nod, my eyes stay locked on hers.

Her eyes are wet, her smile still stretched across her face, and she’s looking at me like I’ve just been handed something I didn’t know I was waiting for.

I keep my hand on her stomach, not wanting to move it, not wanting to leave this spot. I just want to stay right here, with my hand on her belly, feeling that little person telling us he’s here.

And just like that, the moment is broken. My phone rings, the screen lighting up on the coffee table with Aaron’s name. I ignore it, my attention moving back to Madison’s face. On the way she’s watching me with an expression I can’t name yet, one that makes my chest feel too small for what’s inside.

As soon as it stops, my phone starts ringing again.

“You should get that,” Madison says softly. “It must be important.”

I don’t want to. I know it’s already broken, but I want to go back to the quiet moment, just the two of us marveling at the miracle of a child growing in Madison’s stomach. But the phone is buzzing against the table and there’s no getting that moment back, not until I deal with Aaron.

“Yeah.” I pick up as I watch Madison stand from the couch, her hand patting my knee as she does.

“Beckett, we’ve got a problem,” Aaron clips, his voice all business. “The venues in Chicago and Boston are pushing back on dates. We need you in New York to deal with this.”

“I’m not coming to New York.” The words are out before I even realize it, but there’s nothing in me that wants to take them back.

“Beckett—”

“No. I’ve got another six weeks here, I’m not coming back right now.”

Aaron exhales, and I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s trying to be patient. “Beckett.” It’s one word said in exasperation, and I don’t care at all.

“Aaron, I’m finally back in my groove. I’m writing music I love, music the label loves. Leaving now will ruin all of that.”

I watch Madison move around the kitchen, the way she reaches for a glass and fills it from the tap, the way she leans against the counter and takes a slow sip. She’s still smiling, her hand resting against the swell of her stomach. The afterglow of the kick still on her face, and something in my chest tightens at the thought of leaving this. Of leaving her.

I don’t want to miss moments like these. I don’t want to be in a conference room in New York when she feels the baby kicks again, when the next milestone happens. I don’t want to be on a tour bus or in a recording studio when he arrives. I don’t want to be anywhere that isn’t here.

“I’m not coming to the city,” I say into the phone, interrupting whatever Aaron was saying. “Schedule the meeting virtually. I’ll take them from here.”

“I can’t do that.” Aaron’s voice tightens. “These aren’t people you say no to. They want to see you, shake your hand, look you in the eye. You know how this works.”