Page 37 of Bound Hearts

“It’s your choice,” he reaffirms. “I don’t think I need to tell you that I will support you either way. You already believe it.”

I do.

I suck in a sharp breath. “We were meant to be casual. Birth control was supposed to work. This was never supposed to be our future.”

His fingers now glide up my arm to soothe me. “I think we might have become a step above casual long ago,” he points out.

I give him a shaky attempt at a smile. “You’re right.”

“What’s running through your mind?”

“I have a career that might just tank.” I look him dead in the eye. “Foster, we were… every warning flag in my head that I ignored. Now we have proof of our personal relationship. If someone really wanted, then I could have the bar on me about my ethics. I could even lose my license. It’s a loss that I can’t take.”

Instantly, he shakes his head adamantly. “I’m not going to let that happen. Not a chance. You hate it, but in the office, I’m the one in the position of power, and I’ll damn well use it.”

Maybe that’s the only reason I haven’t completely melted down yet. Still.

“You can’t always assert your power in the office when it comes to me, Foster. It could make it ten times worse, and it’ll only make things more difficult for me. I’d lose respect from my colleagues.”

He remains mute as he listens. He wants to debate it, but he won’t because I’m fragile right now. I continue, “Then there is the issue that I haven’t even worked for the company for twelve months. If it wasn’t for company policy then I wouldn’t even be entitled to leave. I’m the woman who didn’t have kids on her mind. Whatever you want, you’re a bit further in your career and adult life. It’s easier for you to think one way. But then I think, fuck, you are the CFO and a man who lives for his career, too. That’s both of our lives disrupted. A baby will change everything completely.”

His eyes pinch together as he takes a visible breath. “I’m not sure life is just career.” I can’t read him, nor how to interpret that answer.

“Everyone thinks I’m the one who enjoys life, I’m responsible and blaze trails—the independent one, you know? And I am… But now I’m spiraling. There’s a part of me that isn’t any of those things, and it’s been unlocked. I don’t care what people think, but when I really consider myself, the idea of being the woman accidentally pregnant, not married, and afraid of being a mom… well, that’s who I am.”

“Sutton—” he tries to interrupt, but I keep going; the thoughts won’t stop.

I rub my head, frustration clear. After a long pause, I picture all the options. "My parents got married because my mom got pregnant unexpectedly." Foster’s cheek twitches. "That complicates things for me. I know I’m strong enough to do things alone or as co-parents, or with any family set-up, as long as the child is loved. But my parents influence my thinking, and I can’t shake it. I don’t want to raise a baby on my own."

“You wouldn’t,” he promises again. I’m not sure in what dynamic he means. I need to be clearer.

I bite my lip so hard, I’m certain it will bleed. It’s building inside of me, frustration and fear. “Except… to probably everyone’s surprise, including my own, I think I’m kind of traditional. The whole wedlock thing, you know? My parents ended up with the best marriage one could want. But marriage is even more commitment that adds on another layer to this whole situation.” I wobble my head side to side with a tight breath. “Shotgun weddings? I… it’s crazy… but I get it.”

Foster’s face eases, almost entertained by my explanation. “Then it’s an option,” he simply replies without hesitation, his tone resolute. Maybe it was somewhere in his head, too.

My head juts out. “What?”

He shrugs casually. “It’s an option,” he repeats with complete conviction.

Now I’m so overwhelmed, I almost leap from the sofa in surprise at his offer. I begin to pace the room. My emotions feel like a storm—leaving destruction and rebuilding, but always another storm coming. That describes my tears and mood right now.

Clawing my hair, I stall and stare at him, sitting coolly on the couch—giving me space, but with clear thoughts in his head as he observes my meltdown.

Blowing out a breath, I state the facts. “Okay, so there is that option. Adoption, but honestly, I don’t consider that an option for me. I would struggle knowing our baby is somewhere out there. And there is…”

Instantly, he stands, rushing to me. His hands land on my shoulders, keeping me in place, ensuring our eyes are tied together. “I can’t make that decision for you.”

My breathing begins to speed up in panic, and when I sob, he pulls me tight to him, his arms wrapping around me, clear he won’t let the earth swallow me whole.

We stay wrapped together for what could be an hour, or maybe minutes. Time blurs; everything does today.

“Come on, you need to lie down,” he whispers, and I unglue us.

“You’ll stay here, right?” I plead.

He glides his knuckles along my cheek. “I’m not leaving,” he confirms softly.

Ten minutes later, after taxing myself through changing and brushing my teeth, I make it to my bed where Foster is waiting for me. His shoes are off, but he hasn’t changed as he lies on top of the duvet leaning against the headboard. I wonder if he will leave once I fall asleep.