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jakeyt · 3 months

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Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in.

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; fainting; regurgitating profusely; nausea; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; therapy; mentions of EMDR therapy; prenatal visits; arguing/raising of voices; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; hemoglobin kits mentioned; emergency room visit and all that might entail (e.r. visit is a longer one, so strap in); revisited, vivid memories of sex; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk; looooots of baby talk; pregnancy hormones (and this is nothing compared to what's to come - that's all i'll say); reader still being sad while she checks Jake out; oh! and Joshua Michael Kiszka being the perfect angel he is <3 (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 32.6k+ (what the actual-?)

a/n: hi my lovely readers <333 i am deeply apologetic for the time you waited to receive this chapter, but i hope the length (holy fucking shit, btw) will make up for it. i really will try my damndest to not take almost a month next time.....

BUT, as you guys have learned, my chapters are very rarely "short" in length, so you can rest assured i'm quite literally busting ass trying to write the chapters in the near-month span of time between updates. lol <3 (while also doing real-time life w a job and family to tend to every single day)

this story is my baby that has been outlined for months in a google doc and i refuse to release chapters until they're completed with everything i deem necessary to include. i promise it's all for the good of the story and for the ultimate enjoyment of the readers (you!). <3 i'm never purposefully leaving you hangin', babes <3 ily all more than i'll ever be able to properly express. 🫶🏻

special shout out to my sis for being my go-to beta, ear, advice-giver, helper, AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN when it comes to all of the silly little stories i write. @joshym. you are my favorite. you know that. and i love you. so fucking much. forever the daniel to my samuel :)

and another shoutout to my wonderful pal @welightthefire - GOD, i love you. y'all, this lady has been my main source for all things baby related and i'd be hurting without her help on alllll things baby and pregnancy. <3 babe, you are the bomb and you better KNOW IT.

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

Your stomach dipped all the way to the heels of your feet, your body feeling a rush of equal parts cold and hot.

There were no words spoken for several moments, and almost as soon as you’d said it, Josh had turned to face the front. Jaw clenched tighter than you’d ever seen it, he put the car in drive as his hands wrapped tightly around the wheel – 10 and 2. His back was ramrod straight and his jaw didn’t stop flexing as you swiveled to sit to look out the windshield alongside him.

Your stomach was churning— for multiple reasons. On top of the anxiety in the moment, you also hadn’t been eating much as of late. Your appetite was almost nothing — save for pickles and Cosmic-fucking-Brownies.

It had blossomed seemingly out of nowhere.

After your night of Mac and Cheese with Jake, you had started borderline craving it afterwards—alongside the brownies and pickles. But, when you’d made some for yourself, you came to realize, with the first bite to your mouth. . . That Mac and Cheese was no longer your friend.

Although, it had made very close friends with the toilet, as you’d bent over it hurling until every last bit of the yellow food deposited in front of your sweaty face.

Surprisingly, you’d still been hungry after puking. . . but unfortunately, everything else you’d tried to eat either ended up in the toilet or in the trash from the smell alone.

And, to your utter demise, Cosmic Brownies had been ruined that day, too. Their contents eventually met the toilet when you’d tried to snack on one that same evening to fill your empty stomach.

Suffice to say, the nausea had started to kick your ass and this particularly tense situation was doing you no favors.

All you could do was steal glances at him, awkwardly, for the thirty or so minutes it took to get to the women’s clinic. He wasn’t talking at all which was so unlike Josh. You’d never gone this long being in the same space as him where he wasn’t talking. The man loved to talk. And you loved to listen and engage.

But that was not the energy that was transpiring between you two.

You would have normally put on music to fill the hollow, painfully silent space. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, much less put on music that would just add to the discomfort that you’d created with your confession. And, honestly, it felt like you were already making too much noise every time you took a deep breath.

Besides stealing the occasional peek at him, you watched the multiple semis that passed you, and the forests that lined the highway, full of leaves with changing colors.

And Josh just drove. Just fucking drove. And, even worse, he drove normally. Better than normal, actually. Unlike ever before, he was following the highway’s speed limit, all while not getting emotional anytime someone pulled an asshole move on the road.

He seemed to be putting every bit of his energy into three things: focusing on the road, keeping his jaw clenched tight, and not moving his hands from 10 and 2 unless he had to look over his shoulder to switch lanes.

Once you pulled up to parallel park on a busier street in SoHo, you’d made up your mind to tell Josh to just drive back and that you could hitch a ride with an Uber.

You didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he apparently already felt.

For one, he didn’t need to be here if he didn’t want to be. And secondly, you couldn’t fucking handle any more right now. The whole point of him being with you was because you were already fucking stressed before you’d ever even told him. And at this point, it seemed you’d been correct in your assumption of him being angry.

But right now, his reaction didn’t fucking matter. This appointment mattered. Your baby mattered. You needed to be in some sort of decent mind space before you stepped foot into the place. And whether or not that included him was relative to his response when you informed him of this.

You breathed in and out heavily, shutting your eyes as you did so. Once you opened them, you pressed the unlock button on your door, signaling to him that you were ready to get the show on the road. You didn’t have time to fucking sit here and let him sulk.

Releasing a deep breath once more, you finally turned to look at him once you’d unbuckled. Then, once facing him, you mustered the firmest tone possible at that moment. “Josh,” you started, sharply. He blinked slowly and flexed the muscle in his jaw once more before he turned to make eye contact with you.

Fuck. His eyes. . . Was he angry? Sad? Indifferent? You couldn’t fucking tell. You’d never seen him so guarded. God, you shouldn’t have invited him to this. You really had started to hope that he would react more like Elsie and Gia thought he would.

But he hadn’t, and you were faced with whatever the fuck this attitude was that he had chosen to wear.

Once it was obvious he was going to look at you as you spoke, you continued. “You don’t have to go in there with me,” you began, firm yet empathetic. “I won’t make you. I will go in on my own. I have to. For my own reasons, I have to keep this appointment today. But you don’t have to come in if you would rather not,” you stated, steady and sure. He was free to fucking leave if he wanted. “You can fucking leave. I will not make you go in if you’re angry or upset or uncomfortable. I’ll get a damn Uber and you can drive back to the complex to get your car.”

He seemed to come back to the present, blinking several times and shaking his head. He rubbed one hand down his face, just as Jake did when he would get stressed.

The similar reaction made your tummy feel fuzzy and desperate for the security you needed at the moment. You needed someone right now. Even if you were willing to do this on your own (which you were), you could really use his support at the moment.

You unlocked the doors once more, making sure they were ready to go before you reached for the handle.

Resolutely, you looked over your shoulder before you addressed him once more. “I’m sorry that I made you angr—.”

“I’m not angry,” he finally said softly. After clearing his throat to talk properly again after not talking for so long, he continued. “I’m shocked and— I’m just feeling a lot of things,” he iterated, his eyes begging you to understand. And, you did. “But I am honored that you wanted me to come with you today,” he said, his face transforming to once again show you your Josh. He was back. Grabbing your hand, he finished his thought. “And I would love to go to this appointment with you.”

The tears that filled your eyes and trailed down your cheeks one by one couldn’t be helped.

“I couldn’t have done this today without you,” you said, voice cracking with emotion. You popped the glovebox to get a napkin to wipe your face, not looking at him as you kept on. “I’ve been so scared for this, and the only person— besides Elsie— that I wanted here with me, was you.”

He reached over to hold your hand, and you tucked the napkin into your lap for backup when you caught his eye again. Before he spoke again, one tear escaped his eye. With one hand lightly squeezing yours, the other dashed up to wipe at the new wetness under his eye.

Then, after shaking his head, he raised a curious eyebrow to address you. “Wait,” he said wetly before clearing his throat. “Is this your first appointment?”

“Yes,” you blinked, a blush skirting over your cheeks. “I’ve been in denial of it all until super recently.” You sniffed, feeling a couple more tears escape your eye at the topic of conversation and finally talking to Josh about it. It was, admittedly, a lot. “It took me a hot fucking second to come to terms with all of it, so I’m just now at the first appointment.”

He nodded, brows still furrowed as he looked down briefly before finding your eyes again. “How far along are you?”

“I think I’m technically like eleven-ish weeks,” you replied, doing quick math in your head. “I would need to look at my app to give you an exact number. Normally I have it right at the front of my brain, but my nerves are fucking wracked right now,” you bashfully swept your eyes over your hands, interlocked on the armrest. “For obvious reasons.”

You heard him hum and took that as your sign to look at him again. He was watching you carefully, quizzically. His eyes squinted as you, yet again, flushed under his stare.

“What?!” You hastily spit out, nervous.

“Does he. . .?”

Knowing exactly what he was asking, you quickly shut down his train of thought. “Jake doesn’t know,” you informed him, tucking your chin as you quietly repeated yourself. “He doesn’t know.”

“Alright,” he responded, not questioning you in the slightest. Your eyes flashed up to meet his: the color of cocoa and sparkling. “Does Elsie?”

Without any words, you gave him a look that answered his pondering thoughts.

He chuckled, and you joined him by huffing a little laugh, just under your breath. You felt your cheeks loosen with an easy smile. Your shoulders were relaxing more and more by the second. The familiar, natural sense of joviality with him was settling your frazzled nerves.

You eyed the clock on the dashboard and suddenly realized that you were cutting it very close to your appointment time, with no more than a few minutes to spare before you would be running late.

Sensing your sudden shift in mood, he took the keys out of the ignition just as you unlocked the doors once again, and opened yours.

“Let’s go inside,” he encouraged, mimicking your action as he opened his own door behind your turned back.

When you were out of the car, and waiting (sort of) patiently on the sidewalk for him, you physically shook out some of the anxiety that had made home in your bones for the last several months.

He officially knew that you’d had sex with Jake. He knew that now. And he knew that it had resulted in a baby. He knew enough for now.

And it actually seemed like things were going to be okay. Maybe Elsie had been right all along (though you’d never tell her that).

Your thoughts were affirmed when he came up beside you, pulling you into a hug as soon as he was at your side. A full-on Josh hug: arms wrapped securely around your shoulders. You did your best to hold back tears, so as not to soil his stark white sweatshirt.

Pulling away before you could let any inevitable tears take over, you looked up at him to see his dimple, present in his cheek. You couldn’t help the single tear that trickled down your cheek at the overwhelming feeling of normality. He was warm. He was real. He was Josh.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you to him once more before taking your hand in his and wrapping it up tightly.

Peeking up at him through wet lashes, you saw his face was still turned up in his signature grin, his eyes, slightly playful as he gave you a knowing look he’d given you a thousand times before.

“You’ve got this, mama,” he reassured with a wink, opening the door to the clinic for you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The place was fucking amazing. The pictures you’d seen on its website hadn’t done it justice at all. The environment was trendy and relaxing and comfortable. Soft music, similar to that of a lullaby played in the open space, only illuminated by the natural light of the day. No overbearing fluorescent bulbs.

Thank God.

As you made your way to the front desk, you decided to let go of Josh’s hand.

For some reason, it just felt right to do this on your own. Felt right to make this stride on your own. You could handle the front desk.

“You go sit down,” you offered, motioning to the couches that filtered the chic waiting room. “I think I can do this part.”

“You sure?” He asked, brows dipping to show his genuine concern. “I’m with you every step of the way. I mean it.”

Your eyes drew wet at the words, but you sniffled and cleared the emotion from your throat when you went to grab his arm through the soft white material of his sweatshirt. “I love you so much for that. I can’t even tell you, Josh,” you told him, a tear escaping despite your efforts. “But I’ve gotta take this step on my own.”

He nodded, needing no further explanation. “I’m over here if you need me,” he threw a thumb at the couches behind him.

You watched as he walked to the couch nearest to the front desk, sitting comfortably on the blush pink velvet that covered it. You tipped your head at him once, showing him and yourself that you were starting your trek to the counter.

Once there, you were greeted by the kind smile of a woman most likely in her fifties or sixties, her thick black-framed glasses taking up more than half of her face. Her tanned complexion was flawless and her lips were full with red lipstick as she stretched them over perfectly white teeth. Her jet-black hair was half-up, half-down, haphazardly thrown up with a claw clip, but looking flawless nonetheless.

She matched the modish aesthetic of the clinic to a T.

“Hi, babe,” she cheerily greeted you with an out-of-place Southern accent in SoHo, her voice still low to keep the room quiet. “You have an appointment today?”

You froze. The reality of it all suddenly came barreling towards you.

Fuck. Shit. Yes. I do have an appointment today. I’m pregnant. I’m standing here, waiting for an appointment because I’m fucking pregnant.

Dammit. What the fuck? I’m. . .?

You standing here suddenly seemed completely astronomical and unreal– was this truly what life was for you now? While thinking about it nonstop, you’d also not been thinking about it to the extent that it would’ve taken for all of this change to click. This was real. Real life.

You were carrying a human child.

And you were at your first appointment for it.

Goddamn.

Blinking several times, you tried to keep your grounding firm as your eyes traced her features a thousand times– searching your suddenly static-filled brain for the most simple word in the English language.

“Y-y-y–,” you shut your eyes tightly to reset. Come on, y/n. You’ve got this. It’s just one word.

But you suddenly weren’t sure if you ‘had this’. Your hands began to shake uncontrollably at your sides; you wiped them repeatedly on your leggings.

But before you could moisten the fabric covering your thighs completely, you went to place them on the counter, touching your current surroundings to center yourself. To hold on to what was real.

Gia would be so proud.

But then your brain raced right back to the true reality of it all. The reason you were freaking out in the first place was because of the real you couldn’t escape–not that you wanted to, by any means. . .right?! You wanted this. You wanted this.

You DO want this, y/n. Deep breaths.

The voice sounded so eerily similar to your therapist’s that it helped you to grasp onto a flicker of stabilization.

This reality was not new. You’d known it was real. You had known there was (probably—hopefully) a kid in you for the past few weeks. And being in this place didn’t make that anymore different than before— minutes before when you’d stepped through the door of the clinic.

Then you’d walked up to the counter and had one simple question asked of you.

You shook your head once more before blinking open your suddenly-wet eyes.

But you couldn’t look up from the floor. From your high-top, white Chuck Taylors, now off-white and stained from years of wear.

And swirling before your eyes in ways they shouldn’t be from the amount of nerves encapsulating your brain. . . Your stomach was rolling.

All of a sudden, you felt a familiar arm wrap around your trembling shoulders, strongly holding you to his chest to keep you stable. The cologne that came from the person, along with the overwhelming rush of relief that came with his presence was a dead giveaway for your new company.

Everything settled.

“Yes,” Josh stated, clearly, for you. “Yes, it’s her first appointment. Y/n? Y/l/n?”

A couple of beats and a few clicks from a mouse followed his words. Then you heard a clipboard clack lightly against the counter and a pen getting clicked open before she sat it on top of the board.

“Whenever she’s ready,” her voice assuredly spoke, so soft and warm. “I’ll get y’all back there when the time feels right.”

You’d effectively curled tighter into Josh before you looked back up at the sweet lady, meeting her eyes with embarrassment laced through every feature on your face. The muscles in your jaw relaxed when you met her eyes, finally speaking.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

She tilted her head at you, sending an understanding wink your way. “No need to apologize, sweet pea,” she calmly hushed, her voice sounding reminiscent of any old Southern woman you’d ever seen in a movie. “It’s a whole lot to deal with. We get it.”

Your lips quivered up into a small smile, eyes watery. “That means a lot,” you sputtered, fresh tears making their way to your jaw.

Dear fucking God. The tears had to stop at some point. You’d always been a crier, but these motherfucking hormones were just bringing out the absolute most. Pulling out all of the stops. Your emotions, pre-pregnancy, were already shaky, at best. . . and they were apparently just getting progressively worse with the damned baby hormones.

The anxiety was understandable. But the crying? It was almost nonstop. And it was getting old already.

Though, you knew–you knew–that it wasn’t even fucking close to being over. If everything today went accordingly and you officially found out there was a whole ass baby growing inside of you, you knew that this spike in emotions was only the beginning.

Sharing one more smile with the lady behind the desk, you walked with Josh back to the waiting room couch he’d been occupying prior to your blessed meltdown.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Unashamedly, you let Josh fill out all of the paperwork. You were still tense and uneasy, but the way you’d handled answering the questions, with him right by your side helped more than you’d intended it to. The process had just been an easy ebb and flow, answering basic questions about yourself.

And questions about Jake—but Josh answered those with zero problems. Basic Father-Of-The-Child shit that Josh could ramble off in his sleep. You couldn’t help peering over his shoulder as he answered those. You couldn’t explain the intrigue— you just thought it funny seeing him answer questions about his twin. . . Like it was nothing.

Then came questions about your menstrual cycle. Which were not your favorite to have Josh write the answers to— but you didn’t want to put pen to paper, so you continued to let him write even those, too.

The rest of the process went easily. He’d rattle off a question, and you’d answer it. That was how it’d gone for roughly thirty minutes.

He’d clicked his tongue, drawing a line down the section about past pregnancies. And then he’d come to a question that made him give you a look. He had one eyebrow raised as soon as he’d read through the last question.

The last question. The last question that had been slightly unwelcome and less than wonderful to have him fill in for you.

You didn’t know why you hadn’t thought of it being on the sheet. Your mind had been too focused on other things for the past several days. Like hopelessly depressing scenarios involving your baby’s wellbeing and telling people and eating fucking pickles. . . you just hadn’t really given much weight to possible questions on this initial patient questionnaire.

You pulled your body back slightly, your own face morphing to one that mirrored his. “What?”

“The last question— they want to know if you’re sexually—,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head once before before continuing. “If you’re sexually active.”

You blushed deep crimson—your cheeks, flaming hot. You knew exactly where his mind went because it was where yours went with the question.

Are you still having sex with Jake?

You coughed briefly, clearing the awkward air before you responded. “No,” you divulged, your eyes flitting up to his: big, wondering and deep chocolate. “No. We’re not— fuck. I’m not. I’m not having sex. I don’t know if he is,” you rambled, bringing a hand up to slap your forehead. Your heart rate even accelerated the slightest bit, hurting your chest. What in the fuck? That's unnecessary. It’s one question, y/n. Quit being nervous—there’s no need. “But—I’m not having sex. Not sexually active, no.”

Josh brought your hand away from your head, which was suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. You found his eyes: open and willing to listen and understand. Your heart rate slowed considerably at his expression. “It’s okay, y/n. Either way, I don’t care. It’s your life.”

You blinked away more tears—god, fuck. Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded in response. The response was what you’d needed to hear from the beginning. Would things be different if you’d heard those words from him at the beginning of all of this?

It was no use to imagine. You hadn’t heard his affirmation before now, and at this point, it was officially too late. You’d hurt Jake. Jake had moved on and proved to you that you really weren’t that important to him.

And, the sad truth: even if Josh was okay with it, you had plenty more reasons to keep your title with Jake strictly roommate—friend at most.

Also, officially, the mother of his child.

Clasping your hands over your tummy, you watched as he checked the “no” box. Then, you watched his eyes scan the sheet quickly to check for any missed questions, clicking his tongue against his teeth all the while.

Thankfully, it seemed you’d successfully answered all of them when he got up to walk the sheet back to the counter for you, where a nurse now occupied the seat, you’d observed. Scrubs, making that apparent.

You had been too busy spacing out on the many questions Josh had asked of you, per the sheets. You hadn’t the mind to pay attention to where the receptionist had gone.

Josh came back over to you shortly to get your driver’s license from you, along with your insurance card.

“They’ll need these on file,” he said, flashing both at you once you’d given them to him. He brought them back after they’d scanned them into the system, but went up to the counter to answer any questions they may've had as you waited on the couch.

He was seriously the best. You, proving to be completely useless, didn’t hinder him from being the most incredible friend whilst you sat, doing nothing.

Before too long, once (you assumed) the general information from the sheet had been entered in the system, you heard your name called from the door to the side of the desk, and you were steadily ushered to the back by a nurse. (With Josh in tow, of course. He wasn’t going anywhere.)

“Nice day outside?” The young nurse, blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, asked politely, as you stepped off the scale she’d weighed you on.

“Yeah,” you responded, glancing over your shoulder at Josh. “Nice fall day. But a little warmer than we like it, huh, Josh?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes,” he responded. “Definitely not enjoying my choice of clothing today. . . Not the day for a sweater, I’ll say.”

The nurse hummed, taking in the information as she grabbed a cup from the counter with your first initial and last name on it. “How long have you guys been together?” She addressed you once with a smile, looking between the two of you with a twinkle in her eye.

You didn’t mean to squawk with a laugh.

But thankfully you didn’t have to worry about it because Josh did, too.

The laugh was, once again, exactly what you needed to calm you down. Your shoulders, still releasing their tension from earlier, became more and more relaxed with each giggle you released. Josh was holding his mouth and shaking his head, his smiling eyes closed while you answered the question.

“We’re not together,” you explained, the laughter dying down as you caught the nurse’s wide eyes sympathetically. “He’s my best friend. Dating my sister, actually.”

“Oh,” she grinned shakily, eyes jumping back and forth between the two of you. “You both just–he’s here with you today—and you two just seem to fit so well together.”

You smirked, throwing a sideways glance at Josh who was watching the woman with the same sympathetic gaze as you. He must’ve sensed your staring, though, because he quickly threw a look your way.

He winked at you before adding in his two cents. “I mean, you weren’t wrong. We do mesh incredibly well, but her sister’s had my heart for a helluva a long time. However, I am the uncle,” he informed her, pointing to himself before throwing the same pointer at your tummy.

It made your heart flutter a thousand beats per minute at hearing him say, for the first time, that he’s the uncle. Josh being bound by blood to the little bean growing within you is another reason you feel assured in your decision to keep it. It’s part of Jake, and part of your closest confidant (aside from Elsie) for years. You’ve obviously thought about it plenty of times before now, but finally hearing Josh acknowledge it was something your heart desperately needed.

“My brother is the father. I’m just her best friend–don’t know what he is to her, though," he finished.

Your eyes widened as you were still getting used to hearing Jake being referred to as the father out loud. . .

Better get fucking used to it, though–nothing you could do about it.

You also weren’t sure what to make of Josh’s last statement–was he still upset with you that he didn’t know anything about Jake’s role in your life? The inflection in his tone sounded a bit more sneering than you would have liked.

Whenever she spoke next, you were able to snap out of it, recovering quickly.

“Whoa,” she said, blowing out a breath. “That’s. . . wow.” Shaking her head, she looked at the cup in her hand, handing it over to you before she continued. She seemed to be done with the conversation, and ready to get back to the task at hand. “Every woman that comes in for her first appointment gets her blood drawn and urinates in a cup,” she motions to the plastic container she’d handed over to you, then taps at her arm as she watches you carefully for her next spiel. “We draw the blood so we can use it to identify your blood type and to look for other conditions we may have to monitor or treat during your pregnancy.”

Damn. That was a hell ton of information. What do I even make of all of that?

It was your turn to just stare blankly at her and offer a simple okay before she was pointing to the room with the open door, across the hallway, for Josh.

“You can wait in that room for her,” she stretched a little half smile over her delicate features. “She will be there shortly.”

He gave you two thumbs up and a reassuring grin before going in the direction she’d told him. Then she was leading you to the nearest bathroom so you could pee in your fucking cup. After giving you a few instructions, along with a sterile wipe, and informing you on how to get an uncontaminated urine sample, she was letting you in to the single-person restroom.

It definitely matched the trendy environment of the rest of the clinic and was cleaner than probably any other public restroom you’d ever been inside. You did exactly as she’d instructed and made your business quick before handing off the sample to the same nurse from before. She sat it in a window where someone behind immediately grabbed it.

“Going off to the lab,” she half-smiled, but quickly tipped her finger to signal you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now I’m going to draw some blood real fast, and then you’ll be free to go wait for the doctor in your room.”

Sitting in a chair in a room towards the back, a couple of other nurses went about their business as your nurse cleaned your arm, using a cotton ball with her now-gloved hands.

“Does getting your blood drawn freak you out?” She apprehensively questioned before she went to insert the needle. “Or these?” She wiggled the needle in the air to emphasize.

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “For some reason, those are two things I’m totally fine with,” you spoke, your voice tilting up at the end. “I don’t know why they don’t freak me out—everything else fucking does.”

God, shut the fuck up, y/n. Let her do her job.

The blonde gave you an odd look, as if you’d spoken too much for her taste.

And that pissed you off. You no longer felt bad for talking too much.

You fucking asked me, bitch.

Thankfully, you were able to get rid of her in minutes-time. As soon as she’d bandaged your arm over a cotton ball, she pointed you to the room she’d sent Josh.

“Thanks,” you mumbled with a small, semi-annoyed smile before making your way to the room where Josh waited.

His eyes were huge when you made your way into the small exam room.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve got it cut the fuck out for you, huh?”

You gave him a look that said Seriously? and rolled your eyes. “Duh, Josh,” you replied, taking in the small room with pretty pictures of babies all over the walls. “I kind of already knew that. Since I am the one carrying the fuckin’ baby and all.”

God, that was harsh, y/n. He doesn’t deserve your anger like that.

Both of his hands went up to guard him as he crossed one leg over the other. “Jesus, y/n,” he sighed, eyes huge. “Give me a damn break. I didn’t even know until today that you were pregnant. Didn't fully know any of it. It’s a lot for a guy, I guess.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry that it’s so much for you as a man, Josh,” you scowled, your voice not hiding any of your irritation with him for his last comment.

Seriously, y/n?

To be fair, as amazing as Josh truly was, he was still a man— and half of the time men didn’t know their heads from their assholes. Didn’t ever know the proper times to say stupid shit. (Or, to not say it at all.)

You had to put it in perspective, though . . .because you kind of sucked at saying ridiculous shit, too. So you could only get so angry with him.

“That was a stupid thing to say,” he admitted. “Sorry.”

You tried to laugh it off. You didn’t want there to be unnecessary tension right now—it was the very last thing you needed. “It’s fine,” you encouraged.

You propped yourself to sit the best you could on the edge of the beige-matted table. The thin paper that covered it crinkled underneath you– made you feel like you were making way too much noise for the tiny room.

“I’m sorry for being short. I need you. For multiple reasons. But right now. . .I just need you to be with me when I find out if this bean actually exists in my loins. . . If I’ve been imagining it the whole fucking time, or if I’ve lost it. . .,” you swallowed. You had to blink back the tears gathering in your eyes as you trailed off at the dreaded possibility. “I just need you to see with me if there’s anything sad to be seen,” you added, voice suddenly wet.

“Hey,” Josh spoke, softly. “Look at me.”

You swiveled to do as he said. The attempt to not cry was useless. The tears were drenching your cheeks. The fear that had settled so deeply in your bones since the day you’d heard that podcast was coming to light, as you’d just uttered the worries aloud for the first time.

Barely seeing Josh through the wetness that clouded your vision, you replied the best you could, albeit extremely pathetically. “Yeah?”

“Why are you worried about those things?” He asked, so quietly, eyes gleaming to bring light. Grabbing your hands, his eyes became suspicious slits when he addressed his next question. “Y/n. . . Have you given yourself any time to feel excited about this appointment? Or have you just focused on the anxiety you’ve built up, surrounding today?”

You bowed your head out of embarrassment. “I’ve been excited, Josh. . .,” you muttered, completely aware of the lie.

“Mmm,” he responded, rubbing his chin with one hand as the other still grasped both of yours, sure and comforting. “I suspect that’s untrue. . . I know you, my love.”

Gasping on a sob, you closed your eyes to stop crying, covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, squeezing your hands, down and away from your face. He held them still with one of his own, the other helping to slide his chair closer to you. “Don’t you dare be sorry, mama— there’s no reason. This is just the beginning; you’ve got plenty more opportunities to be excited. . . I’m sure plenty of women get worried before this first appointment. There’s a lot up in the air before the first time you see the little thing on the screen.”

You opened your eyes to look at him. And though they were still wet, nothing else was coming from your ducts— thank god. “Yeah?” You asked, desperate to know he actually might understand, tone begging him to tell you you’re not crazy. “You think?”

He nodded with his lips pursed, his new mustache squiggly with the action; his brows, tied together, and eyes, serious. “Oh, yes. I know it. You are not alone, love,” he reassured you, helping your heart rate slow to normal for the millionth time that day. “But that’s why I hope every single one of those women has a person who is there for them on days like today.” He paused, setting his eyes firmly on you before continuing. “Because, today, we are going to discover and conquer whatever we find out from that screen—,” he tilted his forehead toward the monitor screen, “Together.”

Your eyes welled, lip sticking out with a pout. God, you loved him. You truly couldn’t have done today without him. “I really need a hug from you.”

Without question, he was up and out of his seat, wrapping his arms snugly around you. You tucked your nose into his neck, breathing in his cologne— the familiar smell of his patchouli exactly what you needed to feel secure in the moment.

You were busy focusing on his breathing, in and out, in and out, when the door received a knock and creaked open behind his back. He must’ve heard, too, and moved away from hugging you and back to his seat as you both watched for the doctor to walk through the door.

But the only person you saw was. . . the receptionist? What was she doing in—?

“I’m Dr. Rose,” the beautiful lady—who was a doctor apparently, not a receptionist—greeted you with that same, thick Southern accent. “It’s nice to see you doin’ better since I last saw ya, babygirl.”

You blinked several times, feeling immediately at ease with the familiar face. “You’re a doctor? Not a receptionist?”

God, stupid, y/n. Duh. She just said that, you moron.

She chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” she replied, as she clicked on every button on the monitor needed to complete the appointment. Afterwards, as things whirred to life, she went to open the laptop she’d carried in with her, sitting atop the counter. “I’m your doctor, sweet cakes,” she twanged in her western tone. “I’ll be with y’all until the very end of this wonderful journey we call pregnancy.”

You grinned, appreciative of the fact that you were already familiar with her—even if it was from the tiniest interaction earlier. But you couldn’t hold onto that feeling for too long before you got nervous of the impression you’d made earlier with your anxiety attack (or whatever the hell that’d been).

With concerned brows, you cleared your throat before offering up some words of your own. “I’m so sorry that the first time you met me I was acting like a basket case,” you apologized, extremely self conscious. Crossing your legs tighter, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. When that still hadn’t been enough to contain the nervous energy, you let your hands rest on your belly.

Tapping away at the small bump, skin tight under your sweater, you waited for her response.

She gave you a look that immediately eased you. Her brow, raised, and beautiful red lips quirked up in a small grin. “Now, little missy, I told you earlier that we get it and I meant it.” Dr. Rose sat on her rolling stool, wheeling over to the table. And once there, extended it to be higher so she could talk better with you closer to eye level. “You are not the first one to get all nervous at your first prenatal appointment—or any OB appointment at all— and you’re certainly not the last—far, far from it,” she smiled wide, close-lipped and completely empathetic. Her deep set, big, brown eyes— lashes so long and curled to perfection— showed you how much she cared, behind her big black frames. “Now, how about we get to the good stuff?”

There were obviously a couple tears dripping down your cheek, and you pushed them away as you nodded. Your tummy did all of the flips and tosses and turns—your skin was practically buzzing with nerves.

You were so close to seeing the truth.

Facing this head on.

“Go ahead and lay back for me,” she instructed. You did as you were told, bending an arm behind your head, trying to get comfortable in skin that felt restrictive. As she stood up, clicking a few buttons to get the monitor screen situated, she asked some questions. “Now can you give me a small debrief on your health history? Anything you can think of? Don’t worry about digging too, too deep right now. We have your blood samples and urine sample that will also aid in indicating any abnormalities.”

The word abnormalities wasn’t your favorite thing to hear, but you didn’t let it sit tight in your brain as you pondered anything she might need to know.

“Um,” you dipped into the more current issues you’d faced. “I guess. . . anxiety? Depression? Do those count?”

Dr. Rose hummed in approval and gave a small grin as she went to get a few materials from the cabinet.

“I think the anxiety is worse than the depression, but they’re both persistently just. . . there,” you contemplated what else. . . nothing much was coming to your mind. “I also got my tonsils taken out when I was like 12 years old. . .?”

“You say that as a question,” she commented, a lilt in her voice and a smile on her face, showing that she found it funny.

“I did have them taken out,” you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself as you pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen out from behind your ear. “I’m just kind of. . .blanking. I know there’s more, but I’m just–just fucking nervous.”

“That’s understandable, sweetie pie,” she assured, her thick Southern accent making your heart rate settle just a bit.

“I know I’m probably missing a few things. Like, there are parts of my childhood that are hazy at best, so there might be things buried back there that I can’t tell you today,” you informed carefully, hoping she understood. When she nodded, you took that as your sign to continue. “I’m seeing a therapist right now who is actually helping me dig up some of it, so I might have a few more answers for you next visit.”

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Rose continued to prepare the sonogram machine, the obnoxious clacking of keys and buttons covering the dull electrical hum that surrounded you. However, that singular moment of time seemed to carry on and on as the nerves in your body seemed to twist your gut to the point that your organs felt close to pushing out of your belly button.

It was as if simply mentioning your mental health – and whispering of your past – was enough to send you into a mini spiral. The muted lull of the clinic didn’t help anything. . . the almost soundless environment, wrapping you up in its emptiness and choking you.

Tap, tap . . . Tap, tap . . . Tap, tap . . .

You tried to focus on the thrum of your fingertips along the tender skin of your swollen abdomen, hoping and praying it would keep your thoughts at bay.

She was taking a long fucking time–which you were sure was normal and warranted.

But, God. The room just started feeling smaller and smaller as the thoughts got bigger and bigger. You were in the room that was about to tell you the truth of the matter and you still seemed so far away from finding out. . . You weren’t sure what to think.

Were you even ready to see what the ultrasound was about to show you?

Josh must have noticed the nervous energy you were exuding as the stoppers on the legs of the chair made a sharp scraping noise against the sterile linoleum tile, making you cringe the tiniest bit. He moved his chair closer to the side of the table next to you, opposite of where Dr. Rose sat on the other side. His dark eyes made contact with yours and his brow raised as if to say, ‘are you okay?’.

All you could manage to do was nod in response, brows knitted.

“Alrighty, I’m going to put some of this gel on your belly and then you’ll feel a bit of pressure once we start.”

You were half expecting a chill to make you jolt with the application of the thick gel, much like you'd seen in movies - you know, where it’s freezing cold and uncomfortable - but as it fell against your skin, you were surprised to be met with a warm temperature that relaxed you. The clean scent of the gel overpowered your nostrils, but not in a bad way. It gave you something else to focus on as a slight pressure from the head of the wand, came to push lightly against your belly, just above your pelvic bone.

The black and white image appeared on the screen and. . . showed you nothing.

Nothing.

Emptiness. Empty stomach.

Amidst the gray static on the screen, there was nothing but a big black spot that resembled a the shape of a bean. You had to force yourself to look away, an all-too familiar stinging feeling in the corner of your eyes, showing up again.

All this time, the acceptance of your pregnancy and the effort and hard work you’d put in to create a better life for yourself (and this part of him inside you). . . had shown to be completely pointless. The feeling of hope that you'd begun to welcome into your life was on the brink of shattering and it didn’t help that Dr. Rose wasn’t saying anything. . . wasn’t doing anything aside from sliding the wand against your empty stomach.

God fucking dammit. All of your worst fears were coming to fruition and every moment you stared at the bleak screen you felt the emptiness on the screen envelop your heart until—.

Thump thump.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Josh gently grabbed onto your arm, reassuring, and pointed at the screen above you. On the screen, displayed clear as day right in front of you, was the outline of a baby’s delicate profile.

The soft curve of its forehead, the splotchy spikes of a tell-tale spine, a little belly, the slightest movement of four tiny limbs protruding from the sides and bottom. . . and the tiniest flicker in the center of it all.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as Dr. Rose started to press more buttons and a bunch of small dotted yellow lines showed over the image of your baby, measuring from point A to point B. She was speaking, but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to the words she was saying. All you cared about was the miniscule movements on the screen as a leg kicked up or an arm pushed out.

It was beautiful, striking, amazing, wonderful, unbelievable, and real. . . so very real.

What you had found yourself questioning for weeks wasn’t just a thought, but now cemented reality. The concerns you had and the voice in your head doubting you were silenced to nothing - because the life growing inside you, the product of you and Jake, was right in front of you.

The product of the best night of your life was finally proven to be the best part of you and it was real.

Thump thump.

The steady sound of a little racing heartbeat drew you back to the present and to the words your doctor was saying to you.

“Profile looks darn good, placenta is anterior, there’s the umbilical cord. . .,” She spoke as she pointed with her finger to each shape of white that was mixed into the static. “Heartbeat is 160, there’s the bladder and the kidneys, oh!” Dr. Rose exclaimed with a chuckle as she seemed to record a movement. Upon playing it back in front of you, she explained the movement as a little hand with five fingers moved up towards a space by the baby’s nose. “The little angel is wavin' at you, mama,” she looked down at you with a knowing smile.

Your heart swelled more than you’d ever felt in your entire life. This was . . . otherworldly. Absolutely earth-shattering. There were not any words you could string together that would do this moment justice.

“Wow,” you muttered, voice officially clogged with the tears that relentlessly poured down your cheeks. You sniffled. “It’s. . . moving?”

“Sure is,” she winked. “Has been for a while. You have an especially active little one – already. Prepare for some monster kicks here in a couple months, mama.”

“Wow,” you repeated.

“Gets it from their uncle,”Josh said, sniffling behind you.

You smiled over at him. You felt the joy he did. All around. More. This was your baby. Yours and Jake’s. God.

“Exciting, huh, babe?” She asked knowingly.

All you could do was nod. You weren’t sure you could stop smiling. . . it was hurting your cheeks, but you welcomed it. This was. . . this was everything. Everything you could have ever wished for.

“I know it, honey bun,” she agreed, her red lips perked with joy for you. “Also, according to the size of the baby and the start date of your last menstrual cycle, I would say you are at right about 12 weeks, little missy.”

Once she’d confirmed the gestational age, you saw her scoot the cart back a bit and wipe the wand she’d used with a sterile wipe, putting it back in its slot. Then, she cleaned your belly of any leftover jelly. You just watched from where you were still leaned back, head resting on one arm behind it. She stripped her gloves and tossed them in the nearest waste bin.

“Twelve weeks. Yep,” you breathed, pulling your shirt down. Your cheeks lifted even more at officially knowing (relatively) how old your little bean was. “Based on my last period.”

“Yes. Because, oddly enough, that is technically when the pregnancy started,” she explained. “On the first date of your last menstrual cycle.”

Dr. Rose went to grab a packet, a pamphlet, and a few free-flying papers, all paper-clipped together, from the counter. You sat up as she clicked her way back to you on her stilettos. She kept talking as she handed them to you. “I don’t wanna clog up our time today with all of the technicalities – unless that’s what ya want?” She offered.

You shook your head no. Today, all you’d come in wanting to know was that your baby was alive. And you knew that now. And fuck, it felt nice. Better than.

Except . . .

“Is the baby healthy?” You asked worriedly, needing to hear her tell you.

“Positively. One hundred percent, mama,” she confirmed, her teeth sparkling behind her red lips. “From what I could see on the scan, you’ve got a perfectly healthy baby squirmin’ around in there.”

You internally and externally let out a sigh of relief that had needed released for a fat second. The baby was okay. Healthy. Moving. Alive.

Everything was going to be alright.

You looked down at Josh, his face glowing, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’m so proud of you,” he choked.

Another tear slipped down his cheek as you felt one well in your eye. You didn’t know why he was proud of you, but the words made your emotions spike. You were proud of the little life inside of you. . . already doing its best to live its best life.

“Back to what I was sayin’ before,” Dr. Rose went on. Your eyes found her, clicking off the machine. “In that paperwork you’ll find all of the technicalities and logistics about the pregnancy. Which vitamins you should take. Prenatals our clinic suggests. Recommended foods to eat. The baby’s size week by week. When I say everything, sweetie, I mean ev-er-ything,” she emphasized in her twang. “You can find the same information on our clinic’s website. There is a help tab on there for our mothers-to-be, but I always provide physical copies for my girls. I also recommend downloading at least one pregnancy tracker app to get notified with updates – it’s just convenient and fun.”

“I downloaded one recently, actually. It’s been amazing. Thank you for everything,” you weakly offered. You also had to know. . . “Will you be the one delivering the baby?”

“Sure thing,” she affirmed. “With ya till ya want rid of me. Speaking of that day, our partnering hospital is Cedars-Sinai, so that is where you’ll end up having the baby,” she paused, bringing her eyes to you. “Since you indicated on the form that you would prefer a planned hospital birth over a planned home birth.”

“Correct. Hospital birth for me,” you affirmed.

“Now, we are going to schedule your next appointment for four weeks from now,” she continued, opening her tablet and typing out the information for her calendar, presumably. “How does December 8th sound, honey bun?”

You didn’t check your calendar, because you would make that day okay. Anything you needed to do to make it happen. “Sounds perfect,” you replied, practically jittering with excitement for the next one. “When will I find out the gender?”

“I always have my girls wait until week 18,” she responded, turning buttons off on the machine before scooting it back where it had started. “So, when you come in for your next appointment, we will actually have ya schedule an extra lil appointment in there to see what our little buddy is in there.”

“Got it,” you told her.

“Your sonogram pictures will be waitin’ at the front desk for ya,” she said, washing her hands. Then, after she dried them, she grabbed her laptop. “And finally, your due date is–at this point, according to what we know–May 23rd.”

The date was suddenly the most important you’d ever heard.

It was the day you now felt you’d been waiting for your entire life.

Without ever knowing it.

This baby was already changing your heart for the better and everyday, it seemed like all the little (alive and moving) bundle of hope did was bring you unadulterated joy.

The most precious gift that you’d made with someone so precious to you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d finished the appointment, Josh had asked if you had any plans. And when you’d said no, he ended up driving you both to a cute little cafe he'd heard about in SoHo. A place that, even from the outside, oozed with a charming aesthetic.

The two of you sat there, pointing out every single detail of the sonogram pictures, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the tiny feet, tiny hands, and the itty bitty, adorable body that belonged to your baby. . . You had never seen something so beautiful. You were sure of it.

And after that, you’d taken some time to catch up. You’d talked about him and Elsie, Elsie and her travels, and the fact that you’d started going to therapy. (Next to the baby, he was most excited about this.)

All you’d ordered was a Sprite since you weren’t feeling the most hungry as of late. Josh had followed in your lead and only ordered drinks as well. Honey tea and a glass of water. He’d made sure to tell the waitress to grab you a water, too.

And after a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve your ever-aching bladder, you were back at the table.

Back at a table where Josh was giving you a look. His eyes were narrowed, a mischievous grin turning his lips up to show a dimple in his cheek.

Just as you’d sat down, the waitress was bringing Josh a new, piping hot tea, since he'd (apparently) already finished the first.

And then, as soon as she was gone, he was talking.

“I sort of had a weird inkling of something going on. . .,” Josh noted as he stirred, then took a long swig of his tea, steam still emitting from the top. “Goddammit!” He gasped, a pained expression painting his features, as he coughed over the warm temperature of the beverage. “Hot hot hot hot,” he repeated to himself, finding his ice water and taking an even longer swig.

You couldn’t help the burst of laughter that bloomed in your chest, flying past your lips as he continued to down the water. All you got in response was him flipping you off with one long digit, and a wrinkle, knitting his brow.

The sinking feeling in your stomach couldn’t be ignored, though. . . you’d heard what he initially said. How had he known? God. . . how long? Your mind was a frenzy as you forced yourself to stop laughing to focus on the serious subject matter at hand.

“How?”

“Well, y/n,” he replied smartly, motioning to the cup. “It just came from the pot, I’m sure. Don’t you see the damned thing is steaming? Why did I even take a–?”

“No,” you stopped his rambling to clarify your question. “How did you . . .? Did you seriously know?” As you were still air-quoting the last few words, he was already nodding his head to answer you. “How? Why? What did we do wrong? I-I mean- God. Do Sam and Danny know, too?”

“Now, I didn’t say I knew,” he corrected you, feeling at the sides of the mug to test the temperature. And, yet again, he was met with the scorching temperature, thus hissing and placing his hands around the plastic of the water cup. “In essence, I said I had an idea. And you didn’t do anything wrong. I just– he’s my fucking twin, y/n,” he set you with a stare that said ‘Remember?! Can’t fool me!’, before he continued. “And where you’re concerned. . . I know you very well. You’ve been my best friend for several years. . ." he reminded you. "Oh, and I’m also a fucking empath. Which you, my dear, were the first one to ever point out my empathic tendencies. . .,” he winked at you with a grin on his full lips. “You should’ve known you couldn’t keep that shit from me. Not without me getting suspicious as hell.”

“Are you mad?”

He stuck his lip out, looking down at the tea, running his finger tip along the rim of the mug before he wrapped his hands around it again. Apparently not at a burning temperature anymore, he decided to bring the cup up to his lips, pinky up as he gripped the handle. This time, he closed his eyes in relief at the taste of the honeyed tea on his tongue. When he placed it back down, he continued watching it, lips still pushed out in a pout as he shook his head, brow wrinkled.

“Nah,” was all he supplied, his eyes hyper focused on the white ceramic mug.

Of course, you were not convinced. “Josh. Look at me.”

When his eyes slowly slid up to find yours, you found at least one reason he hadn’t been looking at you. There were wet pools accumulating in the ducts of his deep brown eyes. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanding with the giant breath before he blew it out, a lone tear making its way down his cheek.

“I–,” he started, shaking his head and messing with the front of his curly mop of hair. He dropped his hand to tap against the table. “It’s not that I’m mad. It’s really hard to make me mad. I’m more mad at Jake. He makes me mad very easily when he wants. Because I know he can do better. . . Like starting this with you and not having the balls to see it through and leaving you with a baby in your belly.” It was as if the steam had been transferred from his cup to his ears, his nostrils were flaring as he shook his head and squinted his eyes shut.

Damn, he and Jake look very similar when they get angry, you suddenly discovered.

“And now, he’s just been fucking Maya while you’ve had to deal with–.”

The tears came instantly. Your vision was blurry before you were even able to process that the tears were there.

“Oh my god, y/n. I’m so– fuck. I’m sorry,” Josh tried, his tone willing you to hear him out.

You blinked furiously, covering your eyes with one hand. But, finding it useless to try to hide the tears, you just let them fall freely as you now took deep breaths, your eyes piercing through the window of the cafe. “Can we please not–?”

“Y-yeah, Goddammit,” he nervously fluffed the front of his hair. “Y/n, please look at me.”

Forcing your eyes away from the clear autumn sky, you found his eyes, earnestly begging for you to listen to him. “He wasn’t– he hasn’t– I don’t–,” he growled under his breath, reaching forward for your hand. Which you only stared at until he spoke next. “Please, just take my hand.”

So, you did as he asked and looked at him with desperately sad eyes.

He watched you carefully for a few minutes, letting the tears leave as he reassured you and apologized a couple more times.

He cleared his throat, blinking his eyes a few times before apparently deciding on a new conversation. “When did you guys begin. . .?”

You knew he was asking when you’d started fucking his brother. But he obviously wasn’t going to say it.

Nice turn in conversation, Josh.

“It’s complicated,” you offered wetly, not in the mood to talk.

He hummed, before raising a brow with searching eyes. He was trying to get through to you. “Was it that night at Baby’s All Right?”

How the fuck did he know that–?

But, like you said, it was more complicated–because, no, it really didn’t start at Baby’s.

“Technically," you sniffled, swiping a finger, then a thumb under both of your eyes. "It started before and after that night. It was a long, drawn out thing that shouldn’t have ever started.”

Instantly, you felt guilty.

The words felt wrong to say. . .the first thing coming to your mind – the baby.

If it hadn’t started, you wouldn’t have the baby. The sweet little bean in your belly with a beautiful, beating heart. You placed a steady hand against your tummy to make up for the harsh words.

And the second thing. . . you couldn’t begin to imagine never getting to be that close to Jake. . . you were grateful it had started. . . But you also hated yourself for ever letting yourself get so tied up in Jake Kiszka.

Figuratively and literally. God. Stupid.

“Yes, it should have,” he affirmed, your eyes flickering to him. “For my niece or nephew alone.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, eyes filling with more tears at the conversation and the spiraling thoughts in your mind. “But, I guess, if we are getting technical. . .," you sniffed. "It started that night he left the venue so pissed and you were equally as pissed with him.”

He seemed to think on that for a second or two, trying to go back to the night to which you were referring. Once he finally found it, his eyes lit up with a twitch on his lips.

“He was mad that night,” he remembered, his hand squeezing yours. You decided to pull yours away from his as you felt it beginning to perspire. Wiped them on your pants, waiting for him to continue. “And now I know why. You weren’t there.”

“Essentially, yes,” you confirmed with a tilt of your head. You couldn't help but snicker with the next part. “It started when I got home.”

Josh’s lips stretched to the point that his eyes bulged and his cheeks puffed out. He blew out a breath while his eyes stayed huge. “And that is all I need to know about that night.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expression and his words, to which he lightened with you, falling into a soft moment of laughter alongside you.

When the humor died down, he took the initiative to speak. And you let him. You really weren’t feeling like talking. The smells of the cafe, for one, were starting to make your stomach turn. “I could’ve guessed that it started around that time,” he began. You quirked a brow, asking him to explain further. “He . . . he changed around that time.” You didn’t speak, which told him to continue. “You see, when he first got to New York, he was so fucking surly and rude. He wasn’t just like that with you, mama. He was short as hell with me, too. And the other guys got his bad side – especially Sammy. His heart was broken and he didn’t know how to handle his shit. He started coming back into himself around that time, though. . .Middle of summer. He sort of peaked around the middle of summer. And if I am doing the math right. . . that is when it was happening?”

You nodded an affirmation, impressed by the quick math.

“Yeah, he was Jake again,” he expressed, eyes tearing up again. “He was joyful for the first time in years. I hadn’t seen him act so freely and fun since before he and Amelia started dating. There was always something stopping him when he was with her – she was stopping him. But you. . . you must’ve encouraged him to be himself. You didn’t turn down the challenge. You took a chance on my brother.”

After considering the words, the lightbulb appeared above your head. That conversation the day in the record shop. The same day you’d played over and over again to convince yourself out of being with Jake. You’d focused on the other words so much that you’d forgotten all about the positive things–the possibilities that had been discussed that day.

You remembered it now. You'd been talking about high school. And how Jake had sort of decided to fuck all when Josh hadn't. . . and it had turned into you bringing up your love of a challenge.

Josh had nodded, lips turned down, his eyes still holding a little glint. “Yup. Get my point now?”

“Yeah, but like I just said, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Just like you, Josh. And your brother. . .I’ve learned he is nothing if not a challenge.”

He had nodded, knowing you were right. And he’d known you long enough to know that you did indeed enjoy overcoming any problem life may hand you.

God, what had happened to you? Where had the desire to accomplish challenges gone?

Why had you given up? Had you given him up? Or had you simply been done with that challenge? Had Jake just been ready to fly? Had you done what was best?

But, you sidelined those thoughts and decided there were more important matters at hand. Like Josh telling you more about how he was feeling.

“So. . . you’re not hurt?” You asked, your voice hoarse from not talking. You cleared it, and tried again. “You’re not hurt?”

“A little, I guess,” he nodded, eyes studying you.

“That’s fair,” you encouraged – glad he was sharing his heart. “I’m sorry for not telling you. But I just kept hearing your voice in my head–that same day we talked about challenges– that same day you’d told me something and it repeated itself over and over to the point that I tried to resist things happening with Jake. Mostly for you, Josh. I didn’t want to betray you. Didn't want him to betray his dreams. But then it just became something bigger that I couldn’t control. It was . . . different than anything else I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“Did you want to stop it?”

“I tried to convince myself that I wanted to . . . but I never did. Not really. I wanted him the whole time, but I felt wrong for it. I was totally disregarding what you’d said to me. . . Going against your wishes for him.”

His eyes got big as he took another sip of his tea, that at this point, was probably lukewarm. But if it was, his face didn’t show it. He licked at his lips and peered at you pensively, curiously. “God, y/n. I’m sorry. What did I even say? I don’t remember,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I hate that my words have been just fuckin’ tormenting you, mama. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you said, pointing your finger at him, your eyes serious to communicate your point. “You don’t be sorry. I’m the one who was in the wrong. Not even Jake, necessarily,” you included the last part, just on Jake’s behalf. “I was the one who did it even after you’d confided in me that you were happy Jake was getting to live life for himself for the first time – without having to worry about being hung up on a girl. And, then I just let myself be that girl you didn’t want for him – I was the girl to get in his way while he should’ve been living for himself.”

“In the spirit of fairness, though, I told him that he needed to take a break from women. He didn’t listen to me either. Well, sort of. . . he actually did follow my advice, I guess,” he encouraged, his eyes searching yours. “Because I also told him that I wanted him to think of what he wanted first.” His tone lifted as he winked at you.

Your brow wrinkled . . . what was he trying to say?

He continued, “Which, I guess, my dear, after the dream . . . was you.”

Feeling suddenly lightheaded and loopy with Josh’s words, you let them settle for a minute or two before saying anything more.

And, the waitress had perfect timing. She filled the open air by asking if you needed anything. First time she’d been back in a hot damn second. Josh asked for a new tea, and you asked for another glass of Sprite.

All that you could think in that moment was that you really had been the opposite of the right thing for Jake. So, you decided to speak your mind.

“But. . . no,” you declined his words, shaking your head. “No, Josh. He didn’t put himself first – he had a woman – me – that he was focused on instead of learning himself.”

He took a bit to consider your words, his eyes squinted at you as he pursed his lips. The waitress came back to the table as the conversation lulled for his response.

As soon as she left, though, the two of you were back to it.

“Y/n,” he began, his lips growing into a sure smile. His hands came to clasp in front of him, his hair bouncing with each disbelieving shake of his head. “He did. He moved here. He started pursuing the dream. He got a job he loved by teaching lessons.” Thus meeting Maya, you snarkily thought. “He did put himself first. Did all of that, and then he pursued you.”

. . . you hadn’t really thought of it that way. Not once had you considered that.

God. What if you’d told Josh a long time ago? Chances were, he would’ve eased your fears and worries. . . but instead, you’d assumed he’d think the worst and let your thoughts derail.

Would you even be in the predicament you were today?

You knew the answer. The answer was most likely no. You wouldn’t have the baby because there would’ve never been a night - the night - to relieve your Jake-induced stress. Because you would have already taken the time to talk to Josh. . . He would have reassured you before you even had time to ever get to that depressive point.

Would he have convinced you to be with Jake?

You didn’t know. . . but. . . it was too late now.

You were where you were now and there was nothing you could do about it.

And none of this ever worked in how Maya had already been in the picture – maybe she had been part of the reason he became happier in the middle of summer.

In the end, she could be the one to thank for this– it could most definitely not be you. The sad truth of the matter was, she had probably been filling his cup all along. . .while he was filling yours.

While you were letting yourself get tangled in him, he was feeling the same emotions. . . but for her. Because, in the end, she was easier than you.

You couldn't find it in good conscience to be with him anyway.

Because, well, you still wouldn’t have wanted to distract him from his dream with a relationship. His dream was too valuable to possibly table for you. You were too much of a mess that he could get distracted by, rather than taking the time to fulfill his dream.

She freed up his time with her carefree nature. And you only infiltrated his time with your darkness. She was sunshine, brightening up his paths.

You had to figure you out before you could ever make someone as happy as Maya made Jake.

Before you had this baby.

However the tables turned, they had already turned. And it was too late to go back and change anything now. You weren’t even sure what you would change–or what you would think if you could turn back time. There was too much filling up your brain–your life– to make the wisest decision.

It didn’t matter anyway.

So, you told Josh all you could think to say. The same words you’d thrown nastily in Jake’s face, you threw harshly in your own.

“Well, I guess I served my purpose.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Josh pulled your car into your space, Jake’s was nowhere to be found. As always, you couldn't help but wonder where he was. He hadn't worked today so he was probably with-.

“I really am most mad at my brother.”

“Try not to be,” you encouraged lamely. You really didn’t care too much about him being angry at anyone right now. . . all you really cared about was getting upstairs to your bed to take a nice, long nap. It had been a day.

“I’m going to be for a whi–.”

Tap tap tap.

Both of your eyes turned to Josh’s window. Outside of the driver’s side was Jake. You could see all the way down his loose shirt. It was open and tempting his tanned skin and firm chest, while his necklaces hung loosely in front of him, as he was bent over to peek into the car.

But. . . you could see the heated glare from his eyes, even through the tint of his Ray-Bans. His nostrils were flared and his lips had curled into a faux smirk.

When Josh rolled his window down, you heard Jake's breathy chuckles that had no indication of anything truly humorous behind them. They sounded more bitter than anything else.

“What have you two been up to?” he questioned, the inflection on the word ‘you’ paired with his snide tone told you he was probably less than thrilled to see you and Josh together. Alone, at that.

But why? Why the fuck would he care?

You were struck completely motionless and silent, feeling nauseous again, desperately trying to swallow down that all too familiar sensation. But this time, it wasn’t due to the hormones wreaking havoc in your tummy, it was Jake’s presence at this incredibly horrid time that had your belly flipping in slow motion somersaults.

Josh huffed a laugh that nearly replicated Jake’s. Mimicking his twin to further his irritation, no doubt. You knew Josh was in no mood to put up with Jake’s piss-poor attitude, especially given everything he had discovered. You were tightly holding your breath at whatever the hell could possibly come from Josh's mouth, hoping that he would say as little as possible.

“Funny that you should ask, Jacob,” Josh retorted. He turned his head to the left to make eye contact with his twin, his fingers were still gripped to the steering wheel with a force that turned his knuckles stark white.

What was he about to say? Shit. He knew better. . . right?

“Because," Josh began. "I don’t exactly believe it’s any of your business what we're doing. In fact, I know it’s none of your business.”

Ironic. . . because it most definitely was his business. He just didn’t know it. Not yet.

He flashed Jake his classic Josh grin, extra wide with eyes squinted, an extra, added dramatic flair of his fluttering eyelashes to seal his condescending statement.

You let out the breath you had been holding, thankful that Josh kept from saying too much. This was not how you wanted Jake to find out. Although, you still had no idea when or how you would approach that.

All you knew for sure, was that this wasn’t the right time.

Jake had stood firm the entire time, a brow raised with an obviously fake grin that held his lips in a tight line. His first response was a snicker through his nose and a patronizing simper, just shy of a full on scowl.

“‘Kay, got it,” he sneered. Then, he was patting the side of the driver's door with his opened palm before swiftly turning on his heel to walk away. He forcibly shoved his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans as he sauntered off, and you couldn’t help but notice how it stretched the fabric even tighter against his perfectly, rounded ass. A sight you still fawned over, admittedly.

How could you not?

But you broke your gaze quickly once Josh turned to face you once again. Even though he finally knew about the special addition that you shared with his brother, you’d still feel awkward (and a little guilty) as fuck if he watched you gawk over him so openly. Especially on a day so sensitive as today.

Josh had let out an exasperated sigh deep from his lungs, his jaw clenched and hard when he finally shut the humming engine off. “I have so much that I want to say to him,” he muttered, mostly to himself as his tone was hushed.

Yeah. Me fucking too, you thought to yourself. Don’t you think I get it?

Without the engine running, the car had become dead silent. The type of silence that allowed you to hear the rapid beating of your own heart clearly in your ears. (You even thought for a moment that you could hear Josh’s, too. That kind of quiet. Like earlier. Right after you'd told him.)

It gave you time to ponder. . . Despite his incredible response to all of this today, you still worried. Because, for the first time in the literal years of having Josh as your safe haven, you feared that things could have changed far too much for him to ever look at you the same again.

But then, your never ending train of overthinking was put to a halt when he placed a loving hand on your knee. When his warm eyes connected with yours, they reassured you that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. At least not anytime soon.

“You ready to go inside, mama?”

His sweet smile that you had loved for years lit up his once hard features. Seeing the signature grin lifted some weight off your heavy shoulders.

You nodded your head and unbuckled your seatbelt as he did the same. But as you lifted the latch on the passenger door, another thought began clouding your mind, a question that you felt you needed to ask someone. That you needed to ask Josh.

“Hey. . .,” you started as he already had one foot out the door.

He stalled his movements and promptly turned his head to face you.

“Yeah?” he answered, the same smile still cocked in the corner of his mouth.

“When should I tell him?”

He situated himself back inside, resting his back against the dark leather. His eyes were cast on yours, soft and kind as you’d always known them to be, yet a seriousness found within them.

“That’s up to you, mama. You have to decide when the time feels right.” His gentle hand reached to grab your shoulder in a reassuring gesture, effectively pulling you away from your burdening thoughts.

Once you’d finally made your way out of the car, you heard him clear his throat and looked to see what else he had to say. He was squinting at you through the autumn day’s rays when he finished the line of thought he’d started in the car.

“But. . . knowing my twin, he’d want to know sooner rather than later. Don’t wait too long, love. He’s got a good heart, you know that. Give him the chance to step up like I know he will.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Friday, November 11, 2022

You’d missed the show completely. As you knew you would.

Josh had known you were going to show up later than usual since your school work was (quite actually) burying you. Specifically, it was thanks to a 20-page paper that was due tonight.

Thankfully, you’d been able to finish it in time to at least meet the boys at the bar (smoke free, Josh had clarified on the phone) they’d decided to hang out at after the show. You hadn’t hung out with them after a show in forever. Hadn’t even been to a show in. . .well, you didn’t even know how long.

The reason could be mostly chalked up to your intense homework load this semester, but part of you knew you’d also been trying to avoid them due to the addition of Maya.

It just didn’t feel the same anymore. And you knew you couldn’t force yourself to pretend. So, the extra school work turned out to be a pretty good excuse. At least you weren’t fabricating anything when you’d told them you couldn’t make it. (Although you would prefer if you didn’t have so much fucking homework.)

But you did miss watching Jake perform. You missed the faces he’d make while playing his guitar, the ones that so closely resembled the one’s he’d make with you. The way he’d thrust himself into his beloved instrument, or pull it close to his body with a force that left your head reeling and your body in dire need for him.

As much as you missed all of that, something you missed even more was witnessing how his passion exuded through his entire body while he played. How his love for his art was so wonderfully evident as he put so much of himself into every song he played.

And with the way your body kept betraying you – literally pulsing with desire for him anytime he was simply near you . . . to the point of needing to relieve yourself with your hands or a toy. . . You were weak as fuck. You figured it probably wasn’t the best idea to watch him perform like that with your hormones going ballistic.

Too many factors worked together to make you feel rather uncomfortable about being near him in that capacity. But. . . here you were. Waiting at the bar for them to arrive.

Putting yourself in a situation where he’d inevitably be near – sitting at the same booth as you, most likely. Admittedly, it wasn’t your most incredible idea. But Josh telling you the other guys had been missing you made you realize how badly you’d missed them.

So. Here you were. Scrolling on pregnant influencers’ Instagram pages for helpful tips and testimonials (and occasionally Jake’s page, just to torture yourself) as you waited for them.

Just as you’d thought to send Josh a text letting him know you were at the bar and sitting at a booth near the back, you felt the urge to pee like no other. Your belly had sort of popped in the few days that had transpired since your first ultrasound. You were learning that twelve weeks on your body was the. . . rounder version of twelve weeks. . . Which was not working in your favor to hide your changing body.

Thankfully, the rest of your body looked mostly the same as normal – save for your boobs which were still about as big as they were in your Shining twin costume (not growing too much more yet, but continuing to be sore as hell). They weren’t giant, per se, but they definitely looked noticeably bigger and felt fucking heavy.

So, you were officially having to wear looser-fitting clothing to avoid anyone looking at you differently. To be fair, to most eyes, it probably would've looked like some weight gain around your midsection if you wore normal clothing. But to you, it literally just looked like you were pregnant.

You were definitely getting used to waking up every morning to a body that looked just a little different than the day before. Noticed every little change—but they didn’t feel little to you. . . Anything that changed felt massive to you.

. . .Hence why you were being overly cautious with the giant sweaters. . . Because, to you, it looked so obviously different that you didn’t want to risk people thinking anything or asking any questions.

And, thanks to your newly expanding uterus and a spike in your progesterone (according to your Ovia app), you were beginning to actually wiggle in your seat from the urge to pee. It was all rather unkind on your poor bladder. . . You had to fucking relieve yourself soon or you would be peeing your leggings. It would be embarrassing as hell to pee yourself and smell like it for the entire evening.

Though, you realized, as people started filtering in, that you couldn’t get up to pee. . . It was too much of a risk that you’d lose the one big booth to this hastily growing Friday night crowd.

Just as you’d started contemplating your lack of options, a particular laugh you’d gotten (unfortunately) used to, made its way through the crowded bar. Your eyes zoomed to the dark haired, caramel-skinned beauty who’d taken up residence in Jake’s life.

Maya.

Her laugh was just as beautiful as she was. . . Directing every eye in the front of the establishment to her as they joined in on whatever she was laughing about. She was a force to be reckoned with and it was obvious anytime you saw her. You were pretty sure you could see her chocolate eyes actually sparkling, all the way from across the bar.

Then, here you were in a giant ass Pratt hoodie with plain black, ratty leggings and your white Chucks. Feeling bloated and gross. . . And still needing to really fucking pee. So you had to put your insecurities to the side and get up from the spot you’d effectively heated up for the last twenty minutes because your one and only solution had just walked in.

You didn’t want to walk away and lose your spot, so you did the only thing you could think to do.

“Maya!” You called in her direction, tucking your phone into your hoodie pocket with one hand while the other waved at her. An incredibly forced smile was plastered to your face.

Is this the first time I’ve ever spoken to her? You wondered briefly.

Even though you knew the answer.

Yes, definitely the first time I’ve ever talked to her. Weird. And funny fucking cause for it, too, you giggled to yourself, just behind your close-mouthed grin.

It was as if she’d already seen you, because she looked at you with a knowing look. She sent you a (stupid) wink and a (stupid, yet admittedly kind) wave, along with a wide smile—bright white teeth complimented by her full lips.

Standing up had caused your bladder to go into emergency mode—a sensation similar to nearly bursting was the only way you could describe it. And, strangely, you suddenly felt sort of dizzy from the overwhelming pressure.

That’s odd, you thought absently, brows wrinkling ever so slightly with the feeling. Ignoring it, you kept waving. And, the smile slipped from your face as you urgently motioned her over. Getting the hint, she said goodbye to the few patrons she’d been talking with and made her way to you.

Long, wavy hair, inky as the night sky, flowed in waves around her shoulders as she sweetly pushed through people on the way to the booth.

Every man she passed had to do a double take, watching her as she passed by them. . . You didn’t blame them. She was a fucking dream. (And you hated it.)

Body positively snatched and voluptuous in her all-black outfit. Her large breasts, exposed just right in her extremely low-cut black shirt. The shirt dipped all the way to the middle of her rib cage, exposing a lot of her perfect, perky breasts and tight abdomen. The tiny waist just below the dip was intimidating at best and had you feeling extremely self conscious of your nearly non-existent waist (thanks to the tiny friend living inside of you). You were glad you couldn’t see her ass, because you knew the exquisitely round part of her would have you heading for the door rather than the restroom.

God, why did she have to look like a damn model? It was the worst possible thing for you. You were sure of it.

Once she was finally at the table, you didn’t want to stand there and stare at her. She had you feeling ready to jump out of your unfamiliar, changing body. Made you feel like nothing, just by standing there.

And, most importantly, you were nearing the risk of peeing with a singular movement at this point. You really weren’t sure how you’d make it to the restroom, but you had to try.

You were already toeing around the table, out of the booth, when you spoke to her, averting your eyes and finding the restroom sign instead. “I’ve gotta pee really fucking bad,” you hastily said, taking the final step from the back of the booth. “Can you save this table for me so we have a place to sit?”

“We?” She questioned. “Y/n, I would definitely normally save it for you and your friends, but I have to work on finding my own place since I’m waiting here for Jake and the—.”

“Jake and the guys, I know.” You snapped, eyes flashing as you finished for her, not focusing on your facial expression. You were almost positive you rolled your eyes at her comment.

Does she not know? Why? Did no one tell her?

Bouncing on the heels of your feet, back and forth, you quickly continued. Matter at hand. “I’m here to hang with you guys, too, but I’ve gotta—.”

“Pee!” She finished, a giggle that was probably supposed to be cute left her lips. “Go! I’ll save it. Go, go, go!”

You were already walking away with her last sentence, hearing her from behind your back as you focused on not wetting your pants on the way to the ladies room.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you got back out, you were instantly met with the sight of all of the guys at the back booth you’d saved.

Your eyes, sadly, found Jake and Maya first – sitting practically on top of each other in the back corner of the booth. She was wrapped up in Jake, while engaging in a conversation with Sam. And, even though she seemed to only be halfway listening, Sammy kept on talking like she was interested in only him.

But with the way Jake’s hand toyed with the hair over her shoulder and eventually traveled to squeeze (and hold) her waist. . . you knew why she wasn’t fully listening. Sammy would not be getting her full attention any time soon, and you knew that from personal experience. If it were you Jake was playing with like that, you would have tuned Sam completely out.

Pushing any emotion down that threatened to boil up to the surface, you kept on walking to the booth.

And when you got close enough, all of the attention was suddenly on you. The first one to notice you was Danny, who got up from his end seat on the booth to greet you with a giant hug. You sank into him, feeling all of the love that he was emitting sink into your sore body.

Then, Sam was loudly exclaiming your presence, telling you that he was waiting for his own hug.

You went around the three brothers who wanted to give you a squeeze.

Sam hugged you especially hard, making your boobs ache like no other when he pressed hard against you. Gratefully, Josh had been paying attention when you caught his eye with a pained expression and had loudly determined that it was his turn.

After Josh had grasped you from Sam and given a loose hug, you stood awkwardly. Waiting. But for what?

But. . .you knew what. . .knew why.

It was Jake’s turn.

Though, all you got was a little close-lipped smile and a half-wave with a head nod from his spot next to his supermodel girlfriend.

You reciprocated with essentially the same response, your stomach falling to your feet as you did so. It was ludicrous to think he’d get up for a hug, too. Especially with Maya sitting next to him with her perfectly-fucking-manicured hand clutching the inside of his thigh.

God, you needed to feel him close to you, though. You needed your hand on his inner thigh, dangerously close to a place on his body that’d been so accustomed to yours. You couldn’t help the way you yearned for him to be inside of you again. . . It was fucking embarrassing as hell.

And, then there was an incredibly intrusive thought.

It told you that, for some (strange) reason, the idea of his pecs pressing into your sore breasts. . .sounded extremely appealing. (And the thought of his hands or his warm, wet mouth on them? Fuck.)

But— you knew at this point, there was a fat chance of that ever happening.

He didn’t want you near him like that. And definitely not his hands or mouth on you. So you were sure he did not want a measly hug either.

And right now? In this bar? At this exact time? Obviously-fucking-not. Why would he move away from perfection? For you? In your frumpy-ass outfit? As you glanced down self-consciously, you even noticed one white sock peeking way higher than the other from your high-tops.

Small details. Small details that showed how much of a fucking mess you were in comparison to her.

When you heard his laugh cut through the wave of emotion you were feeling, you looked back up at him. Only to see that he was engaged with Maya and Sam in some (apparently) hilarious conversation.

He didn’t give two shits about you that way anymore. Why would he?

The terrible things you’d said to him in the kitchen were the first reason that came to your mind. Haunted you everyday, reminding you that you didn’t deserve his attention.

You bet she, in her utter perfection and 'sunshiney' ways, would never tell him the things you had. He was probably relishing in the mental break she provided him. A break from the emotional thunderstorm that was you.

But what the two lovebirds didn’t know was that you were carrying a part of him within you that she couldn’t do a thing about. No matter what she was to him, she didn’t have what you did.

Though, the depressing truth of the matter was even if you were carrying his baby, Maya was still the one falling asleep next to him more nights than not. You had a piece of him, yes, but she had all of him.

Fuck. That felt selfish. Without even thinking about it, you brought your hands up to your stomach as an effort to apologize to the little lemon-sized baby in your tummy.

You are enough for me, you desperately thought, looking down, hoping to translate the words somehow to your unborn bundle of hope. You give me plenty of joy.

“Y/n,” Josh spoke, breaking you from your reverie.

“Mmm?” You hummed.

Then he was leaning over, whispering so quietly in your ear. “You’re about to give particular notice to your stomach.”

Shit. You instantly dropped your hand, looking around to make sure no one had noticed.

Thankfully, no one had.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to your best friend, and scooted into the space he and Daniel had left for you, between them, on their side.

Sitting again helped to balance you, as the dizziness from earlier kept coming back in tiny spurts. You didn’t know what it was all about, but you knew it was probably something attributed to pregnancy. It was probably something normal that you didn’t need to be worried about.

But, you figured having someone to lean on would help to keep you steady. So, you found Josh’s shoulder, pressing against him. It was more than necessary, so you let your shoulder lazily lay against his arm. The closeness to a safe person felt overwhelmingly comforting in the otherwise emotionally-wrought headspace you were experiencing.

-🌼🌼🌼-

About an hour later, you found yourself humming along to the music that had gotten progressively louder over the time you’d been sitting with the guys. Getting lost in the melodies felt nice. And you’d noticed, walking in that night, that it was soul music night, according to the sign on the front door of the bar.

Your favorite.

After sitting with them for only a few minutes, making small talk with Sam and Danny to catch up, you’d essentially let yourself become an observer. You’d just listened to them talk about all of these new, sudden opportunities that were coming around for them.

So much was changing.

They were essentially done with the smaller gigs. Their label’s management had put their foot down that they were done with those. They wanted them going to more popular, reputable places to get their name out there. The label had taken it upon themselves to work with their manager to put them in bigger venues. They’d even begun advertising the boys with promotional pictures and posters all over active streets in Brooklyn.

“We’ve had photoshoots, y/n,” Sam had boasted in wonder at one point, making sure to involve you in the conversation. “Photoshoots! Like, real rockstar things.”

“‘S fucking nuts,” Daniel agreed, nodding beside you, sending you a small smile. “People working on wardrobe for us and all that shit.”

“Well, you are rockstars,” you told Sammy genuinely, letting your eyes skate to each of the boys (save for one). But, when you finished your statement, you let your eyes find him. And his eyes literally melted into yours. Like he’d been waiting for you to acknowledge him. “You’ve been ready for this for a long time. I’m just glad you are finally getting to live it.”

But you tore your gaze away before it could become too much. Though, the snicker you heard from Maya made your eyes cut to her. You forced yourself to hold your tongue. Didn’t trust yourself with what might come out of your mouth. What had her feeling all bitter and shit? She didn’t get the fucking half of it.

That particular thought had your hands falling to clasp tightly against your tummy, thankfully hidden by the table.

They’d also begun working on their first album (which you knew about), but its release date had officially been set in stone for May. It was daunting for you and felt huge to you, so you couldn’t imagine how it felt for them.

It was all moving so fast. . . Which, if you were being honest, terrified you for what was to come in the near future. The little bean that was set to arrive around the time of the album’s release. Because of all of your recent . . .changes, it just felt like a terrible time for things to feel so unsure and abnormal.

You knew it was selfish to feel that way. You did. It was just impossible to not feel worried and anxious.

The stress inevitably started climbing up into your upper back, creating tension. And, Josh, being Josh, must’ve sensed a change in your demeanor. He’d wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you started feeling all bunched up and jittery. You’d leaned into it, needing the incredible amount of comfort in his embrace and presence.

The music was setting your mind at ease from the tension you felt in your body. It also helped to alleviate the awkward air you felt with the proximity of Jake’s guest. Who sat there looking so beautiful all night. Jake’s arm hadn’t left her shoulders all night, twirling her long waves between his long fingers. You had to look away at several points. It didn’t take long for the sight to become too much. Your ever-present nausea only increased by watching them.

So you didn’t watch. Didn’t allow yourself to look at him.

You breathed in the music. The music saved you. You just listened to the music. The world was a blur.

But, when they all joined in on mutual excitement, all smiles and voices getting louder, you tuned back in just slightly.

And when you did, they were talking about one particular thing they were all looking forward to: a special event of sorts that was coming up.

Apparently it was a huge thing for this event to take place. One final step before embracing the stardom. It would happen in a few months’ time — once the label execs heard a few songs, and released them as singles. Then, they would get to preview them to the public.

It would be an intimate type of event, more like old times, but for a few semi-important people who worked for the tour management team and whoever else wanted to come. It would be a listening party where the boys would play their new music. And according to the boys, it was the label’s attempt to get an idea of touring being a possibility.

A lot of it was pinned on if the turnout was good. On how the guys interacted with the crowd. How the performed. . . It would be a sort of audition for the tour management team.

“I have faith that they’ll love us,” Sammy said, buzzing with excitement. “I’m speaking that shit into existence.”

The rest of the guys agreed.

Your eyes inadvertently snapped to Jake when he spoke next. “And once we start touring. . .,” he said, grin huge and his eyes shining at the other guys. “That’s when it all becomes fucking real. And it’ll be here before we even know it.”

Your stomach fell.

Josh squeezed your knee after he’d said it, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

Your thoughts were fucking spiraling. Looking down, you closed your eyes to will the tears away— tried your best to be subtle with your bundled up emotions.

You felt so excited for him. You wanted it for them—for him. All along, you’d wanted him to live his dream. The one he’d had for so long. But the idea of him going off and away. . . All of them being so far away, all of the time, right at the time your life would be inevitably changing for the rest of forever. . . It was a lot to wrap your mind around.

It had your stomach tied in fucking knots—the idea of Jake being a dad, but not getting to be one. Leaving you. Leaving the baby. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, per se, but it was going to hurt like hell.

You swore, right then and there, that you would not let him give it up for anything. Not a baby, definitely not you (not that he’d want to abandon it for you) — it was the last thing you wanted. The last thing that would happen.

He would live the dream. Even if you had to force him to do so.

No matter how badly you already knew you’d want him around during that massively transformative time. . . You were capable of doing it on your own. And Elsie would help. She would most definitely be around, you already knew.

But. . . Jake.

You shoved the thoughts down to the tresses of hell, literally planting your feet flat on the floor to center yourself to present time. Shifting a bit, you laid your head on Josh’s shoulder, letting your eyes drift closed after a while. Didn’t sleep, no, but you felt like you could have. Your body felt loose and weak from the night’s stress slowly leaving your body as you focused on Josh’s steady breathing and the music.

As the night wore on, the volume had ended up getting so loud that everyone practically had to yell at one another to have a conversation, even within the close confines of the booth.

So, you had to blink your eyes open at that point. It was too much. The over-stimulation was soon approaching. You could feel it. You felt. . . heavier than normal. Like, you were being pulled down to the earth with exhaustion. Which was new, but probably just over-stimulation.

Even with your eyes open, they were hooded. You were so tired, you felt as though you couldn’t open them much more. And the dizziness from earlier was back with force.

So you focused on swaying your body a little to the rhythm of each song, tapping out the beat of each on the table. Josh had instinctively begun humming along with you while still managing to keep conversation with everyone else. He’d sneak the occasional smile to give a sign of him remaining loyal to your company as well as the others’.

The melodious harmonies of Stevie Wonder’s "Please Don't Go" had been a surprise, as it was a more unpopular hit of his. It was a welcome distraction to listen to a song you knew well over the speakers, for all ears to hear. Nothing beat hearing songs you loved, playing in public spaces.

Oh, Stevie. His songs had historically been known to bring you peace. Always had. Always would. Stevie's music never failed to meet you where you were emotionally. This song, not being an exception, and hitting extremely close to home for the present time. . . But still, the tension you’d felt all night began to dissipate, sizzling out almost completely with the beautiful ending of the track.

Just as the heavy weight of your anxieties you’d carried all night had lifted, the next song started to ring throughout the building.

Only this time, the feeling it gave you was a far cry from the previous.

You knew it instantly. You’d be able to hear this song even if it weren’t blaring throughout the building.

As soon as the first note sounded, it sent a vibration straight to your heart and a swarm of butterflies (that actually felt more like bees) to your tummy.

You hadn’t looked at him yet, but you felt Jake’s eyes piercing through you.

You didn’t want to look at him. Not yet.

Your hormones had been far too out of whack for that. You knew you’d cry instantly upon seeing his face while this song played at a volume that you now wish was much, much lower.

Aretha’s powerhouse voice repeated it over and over again.

You’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need. . .

No, you weren’t looking at Jake. But he was still the only vision clouding your mind’s eye.

You were back on your living room floor. . . his eyebrows bunched together with each heavy thrust into you, the sweat that accumulated between them, the perspiration and exertion that could only come from real intimacy. . .passion.

And it was plain to see that you were my destiny. . .

His coffee colored eyes that bore into you as his body connected with yours in the most intimate way that it could’ve.

And when I lose my will, you’ll be there to push me up that hill. . .

How he filled you so completely, stretching you the only way you ever wanted. . . How, in that moment, it felt like he was made to fit you. Your body, your heart, your life.

I don’t know what’s in store, but together we can open any door. . .

Without even meaning to, your eyes met his.

And while Maya was going on about whatever she felt the need to talk about, he was watching you. His eyes were extremely thoughtful. . . So much being communicated behind them.

If you were delusional, you’d even go so far as to say he was admiring you. . . The way his eyes flashed a bit as you watched him, too.

But you weren’t delusional.

Though, you just knew that he was thinking the same thing as you. . . He knew. He knew this song was special.

And as much as you attempted to not wear your emotions, with your condition, it was impossible.

You felt your eyes prick with tears as the song came to an end, and you quickly put your head down for what you knew was coming. And when the small drop hit your cheek, as soon as it appeared, you wiped it away.

You looked back up, sniffing once and shaking your head.

Why did I have to fucking look?

“God, I wish they’d play music from this century here for once. Or at least something halfway decent,” Maya snickered, her attention on Jake, pulling his gaze away from you with her ignorant remark. “This song could put me straight to sleep. Music like this is meant to be left in the past where it belongs.”

What the hell? What was even the point?

What she said had your blood boiling with red hot rage. Of course she had to pick this song to insert her disgusting opinion.

And how was Jake, of all people, in a relationship with someone who thought so little of older music? How did he put up with that shit? It would be really fucking hard to hear things like that all the time if you were in his shoes.

A look of pure disgust washed over Josh’s face, and you knew he wouldn’t take her shit laying down. Not when it came to good, classic soul music. Not to mention, Aretha was one of his biggest vocal inspirations. “How can you not appreciate the Queen of Soul? She paved the way for singers of every genre, her voice is timeless and immaculate. To criticize her is to criticize all music.”

His defensive tone had everyone silent for an almost uncomfortable amount of time.

You wanted to chime in and let her know that you agreed with everything he said. But you felt it best to keep your mouth shut given the real reason you were so pissed. Didn’t trust your emotions to stay steady enough to get your point across.

This was personal.

To your shock, it was Jake that ended up breaking the awkward silence at the table. “You know, babe, some of us have some pretty significant memories tied back to music like this,” he asserted, sharply, pulling away from her, dropping his arm from her shoulders to look at her better. “This song specifically. . . At least for me.”

Your heart leapt into your throat at what he was implying. Significant? He couldn’t mean. . .? But then he flashed his eyes to you. And you knew.

Fuck, Jake. The butterflies let completely loose in your tummy at the implication. At the look.

He continued, his voice growing softer, while staying assertive. “And it could very possibly be hurtful to others when you say surface level shit like that.”

Maya scoffed, rolling her eyes. This was the first time you’d ever witnessed the woman be something other than a dream. “So I can’t have opinions, hm?”

“I never said—,” Jake tried, getting interrupted by her continuing.

She was piercing him with a glare, tone biting. “Did you ever stop to think about how it hurt my feelings when you refused to see 21 Savage with me? And after I got us the tickets, no less?”

You didn’t mean to snort a small laugh at her words.

But. . . 21 Savage?!

Thankfully, you weren’t alone in finding amusement in the words as everyone else had a similar response. Sammy spit out the drink he’d just taken, some of it even coming out of his nose. Daniel had clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged it down his face, closing his eyes in the process.

And Josh turned to you as soon as you turned your sights to him. He made eyes at you, raising his brows with a grin threatening to turn into a laugh. If he could’ve spoken, you assumed he’d say something along the lines of ‘oh, shit.’

Sam was the next to speak, barely able to catch a breath as he wiped the leftover drink from around his mouth with a napkin. “Maya, my dear,” he giggled, the words distorted a little by the wipe of the napkin. “You surely can’t have an emotional connection with his music?”

“Maybe I do,” she retorted, scooting away from Jake a little. Crossing her arms over her cleavage, she eyed Sammy, judgmentally. “Maybe it saw me through some really hard times.”

“Did it?” Danny tried, his face seeming earnest in pursuit to find sense in her music taste.

“Well,” her eyes found Danny’s, but darted around a bit, still. “Not necessarily. . . But I do enjoy his music. . . Which is my prerogative.”

Josh’s brow was quirked. He stared her down, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Maya,” he cleared his throat. Her eyes found him, hard and defensive. But it was obvious she was losing some steam. “There is a difference between enjoying music and having it change the entire trajectory of your entire life.”

Before she could sputter out a response, the waiter was back at the head of the table with the two pizzas the guys had ordered.

“One pepperoni pizza,” she said, placing one giant tray of pizza on the table.

Your nose immediately picked up on the overwhelming scent of cheese and pepperoni. You had never smelt something so greasy. This was even worse than the greasy smell at Waffle House on the morning you’d gone with Elsie. And where there, you could find some sort of nostalgic comfort in the smell of it. . . there was nothing that could make this pizza’s smell appealing. Fuck.

“And. . .,” Sammy’s excited tone broke through your nauseous reverie.

You didn’t look up, only watched in near agony as the second pizza, filled with every vegetable in the book, was sat right in front of you. Every fucking vegetable had it’s own special, rancid smell that you hadn’t ever noticed until now.

Goddamn. And it just got worse as you let your eyes follow a slice that Sam took off the tray, cheese so disgustingly stringy, to his waiting mouth. The way his teeth sunk into the pizza and the oil slipped down his chin. . . You felt the bile rise in the back of your throat at the sight. The dizziness set in again. Then there was the cheese that came to the corner of his mouth as he chewed his first bite with an open mouth.

Closing your eyes, you tried your best to will it away.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. Behind your closed eyes, all you could see was the sight again, but this time, in slow motion. . . more and more repulsive with every flash of the image.

You found Josh’s leg, hitting it repeatedly to indicate that you needed out of the booth. Your other hand, held tightly over your mouth, which felt as though it could explode with projectile vomit at any moment.

That would be real cute. A really effective way to make Jake look at you. . . but not for the reasons you’d want.

At. All.

Thankfully, Josh got the hint and quickly scooted out of the booth to allow you out.

And as soon as your feet hit the concrete floor, you were speeding to the bathroom once more. This time, immediately landing on your knees over the toilet with a hand clutching your hair, as you retched the (very little) contents of your stomach into the toilet.

It was alarming, to say the least, as you saw only clear saliva goo floating around in the bowl. . . no food accompanying the sickness you’d just produced.

I haven’t eaten today, you thought suddenly, wiping your brow of the sweat that had accumulated. Nothing to puke out because everything sounded vile.

And then the dizziness was setting in again as you rose from your place on the ground.

You really hadn’t been eating much at all. And pickles, being the only thing you could stand to eat, did not give you proper nutrients. You knew that.

Have to figure something out, you decided as you washed your hands. Disturbingly, you saw four hands instead of two and it was daunting at best. Need to go home and do some research so I can figure out how to fucking eat something.

By the time you got back to the booth, you already had your keys out of your belt bag.

Josh gave you a sympathetic grin. He mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ and you just shook your head, reassuring him with a mimicked ‘It’s fine’ in response.

When you snapped your head up from Josh to say bye to the others, you realized that Jake was watching you closely. Pensively. Unsurely.

You gulped, setting your eyes on him. If only you knew, Jake. . . But, suddenly, anger was flaring in the place of any butterflies. Lack of food and pregnancy could do that to a person. But you don’t know. So quit looking at me.

“You feelin’ sick, Baby Dragon?” Sam said, breaking you out of your staring contest with Jake.

“Yeah, noticed you weren’t drinking tonight. . . you okay?” Danny interjected.

“O–Oh, yeah. No, yeah,” you shook your head, which only caused your head to throb. Shit. “Just tired. Exhausted from school.” And from carrying a human life in my uterus. “I wanna get home and rest.”

“I forced her to come tonight,” Josh added. He looked at you before exchanging looks with the other guys, emphasizing his point to help you out. “She has had her nose to the fucking grindstone. I insisted she needed a night out.”

“Forced her?” Jake scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “God, y/n. If you don’t want to come, then don’t come.”

You fumed at his words. What the fuck? Just minutes ago he was jumping to defend your song. “He didn’t force me,” you growled back at him. Don’t test a pregnant woman carrying your goddamn baby, Jacob. “What he meant was that he encouraged me to come since I haven’t been around for a while.”

“And why’s that?” Jake pushed, continuing to jest at you. Is this a game to you, asshole?

“Jake,” Josh snapped, tone sharp and heated.

“School,” you asserted (with a partial lie), shutting your eyes when you started seeing two of him. When you opened them to stare back at him, you focused hard as you continued to see four brown eyes instead of two. “But that’s not really any of your business is it, Jake?”

He was silent, his jaw clenching. Then he looked back to Maya, starting a conversation with her, effectively shutting you out.

You weren’t sure how long you could put up with the hot and cold act from him. You knew that he was hurt, but you preferred the moments in recent times where he’d shown the soft side of his heart. The Jake side of his heart.

The one flashing through your mind at this moment was on the night of the Halloween party. When he’d picked up the dropped brownies for you and then offered to help you carry stuff to your room. . . albeit he had been drunk. It’d still been him. You knew it. It was something he’d do. . . you knew him.

And you knew him well enough to know when he was acting like an ass, it meant he was hurt. You weren’t oblivious to the recent hurt you’d inflicted on him. . . but why was he suddenly reacting like this again? Why now?

When another wave of dizziness took you over, you had to once again shut your eyes to keep your balance, and you held tight to the strap of your bag. Your head was also, once again, pulsing.

You opened your eyes and tried to stay steady, as you didn’t want to worry the three who cared. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your oversized hoodie, you shook your keys at the guys who still watched with concerned eyes.

“Be safe,” Danny offered sympathetically, reaching a hand out. You grasped it, rubbing your thumb over the back.

As soon as he let go, Sam was up and pulling you into a hug. Once he’d succeeded in killing your boobs again, he held onto your shoulders. “We miss you,” he said, breath thick with alcohol that was making your stomach turn. You held your breath and tapped at his hand politely before scooting back from him. “Love you, y/n.”

You repeated the phrase back to him before Josh got up, presumably to walk you to the door. “I promise I’ll start coming around more often again,” you told them. “I miss you, too.”

And just before you stepped to head toward the exit, you found Jake’s eyes again.

They were softer now, showing concern he couldn’t hide at your current state. But there was still that fire behind them that you’d learned was purely Jake. And it made your heart thump a little harder in your chest.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The tiredness was unreal. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were so fucking exhausted. Everything that had been happening recently–the therapy, telling Josh that you were pregnant with his twin’s baby, being pregnant with said baby (and worrying that you weren’t), taking sixteen-fucking-hours of classes. . . it had been a lot. That much was obvious as hell.

And tonight had been emotionally taxing for sure. . . and knowing you, you knew it was more than extremely possible that the emotions alone had been what’d finally done you in. Drained you for all you were worth.

Well, that, and the lack of food in your system. And the persistent barfing.

You'd been poring over the resources that Dr. Rose had given you access to. And, one of the links on their site had informed you that it was extremely possible for the fatigue to peak around this point of the pregnancy–ten to twelve weeks.

And considering you were right about at 12 or so, it was on the mark.

But when you’d read that, you hadn’t been expecting the feeling to be similar to that of being weighed down to the Earth by heavy-ass lead. You were dying to fall into bed and sleep off the exhaustion–right after taking a measly Tylenol for the pounding headache that’d been burgeoning for the past several minutes.

All you could do at this specific moment, though, was focus on driving–and pulling into the apartment complex with as much precision as possible. The pain in your head was beginning to make your vision blurry and the things around you waved in ways you knew they weren’t supposed to. Goddamn.

You finally made it to your parking space–by the grace of some higher entity. But, as soon as you tried to move to get out, everything around you began to spin at an accelerated speed. Moaning, you brought two shaking hands up to your eyes as you closed them. You started to count to ten, trying your best to take deep breaths–but even that was getting hard to do. Fuck.

Finding your motherfucking bearings was proving to be a task and a half.

And your head was just fucking throbbing relentlessly.

“Dammit,” you groaned again, the words slurring just a bit.

Somehow, though, you were able to make the trek from your car to the complex’s staircase–so close, yet so far, from your place. But you could feel the way your heart was thrumming quickly in your chest—just pounding against your ribcage from the basic action of walking.

Everything began waving around you again. You felt like you were floating and your head was becoming lighter and lighter by the second; the only reminder that it housed a brain was the raging, convulsing feeling in your skull.

Your vision was incredibly blurry at best, as you looked from the base of the stairs, all the way up to the top. The top of the stairs was hardly visible.

Shit. How the fuck am I going to climb these steps like this?

But, you weren’t able to contemplate it for much longer before everything started fading more and more, until you felt yourself falling and all you saw was a black abyss.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The hand you felt holding yours was the only thing that weighed you down to the white room. The other things that you immediately noticed: the sound of steady beeping (which was incessant) and the smell of antiseptic and bleach wafting from the bedding.

The bed itself felt reminiscent of high quality cardboard, but the sheets were warmer than you would’ve expected.

Letting your body relax back into the warm, polycotton sheets, you began to drift back to wherever you’d been. But you felt something hold you to the present. It was the someone with the hand who was helping to keep you conscious. The thumb that swept purposefully across the back of your hand tied you to the real world before you could escape to the one behind your eyelids.

Then you felt the hand holding yours squeeze the slightest bit tighter. Your lids were heavy when you squinted them open–immediately hating the way the fluorescent lighting assaulted your irises. You didn’t know if it was possible, but you were damned sure you could feel your pupils adjusting to the overbearing beams from the bulbs.

Moaning, you reached your free hand up to cover your eyes. And when you did, you noticed the influx of tubes, taped to and sticking out of your hand. Specifically, the needle connected directly to your vein. What the fuck was going on?

Amidst your confusion, you finally processed who the hand was connected to as you heard his voice.

“Yes, yes,” Josh said in response to something. You noticed that he was seeming to squeeze your hand in little pulsing intervals. When you squeezed back to indicate you were awake, his eyes were immediately on you, abandoning his conversation. “Y/n? Oh, fuck,” his voice was thick with emotion. His gaze became wet as he checked your face over. “I was so worried about you.”

You didn’t know what to say, since you weren’t really sure why you were here or what had happened to get you here. . . All you could remember was being tired and dizzy with a pounding in your head.

You tried to speak, but it was in vain, as your throat was dry as fuck. All that came from your lips was a measly croak. But, thankfully, Josh was immediately coming to your rescue with one of the hospital’s giant plastic cups, filled to the brim with water. He held the straw to your lips and you sat up a little to have better leverage to take a drink. To your surprise, the pounding in your head was gone, and there was no dizziness accompanying your movements.

And no nausea – best part of all.

As soon as the water slipped past your lips, you shut your eyes in utter relief. Water had never tasted so good. You weren’t sure if water even had a taste, but at that moment, you swore it did and that it tasted like liquid gold would.

Once you’d had enough for the moment, almost draining the large cup, you backed away and leaned into the pillows that awaited behind you.

Sighing in relief, you tried to say words again. And this time, it worked. “What’s going on?” You slowly spoke, your head still feeling slightly airy. You let your eyes trail to Josh’s, questioning him. “Why am I here?”

Then, you started panicking. You shot up from where you’d settled against the pillows, clutching your stomach. The IV’s connected to your hand pulled at your skin, stinging. You ignored the pain though, and felt your tummy. It was still round, but obviously that didn’t mean– oh no. Your deepest fears came to life in your head, piece by terrifying piece. The baby.

“Oh, fuck, Josh,” you said, your eyes were wild and immediately drew wetness, which ran steadily down your cheeks. No no no no no. “The baby? Is the baby–? Oh–.”

“Yes, yes,” Josh shushed you, running his free hand over the top of your head. “The baby is fine. Already checked and looks the same as it did a few days ago,” his eyes shone with reassurance. “Nothing is wrong with the baby.”

“Heartbeat?”

“Steady as can be.”

You felt your lungs fill with air again. “Okay,” you breathed out, leaning back into the pillows once more. “Okay.”

“But you on the other hand,” he started, his brow raising and eyes burning into yours. “You need to be giving yourself proper attention, mama.”

“I—?” You shook your head. You knew you weren’t the most attentive to yourself, but you’d tried very hard to be more self-serving recently in some regards. Longer showers, Friends, Cosmic Brownies (RIP) and pickles, therapy (if that counted). . . “I’ve been trying. . .”

But the vomiting is proving some of that to be impossible, Joshua, you thought silently, snidely.

“What your friend is trying to tell you,” the doctor began. Your eyes shifted to her, an older woman with delicate features whose gray hair was pushed back by a pair of readers. Then her brows wrinkled. “Well—friend? Father of the baby?”

You both spoke at the same time.

“Oh, no—.”

“Not me,” Josh corrected with a laugh, his smile bright and humored underneath his new mustache. “That’s my brother’s baby in there.”

Ridiculously, you began to blush at hearing Josh say it out loud. You were learning that any time it came from his lips, it made your breath catch in your chest just a little.

Jake’s baby.

“Oh, my apologies,” she smiled, her crows feet wrinkling, voice wise with years of experience. “I just wanted to proceed using the correct title to address you. Speaking of which, I am Dr. Stevens. It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n.”

“Same to you,” you answered with a tiny, unsure smile and nod. “Thank you.”

Dr. Stevens hummed, then came to sit on the end of the bed, same side as Josh. You eyed her curiously as her expression turned a touch more serious. “Miss y/n,” she said, sounding like you’d imagine a caring mother would. “You are here because your iron was frighteningly low,” she said, concerned and checking your chart. “If it had gone untreated one more night, you would have been incredibly ill and unable to function properly at all come morning.”

“What?” You asked, shocked. Anemia wasn’t a new thing to you, you’d always had it. How had it intensified so quickly? “I mean, sure, I’ve always had mild anemia. Just kind of a thing that’s been there . . .haven’t thought about it in years, actually,” (because of some damn triggering, buried memories attached to it). “But I’ve never had – it’s never been as. . . Intense as this,” you held up your hand that was covered in tape and inserted tubes.

“Well, honey, you’re carrying a baby now who also needs those vital nutrients to help it develop,” she counseled. “And proper hydration,” she reminded. You nodded, eyes zoned in on your hands, full with pieces of plastic and tape, and not her face. When Dr. Stevens spoke next, her voice was the most stern it’d been so far. “And prenatal vitamins– those are essential for you and the baby.”

Your eyes flicked up to hers. The way she pierced you with her stare made you lean back like a scolded puppy. Your tail would have been between your legs if you had one.

Why hadn’t you bought any damned prenatals yet? Fuck all.

“Yes ma’am. I don’t know why I haven’t been taking–,” you tried, huffing. You were ashamed of yourself. “God, I feel bad,” you placed two hands on your tummy and looked down at it through the hospital gown you’d been changed into. “How has all of it not harmed the baby?”

“Well, again, tomorrow would have been a completely different story had you not been rushed in tonight,” she reminded, talking you through it slowly. “But we’ve got fluids pumping through you to get you back to normal.” She motioned to Josh, you looked at him with a small smile that he reciprocated. “And your friend has promised to take you for a prenatal run tomorrow morning. To find the ones that you feel might suit you best.” Dr. Stevens smiled, looking over at your bedside table. Your eyes followed, seeing the small medicine bottle sitting there, waiting for you. “For now, I have a couple ready to send home with you,” she assured.

“I’ve never been the best at prioritizing my health,” you mumbled, messing with a loose thread on the hospital gown. Josh held the hand that was anxiously picking at the material, making you stop. You looked over to see his kind, encouraging eyes. “I have ingrained my brain with several unhealthy, learned habits,” you admitted, finally looking at Dr. Stevens again. “So I guess this was a reality check of sorts. That it’s not just me anymore. I can’t just ignore what I need to acknowledge.”

You didn’t know what was inspiring the constant flow of transparently deep emotions to all of these unknown people in your life, but you weren’t totally opposed to it anymore.

Dr. Stevens’ face contorted to show that she had sympathy. You were relieved. But when she spoke next, her voice was firm. “You’re right. This baby is forcing you to take care of yourself so he or she can survive and come out healthy and happy. I believe this baby is teaching you some proper life skills. But you need to be eating well to help this child have a good, healthy time in the womb. . .help him or her thrive at this vital stage in its life.”

God. She was right. You had seen the words Failure to Thrive on multiple sources you’d checked out about pregnancy. . . .always just skimmed past them, as it didn’t seem to pertain to you. But, of course it did. The vomiting. Not taking prenatals (seriously, what the fuck, y/n?). The lack of eating anything (save for the baby pickles). . .

You’d been so in your head about the present state of your health that you hadn’t taken nearly enough time to consider the baby.

“I’ve just never been bad about eating. This is new,” you confided. “And it’s just gotten worse this past week or so. . . I haven’t been able to eat. Everything has made me want to vomit.” Then you decided to add, “Well, everything besides pickles. They’ve been my only source of any nutrients – which I know is pathetic, by the way – I just–just can’t even be in the same room as most food, much less eat it.”

“You’re experiencing a severe case of hyperemesis gravidarum, which is just a fancy way of saying that you’re excessively vomiting during your pregnancy. It’s due to a drastic change in hormones. Your HCG levels are through the roof, where they’re usually not. Most women just have to suffer through it,” she said in response, handing you sheet with the fancy medical term at the top. “That is an information sheet. Keeps you informed on the ins and outs of why you might be experiencing it.” She sighed before going on. “It will pass, honey. Give it a few more weeks and you should be over the worst of it – if not before. But being anemic makes it that much worse,” she explained, flipping her readers over her eyes and looking through the papers on her fancy clipboard. “You’ve just gotta stay on top of those preexisting conditions.”

“And not taking the prenatals. . .,” she scolded, making you look up from scanning the sheet. She gave you a look. “Is what has you in this condition. You should also be taking an additional iron supplement. I’m. . . sure you didn’t tell your OB about your previous anemia?” She wondered aloud.

“No,” you murmured. “I really haven’t seen it present itself since I was really young. And it wasn’t really severe. . . at least I don’t think,” you rubbed your forehead, suddenly experiencing several sad moments in time. From a long time ago. So, once again, you bared your heart and explained. “There are things from my childhood that I’ve forgotten. And even though I do actually know I experienced bouts of it during that time, I haven’t ever really acknowledged it because I just kind of forced myself to forget about it.”

Really, for some godforsaken reason, thinking about your anemia only brought back very unwelcome flashes of your mother’s house. . . and other dirty places you didn’t want to think about. Hence why you’d blocked it out.

Josh squeezed your hand– tried to bring you back.

Thankfully, Dr. Stevens continued before the thoughts could take over. “I am sorry, honey,” she said, empathetic. But, she continued on professionally. “The hard truth is that some of the things that have always sort of laid dormant can come back with a raging force during pregnancy. . . simply considering that the pregnancy is essentially a revamp on your body,” she paused when you chuckled at the word ‘revamp’. Yeah, right. She smirked at it, too. “I know, funny word choice. Doesn’t always feel like you’re revamping,” she flipped to the next page in her chart. “What I mean is, things can come back up and be bigger–stronger–than before. One more thing that is changing and increasing in your body. Medical conditions from the past may come back and get more ‘intense’,” she winked at you, using your word from earlier. “But, it’s important: now that the anemia has shown itself again – so aggressively – at a time that your body is already very vulnerable. . .” She sighed, flipping her readers back into her dark gray hair before unclipping a paper from the chart and handing it to you. “It’s time we get a handle on all of it before it possibly shows its ugly face again.”

The sheet she handed you included several foods that you could eat to remedy the morning sickness. Some of which had made you feel like puking – or actually puke. But, there were a few things you didn’t have at home. Boring, bland foods. Things you just never bought. A few fruits and vegetables. . .

And a shit ton of vitamins.

“A lot of plain Jane stuff on there, I know. And vitamins, vitamins, vitamins,” she acknowledged. “But those supplements and bland diet are what will see you through the dark ages of this morning sickness. We need to treat that first. And then, you should be able to ease yourself into other foods and get your iron levels healthy again for you and your baby. Please focus on following that guide of foods and vitamins and just call my extension – which I attached to the top of that sheet – if you have any issues.”

She then passed one more sheet over to you and added one more piece of information. “This sheet will include the Hemoglobin Kit I’ve ordered for you and it will be sent to the address your friend provided for us within the next few days. Please be using it to check your hemoglobin levels. Hemoglobin is the main component of red blood cells–a protein– that we need to see at normal levels. I’ve included where your levels should be on that sheet. They should never be too low or too high. Please read the information on the sheet and in the kit to answer any additional questions you may have. This will help you to track of how your levels are doing and if your anemia is spiking again,” she said, her voice seeming to drone on and on in your ears. “And again, call if you have any questions or concerns.”

As you continued reading through the paper, she unclipped another and handed it over to you.

You really were thankful for the documents, really, but dear god there were a lot of them. Virtually and physically. From your OB visit and tonight. It was overwhelming . . . made your skin feel tight and overheated.

It was also a lot of information for you to over-fucking-think.

I’ll have to take them to Gia. She’ll help me sort through them, you reassured yourself, taking a deep breath in and out to calm the nerves.

“And the morning sickness should. . . pass sooner rather than later?” Josh’s question broke through your reverie. Your eyes shut to refocus on the present moment and not the papers.

“It should, yes. For most women, it does,” the graying doctor confirmed. “You’re. . .how far along? I’d estimate about eleven, maybe twelve weeks?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Twelve weeks according to my OB.”

“Yep. You should only have a few weeks – or less – left. Just try the foods on that sheet. The vitamins. Stay hydrated. There are several recommended supplements the sheet provides. You can find most all of them on Amazon.”

You handed the sheets over to Josh, needing them away from you for the time being. You needed to be in the now. Needed to focus on anything else the aging, wise doctor may need to say.

To put it plainly, tonight’s event landing you in the hospital had you scared shitless. And learning as much as possible from her would hopefully wind up putting your mind at ease. . . though, at this moment, it just had your heart rate increasing rather quickly.

She eyed the monitor next to your bed, moving closer to it as she observed something. “There goes that heart rate again,” she squinted at the vitals once more before pushing her glasses into her hair. She looked down at her chart, her lips pursing and readers going back on as she checked it over. “That’s another thing I want to address,” she hummed, sitting next to your legs, facing you and Josh from her seat. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately? A major change? Besides the baby? Mentally, perhaps? Emotionally?” She questioned. “Because while your iron levels were scarily low, your heart rate was also dramatically high. Which, yes, is related to the iron levels. . . but, I thought I’d go ahead and check as more often than not, it can pertain to an extreme amount of stress your heart is under from other sources.”

You stuttered out a response that involved you beginning therapy for the first time in years. You tried to touch on how you were experiencing a lot of emotions around what you would eventually be talking about in therapy. . . how you’d already bared your heart to Gia and opened up every single gate possible to effectively begin therapy.

“I wanted to do it. Still do," you explained, needing Dr. Stevens to know that. “I would do it all over again right now if I needed to. She’s already helped me so much – after only one session, just with me basically projectile vomiting my past and emotions all over the room.” You took a breath, before finishing. “It doesn’t make it any less difficult though. It hurts. Physically, it hurts to talk about it all. I know it will all come together in the end. I trust the process–I trust my therapist. But it was extremely taxing – on top of everything else I’m feeling right now.” You glanced over at Josh before adding, “The baby’s father is. . . he’s just. . .”

“A lot,” Josh finished with a half-chuckle. “He’s a very good guy. He’s just a lot.”

“I have a lot of feelings about everything happening in my life right now, I’ll just say that,” you ventured to tell her. “And I had somewhat of a handle on my anxiety and depression before I got pregnant, but it’s also been something to resurface in a brand new way with the pregnancy hormones. Without me even knowing it sometimes. And before I know it, my heart is actually hurting my chest from the amount of pressure I’m putting myself under.”

Josh scooted his chair over closer to you and wrapped one of your hands in two of his, holding on tightly.

“It hasn’t all really clicked until now. . . that all of it might be related to my. . . issues,” you confirmed aloud, peeking over at Josh just briefly before looking back to Dr. Stevens. You’d just spilled your entire heart and it was making you feel extremely uneasy. God, she hadn’t asked to hear all of that. “I’m so sorry about spilling all of whatever that was,” you waved your hands around before combing them through your hair, trying to breathe deep breaths. You found her eyes, which you now realized were green. “I really–god, fuck. I’m– that was a lot for you to hear and you didn’t ask for the whole–.”

“I needed to hear it all,” she consoled you, tapping a comforting hand on the top bed sheet, rather than your leg. “It helps me assess the situation. . . and from what I’ve heard, it sounds like the most probable cause of you fainting tonight was due to the iron deficiency and your heart.” She assessed the numbers on the blinking monitor yet again. “It just hasn’t slowed much since you’ve been here, sweetie. Even with the medications we’ve given you to temporarily alleviate it, it’s still been sitting at around 120 beats per minute. And since you’ve been awake, it’s spiked enough to cause some concern to this doctor.”

As she expressed her concern again for your thrumming heart, (which you had noticed an increase in it’s pounding as of late) it began beating a little harder once again, causing an unpleasant tightness within your sternum. You winced.

Josh noted the change almost as quickly as you did. His hands that held onto yours began squeezing even tighter, the skin of his palms now wet and clammy. He brought your hand, wrapped in his, up to his chin. The hair on his chin was unfamiliar to the last time you’d touched his face (who even knew when you last did that), but it still felt familiar enough against your knuckles to calm some of your nerves.

You couldn’t help but look at him with wide, fearful eyes. His eyes were steady on you, his attention only breaking from you to look at Dr. Stevens with a nonverbal note of worry for you.

She stood from the bed and came to stand beside you, inserting the buds to the stethoscope around her neck, and held the circular part to your back. “Cough for me, sweetie,” she told you, her calm demeanor forcing you to come back from your momentary freak out. “Make it a big one.”

You found it to be an odd request, but you weren’t in any place to question this doctor who had shown you nothing but kindness. And offered help when you, apparently, so desperately needed it.

You did as she said, and forced the best cough you could muster. It instantly relieved the tension in your chest, even lowered your heart rate a bit as you watched the blinking numbers begin to drop on the screen.

“Wh-what was that? Am I having a heart attack?” You felt silly asking her that. . .but you didn’t know any better, it may as well have been your body plummeting straight into a cardiac arrest.

This was all a lot, and now you were very hyper aware of every little change in your heart that you felt, saw, or heard from the screen.

She chuckled softly, taking the stethoscope away from her ears, hanging once again around her neck. She watched your vitals intently as the blood pressure cuff attached to your left arm (that you hadn’t noticed yet) began squeezing you rather uncomfortably.

“You’re not having a heart attack, my dear. Not even close,” she reassured. Although, you still felt the worry present in the pit of your tummy that you were unknowingly clutching again. “I am no stranger to the intense effects of anxiety. I’ve seen it time and time again. I think that was a big part of the palpitation episode you experienced a few minutes ago and the persistent increase in your heart rate I've seen so far tonight. However, I would like to conduct a little further testing. Just want to be sure your heart is nice and strong – for you and for the baby.”

You felt the air from Josh’s lungs release against your knuckles as he let out the breath he must’ve been holding, squeezing your hand just as tight as before. As terrified as you were, his presence provided the safety net your spirit needed to not be thrown back in a massive panic attack.

She sat down on the bed next to you once again, her kind eyes offering little comfort right now as you start to feel overwhelmed with the sudden discovery of so many things that were apparently wrong with your body.

“If you can remember, have you ever been rather sensitive to the heat? Maybe suffered from heat strokes during your youth?”

Her question had your mind yet again returning to your past that had been kept securely behind a locked door with no key. A place you didn’t venture often.

But it did bring forth some hazy recollections of your days as a child, playing outside in the thick, dry summer heat. How you couldn’t stand to be out in it for very long without feeling. . . faint. And dizzy. So fucking dizzy.

A long since forgotten trait of yours that you never thought to pay any mind to.

“Um– yeah, actually. Now that I think about it, Summers were always a challenge. I couldn’t stand being outside for much longer than a few minutes some days without feeling like I could pass out or throw up,” you huffed a humorless laugh at the memories playing back in your head. Miserable times. “It was. . .fucking awful.”

You’d suddenly started to remember all the times you felt faint as a child. But it wasn’t always from the rise in temperature. Sometimes, it was from the stresses your mom tossed your way, the fights, the troubles that brewed in your home. It became more and more clear that fainting was most definitely not new to you. You just couldn’t remember.

“Okay,” Dr. Stevens continued, her hand now patting your shin as she seemed to pick up on the unease of remembering your past. “What about when you go to stand up after a period of being seated or lying down, does your vision become a bit obscured at times? Like you’re seeing stars? Tunneled vision, maybe?”

“I mean, y-yeah,” you stuttered. “Sometimes. But it doesn't last for very long. Doesn’t everybody experience that, though?”

You had no clue where she was going with all of these questions— questions that she seemingly already knew the answers to. Of what it all meant, you weren’t sure. But you knew you needed her to cut to the chase soon before you began plummeting even further down the anxious path you’d started paving.

“What does it mean? Is this something I should be worried about?” You asked through newly developed tears you had no control over.

Your mind was running rampant with only one singular thought: the baby. What does this mean for the baby?

“You don’t need to worry, sweetie. This is actually a lot more common than you think.”

She stood up from the bed, unclipping one more piece of paper from the board she’d been holding prior to sitting down. She handed it over to you, the paper weighing your hand down with what you were to find on it.

But before you could begin to worry about what was on it, she was explaining it to you.

“That sheet is going to inform you on the ins and outs of Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, most commonly referred to as POTs,” she seriously informed, her eyebrows dipping to show concern for your worries that you knew were painted all over your face.

“That’s a funny name,” Josh giggled, the breath from the laugh he’d let out fanned against your knuckles. “Like pots and pans. . . you know?”

You wanted to slap him because, shut the fuck up, Josh, now is not the time, but. . . try as you might, it actually calmed you down a bit. You couldn’t help the tiny ghost of a grin that floated over your lips.

Dr. Stevens glared at him, causing him to stop his little joke, before she continued on. “POTs,” she enunciated the name while flashing her eyes to Josh, “is nothing to be concerned with, but it is a valid heart condition that does require a bit more testing to confirm if it’s present or not. Just to be safe.”

You peered down at the sheet in front of you and the bolded print that you tried so fucking hard to not be too overwhelmed by. It wasn’t the worst possible condition, but it was still a fucking heart condition that you could possibly have. And with everything else that’d happened tonight and your current life predicament. . . it was causing your head to spin.

Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) is a condition that causes a number of symptoms when you transition from lying down to standing up, such as a fast heart rate, dizziness and fatigue. While there’s no cure, several treatments and lifestyle changes can help manage the symptoms of POTS.

As you read the small print across the page, she told you exactly what it was she suspected you had. “To put it plainly, your heart can’t pump blood quickly enough to your body, resulting in a higher heart rate and a lower blood pressure that can sometimes cause you to faint.” She came close to your bedside again, “If you don’t mind, I am going to need to listen to your heart again.”

It took you a bit to come to, but when you did, you finally nodded in response. She placed the cold end of the stethoscope against your chest while securing the buds in her ears to listen to you.

“This, combined with your lack of eating that caused the extremely low iron levels could have developed from your pregnancy. Although, I’m willing to bet they’ve been present your entire life. Certain instances can trigger them. Stress, severe anxiety, or pregnancy. In your case, dear, I’d say it’s all of the above. A bit of a trifecta, you could say. The ingredients for the perfect, terrifying storm.”

“Jesus, mama," Josh breathed, his lips faintly brushed over your knuckles as he continued to hold your hand close to his face. “You have got to start taking care of yourself. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

You knew that. God, you knew that. It had always been easier said than done. But it was no longer all about you anymore; the moment the life began growing within you, it gave you a newfound motivation to take care of yourself for the little life you were now responsible for.

“What other testing needs to be done?” You asked. You were hesitant of what her answer would be, but if it provided a step in the right direction towards becoming the healthiest version of yourself that you could possibly be, you were all ears.

“There’s a specific test, a tilt table test, that must be done to provide us with a little more insight to the specifics of your case. However, it’s not safe to perform it while you're pregnant,” she explained. “So for now, I’m just going to send in for a heart monitor that will be delivered to your house in the next week or so. You’ll wear it for four weeks and that'll give us plenty of information in the meantime. I’m also going to refer you to one of the best cardiologists we have on staff here.”

A heart monitor? That sounded utterly terrifying to you.

“I am also going to insist that you keep track of your hemoglobin levels daily,” she continued. “You can also buy your own blood pressure cuff to partner with the hemoglobin kit we have set to deliver at your doorstep. You should be able to apply your insurance to the purchase of the blood pressure cuff, if you decide to include that step as well,” Stevens took a deep breath before going on. “Keep a daily journal to log your numbers. Just a notebook to track your blood pressure and hemoglobin levels. It’s vital that you do these things, y/n. Fainting like this can not be a normal occurrence. It’s not good for you or the baby.” When she spoke next, you felt your heart leap into your throat. “The lasting effects on you or the fetus could be life threatening if you’re not careful. . . could be terribly detrimental to the baby’s development—specifically his or her little body or brain development.”

Life threatening. Detrimental. Baby’s development. Little body or brain development.

You heard your heart rate go up on the monitor, but you weren’t about to freak yourself out any further by looking at the changing numbers. You literally felt your pulse quicken and your breath become shallow in your throat as you struggled to take full breaths.

Focus on the now. Focus on what is real. What is right now. Baby is not in trouble yet.

You have time.

You brought a thumb and middle finger up to your temple, rubbing away furiously to relieve the oncoming headache that had been simmering at the surface for the past several minutes. Your other hand found its home on your swollen belly.

It was all so overwhelming–staggering, really, and you weren’t prepared for any of it in the slightest.

But, then again, how would someone prepare? You felt as if you were living in a brand new body, much different from the one you’d lived your whole life in up to this point. There was so fucking much out of your control and unknown. It was all pushing down, heavily, on your already-tense shoulders.

“Relax, mama,” Josh sensed your tension, and knowing you as well as he did, he knew it was time to start helping you articulate the right questions. He brushed his thumb across the back of your hand as he calmly asked, “What do we need to do if her numbers aren’t. . . normal? What are some measures we can take to get them to where they need to be?”

The fact that he was willing to stand alongside you during this whole thing, that he wanted to, it was such a comforting thing to know at this moment. Not that you had any doubt in your mind, but hearing him say something as simple as ‘we’. . . it just warmed your heart completely.

“Lots of fluids,” she answered through a sincere smile. “And an increase in your salt intake to help your body maintain those fluids.” She handed you yet another sheet and sat back down next to you, looking you in the eye with a stern, motherly expression. “That should help you out with foods to eat and fluids to drink, in addition to the sheet from earlier. But, honey, you need to change your diet. It’s essential that you incorporate healthy eating habits at this point in your pregnancy. After you’ve gotten your body accustomed to the bland foods on the other list I’ve supplied you, you need to start adding lots of iron heavy foods to your meals. Meats, leafy greens, rice. . . things of that nature.” She searched your eyes, hers kind and knowledgeable from years in the field. “Alright?”

You nodded your head in confirmation, wondering how the hell you were going to make that happen with the way normal food left you utterly disgusted at the present time.

“We’ll make sure of that, doc,” Josh responded in your place, throwing a wink at you as he knew damn well how horrible your food aversions had been.

“M-my therapy,” you found your voice. “It’s going to be intense. It will cause my body stress.” Dr. Stevens looked at you quizzically before you went on, “It’s called EMDR therapy. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing; although, I’m sure you’ve heard of it in your profession. I don’t know all of the logistics yet, but I know it’s not a conventional form of therapy. What do I do if I wish to continue that? Should I continue it?”

“It should be safe, as long as you make sure to have a thorough discussion with your therapist after each session. That is dire in helping your body and your mind process it all in a healthy manner. In order to have a healthy body, you must also take care of your mind, especially in those circumstances. I do want you to consult with your therapist over how much stress you’ll be able to handle at any given time. Don’t let your mind go too far. If you have a good therapist, they’ll know the signs if you’ve had enough, though, don’t be afraid to tell them.”

If there was one thing you did know about all this uncertainty, it was that you could trust Gia to not lead you astray, or towards anything that would be detrimental to your mental health.

Dr. Stevens smiled, her clipboard once again tight in her grip before she stepped further to the curtained room you were shielded by. “Do you have any more questions?”

Josh glanced at you, waiting for you to say anything or waiting for you to communicate something for him to say on your behalf. You were sure you had questions, but you were just fucking flooded with stress to the point that all you wanted to do was sleep. . . just ready to get home.

Also, seeing as it was an emergency room, the idea was to get patients in and out. Wasn’t supposed to be the length of a standard visit.

You’d taken up too much of her time.

So, you shook your head at Josh and then looked to Dr. Stevens to tell her no thank you.

And when you did, you glanced down at the name on her coat and the name of the hospital stitched into the white fabric. You hadn’t even noticed. . . . Cedars-Sinai.

Same hospital I’ll have the baby at, if all goes according to plan, you suddenly realized, the thought bringing you a weird sense of peace. And it will go according to plan.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Josh went about gathering up all of the documents that had been handed to you and the prenatal pills provided as a nurse came in to disconnect all of your tubes and shit. He'd waited outside the curtain. and asked the nurse a few more questions as you'd changed back into your clothes.

And on the ride home, he’d put on peaceful music over the speaker of the car. He was used to doing it when you rode in his car as you hated riding in it. But tonight? Tonight you found comfort in the hunk of creaking metal.

Because it meant you were going home.

When you got home, Josh helped you up to the apartment and went about opening the front door and setting up your bed for you. All while you brushed your teeth, pulled up your hair that smelled like hospital, and changed into your comfiest PJs.

Just as he’d tucked you in and was about to leave, you pulled on his hand and begged for him to stay. You really didn’t want to be alone for the night, mumbling as much to him.

So, like the perfect friend he was, he set up a pallet on the floor as you tossed him a pillow from your bed.

And to your solace, sleep found you as soon as your head hit the satin of your pillowcase.

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 14, 2022

Every Monday being your therapy day was honestly the perfect way to start your week. You’d decided that on the way to the counseling practice on the chilly November afternoon of your second appointment.

You already knew it would be like it had been before. Before, (on your first and only other visit before today’s) it had just felt like a breath of fresh air to talk to a licensed professional like Gia. She was just fucking amazing. And you knew every week would be like before: a fresh start with a confidant who could give you killer fucking advice. A little date of sorts with a licensed professional who was positively eager to help you get through your week (life, generally) the best you possibly could.

Well, at least your therapist was eager to do that.

Even as you sat on her trendy, camel-colored leather couch for your second appointment, you felt completely comfortable and at ease with Gia. She had already become one of your favorite people.

You’d spent the first thirty minutes or so filling her in on telling Josh, your first prenatal exam (also showed her the sonogram pictures, which she’d loved), and the emergency visit. No details had been spared and you made sure she had time to give you any advice or words of wisdom she deemed necessary. But she’d really just let you have the floor and talk.

Once you wrapped up your scary details from the night of the E.R., handed over all of the documents you wanted to sort through with her, and talked through them until you felt more ease about all of the anemia and heart shit, she’d looked at you seriously.

Pinned you with a stare, her eyes sparkling like emeralds as she thoughtfully assessed you.

She sat down her tea, and then wheeled herself over to you. Her oversized sweater was a turtle neck that matched the color of her couch, and the too-long sleeves of it touched your hands as she grasped them loosely in her hands. “Y/n,” she began, peering at you openly through her circular, wire framed-lenses, “We do not have to do EMDR. I want to remind you, it is entirely up to you if you choose to go that route. If you are fearful of it causing too much stress, I understand wanting to venture down another therapeutic route.”

“No,” you shook your head, a small smile curled the corner of your lips to reassure her. “I want to do it. I believe it’s what will work best to get to the heart of things. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, brow knitted. “I just don’t want you to feel any unnecessary stress during this vulnerable time in your life.”

“As long as you promise to help me wrap it all up with a good talk at the end of each appointment,” you suggested with hope evident in your tone. “To wrap it up as much as we can for me to make it through the week.”

She grinned. “I can do that,” she affirmed with one certain nod, her loose bun, full of her soft blonde hair bounced with the action. “Did the doctor recommend continuing it?”

“Yep. Said it shouldn’t be an issue if we manage to discuss it all at the end of each session,” you offered. “Doesn’t want me carrying around anything unresolved that could make my stress levels increase.”

“Well, that’s definitely doable,” she confirmed with a wide grin. Scooting back, she grabbed her tea from the repurposed desk in the corner of her office before propping her ankle on top of her bent knee. “So, if you do wish to continue with EMDR, I’ll go ahead and explain it a little better than I have yet.”

“I do,” you said as a final agreement. “What should I know before we start?”

So, Gia proposed EMDR and all of the benefits that could come from the specific form of therapy. You listened to every detail readily. Were you scared? Yes. Were you anxious to begin? Also yes. It was intriguing and a little exciting to be so close to finally diving deep into the curves and corners of your mind and memories.

Once she’d finished with that, she was rolling her chair back over to you and placing her elbows on the ends of her thighs as she bent to talk intimately with you. When she spoke, the smell of spearmint on her breath was oddly calming. “There’s something I feel I should mention before we begin. A bit of a warning that you should heed. Some clients experience this, some don’t. But something to be aware of, nonetheless.”

Your eyes widened at her use of the word ‘warning,’ and her sudden change in tone made you believe this was something a little more serious. You knew there were risks involved with this somewhat unconventional form of therapy, but you hadn’t let yourself delve into all of them just yet. You had tried your best to leave the ball in Gia’s court to explain it all to you.

And you knew that anything deemed risky, Gia would let you know of them before you agreed. Any online research wouldn't be nearly as viable as it would be coming straight from Gia’s mouth.

Still yet, your heart beat just a little faster in preparation for whatever she had to tell you.

Deep breaths, y/n.

“Tell me,” you asserted. In search of some extra comfort, you placed a hand on your belly, the pulse vibrating in your palm also immediately triggered the fear in you that your heart was possibly over exerting itself.

Deep. Breaths. Gia’s got this. She won’t let you do anything too risky to your health. She wouldn’t let you.

“Some people report experiencing rather intense flashbacks that can come unannounced. And when I say intense, I truly mean just that, y/n. If they come, they can be debilitating.”

This was the first you had seen her eyes downturned, a picture of worry painted within her emerald green irises. “There have also been accounts of severe nightmares—well, more along the lines of night terrors. The kind that can wake you up in a panic. I just want you to be aware of these possibilities before we begin. I need you to promise me right now, that if these things do happen, you’ll call me. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, you have to call me, and I will answer.”

Middle of the day? They could come then, too? Shit.

“Is it. . . really that serious?” You took a moment to ponder your question, not entirely sure what to make of it all just yet. (And you couldn’t help but wonder if Jake found out about these little occurrences during his research before bringing the idea up to you.)

“It can be,” she noted with a stern tone that sent yet another wave of anxiety through your tense muscles. “That’s why I need you to make me that promise. That isn’t something you should ever experience alone. As I said, it can be debilitating.”

Your mind began turning furiously with the thought of having to experience flashbacks. Would they be flashbacks to things you already remembered? Or worse. . . things you didn’t? Both?

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew the answer and it was honestly terrifying to you.

For a split second, you started to doubt whether or not this was the right solution for you. But, you couldn’t deny any longer that you did need the help. You had to be better. For you and for the life that was growing inside of you. The baby needed a healed mother.

And you knew Gia was the perfect person to guide you through it. You trusted her, and that was something that has never come easily for you.

“I’ll admit,” you began, still holding tight to your belly, reminding yourself of the growing reason why you needed to do this. “I’m nervous. But I still want to do it. I promise I’ll call you when— if— that happens. . . but, what if you’re not available?”

“Don’t be nervous. You’ve got this.” She flashed you her sparkling white teeth in a smile that put your spirit right back at ease. “And I do my best to answer. It’s my job as your therapist to see you through this. Some don’t take it as seriously as I do, but I know that you’ll need me in your corner and I’m happy to be there. I signed up for this, just like you did,” she grinned, once again using her feet to scoot her back to her desk, in her plush, light pink chair. “But, on the off chance I’m not able to answer, I would immediately contact someone you trust to see you through it. Hold you. Talk to you. Just be there with you. Whatever you need. Someone who would be willing to do that.” She opened her laptop before turning to you, an idea seeming to spark in her mind. “As a matter of fact, before our next session, why don’t you make it your assignment to think of the person you’ll go to in situations like that? Just one person for now and if you think of more, then double whammy.”

She winked, and you just sent a barely-there grin back to her in response. As she went about clicking open tabs on her computer, you knew you didn’t need until next session to think of your person.

Because as soon as she started talking about that person, you were back in the hallway of your grandparents’ home – right outside your bedroom. And the person next to you right then and there. . . he was the one you wanted with you if the terrors hit.

Not Josh. Not even Elsie.

But Jake.

Would he be okay with that though? Would it be worth asking him?

Gia was once again speaking as she clicked through a few buttons on her laptop. “Y/n? You okay, love?”

You looked up, finding her eyes waiting for yours. “Oh–oh, yeah,” you stretched your lips to make the best smile you could. “Just being an overachiever and already brainstorming my person to contact.”

She hummed, giving you a sneaky smirk. “Does it happen to be a certain roommate of yours?”

Eyes bugging, you were shocked that she’d guessed. But were you really? She sorta kinda (definitely) knew the depths of your heart. She'd probably known who you’d want to pick as soon as you'd known it.

Nodding sheepishly, you decided to ask, “Is that a bad idea?”

“I don’t believe so,” she assured. “From what you’ve told me about him, he seems like a pretty good guy and I think he’d be more than willing to help you if you needed him.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s also super convenient because he lives with you,” she insisted with a final wink before she said, “Anything I might’ve forgotten will be in the PowerPoint I’m about to send to your email. But, I’ve gotta say, I’ve done it enough times with enough clients, I think I’ve covered every base for today.” A few beats of silence passed before she triumphantly pressed a button. “Aaand, sent!”

Then, wheeling back over to you, her pristinely white Nikes made the smallest squeak on the stained concrete floor of her office. “Okay, so today,” she began. “How are we feeling?”

“Really good,” you confidently responded, wiping your palms against your leggings before a true smile fit to your features. “When will we start?”

“I think next session we will find your safe place,” she said with a raise of her brow. “I will explain what I mean by ‘safe place’ next time, and directly after, we will send you there. Try not to worry about it until then, okay?” She requested, eyes searching yours for an answer. To which, you nodded. She continued with a grin. “For today, I want to call it quits with the EMDR talk. . . Let you rest. Unless. . . you have any questions, of course. . . .”

You wracked your brain, and when you couldn’t think of anything immediately, you told her you didn’t have any questions.

“Come with some next time if you think of any. And, my email is always open in between visits if needed–even if it’s just a minor inquiry you have,” she reminded. “Oh! And I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet. . . but, if we need to ever schedule an emergency visit over Zoom or in the office. . . that is also always, always on the table. I know that these things get heavy, and I want to be here for you through all of it, y/n.”

“Got it.”

Although, something did come to your mind as you were both standing to leave the session. You hadn’t given the question much thought in your own mind (shockingly). It had entered your wave of thought the day of your first prenatal appointment. When you’d asked Josh.

But since then, your mind had been too preoccupied with everything else that had recently happened that this thought had been put on the backburner.

But, you were curious what her opinion was on the matter, now that it had resurfaced.

Right before she opened the door, delicate hand on the handle, you grew sweaty. But you needed to ask the question, because if you didn’t do it now, it would be tormenting you until next Monday.

So, you asked her the same question you’d asked Josh.

“When should I tell Jake about the baby?”

She turned her shoulder, her eyes stern when she responded. “Soon. . . sooner rather than later. Just focus on what is real.”

Sooner rather than later. . . same exact words Josh had said.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It had been a long day of classes and the short shift at the Black and Gold after your classes had completely wiped you out.

When you got home, all you’d wanted to do was take a nap to sleep off the exhaustion from the short day. Before pregnancy, you wouldn’t be hitting a wall so early in the day, but now that you were, you could hardly function after going nonstop for more than a few hours.

Your body was functioning in overdrive, trying to produce enough energy to sustain two lives. . . and you were still getting used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you would ever get used to it.

But before your nap. . . you wanted to take some time to release some of the soreness in your changing body with a warm shower. You were sure to grab a towel from the dryer because, even though you knew Jake wasn’t supposed to be home for a few hours, you still didn’t want to risk him seeing you. The idea of him seeing any slight changes on your body made you cringe. You weren’t sure if you felt comfortable in your body yet, so you definitely didn’t want him seeing it.

There was also the enormous, glaring factor of him seeing the changes and realizing what was going on. You really still just looked bloated (albeit very, very bloated). . . but you had a feeling that he would catch on. He’d gotten very used to what your body looked like for the better part of the summer, so you could see him noticing your stomach protruding more than it ever did before.

He’d know. . . you just had a feeling.

After a day of trying to wear regular jeans, you’d decided it was a bad idea to wear your normal sized jeans anymore. The tight waistband had cut into your abdomen all day and squeezed you like a motherfucker. Thankfully, there’d been a lull in customers before the end of your shift, and the oversized sweater you’d worn had provided enough coverage for you to unbutton the jeans when you were alone in the store.

But when you finally got to take them off, you breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the confines of the stiff clothing. And the big, fluffy sweater had gotten to be too warm by the end of your shift, so taking that off had also been extremely relieving as well.

After you’d tied your hair back and heated the shower a little cooler than your usually steaming hot showers, you had to get used to the temperature as you stood and lathered up your belly, giving yourself your daily time to just observe how it was growing. Ever since your visit to the E.R., you’d become more conscientious of how it was growing.

You were new to this pregnancy thing. You didn’t know if it meant your baby was okay or not if your belly wasn’t growing at a certain rate.

To your utter relief, over the past few days, you had finally been able to eat more–following the lists of food Dr. Stevens had given you. You occasionally got nauseous, but the puking had limited significantly with the suggested bland, healthier foods and constant Ginger Ale (which you’d actually found much more delicious and helpful to your twisty stomach than Sprite).

Then there were the Preggie Pops and the heaven-sent PregEase: both of which had been fucking life savers. (Both stayed safely locked away in your room, on a shelf in your closet, right next to where you’d pinned the sonogram pictures.)

Once you’d let the quick shower relax your muscles exactly like you’d needed, you took your time drying off. And once you’d washed your face and changed into bike shorts and a giant t-shirt, you weren’t so tired as before. So, you’d settled into the couch with your phone, a book, a fluffy blanket, and a delicious bowl of sweet red peppers and pretzels.

It had become a go-to snack as of late.

You were looking forward to finishing the steamy romance that had popped up on your BookTok a few weeks back, but you wanted to look into BookTok reviews for the second book in the series before you finished the first. Just to prepare yourself.

Though, when you opened your TikTok app, you didn’t look into the book. No, instead, you found your fingers searching ‘13 weeks pregnant’. You wanted to see how other women looked at this point in the game. You couldn’t help wanting to compare your progression to other women. It wasn’t a healthy course of action – you knew that. You just had to see. . . get an idea.

You saw a lot of videos of them talking about entering their second trimester. Which, like your Ovia app had already informed you today, you knew you had officially passed the first trimester. . . which was a massive thing to you. Passing the first trimester meant several exciting things. A few being: the chances of your baby surviving the pregnancy increased tenfold; the morning sickness started screeching to a halt (thank god); and you’d be able to find out the gender of your baby in a few short weeks.

Though, the other glaring thing at the front of your brain was how you needed to tell Jake. Because of the fact that you were already in your second trimester.

The main thing you were concerned about was staying healthy, though. . . you were really hoping you were doing okay at keeping yourself healthy; you needed your baby to be healthy. All of your numbers seemed to be getting back on the right track as you’d been tracking your hemoglobin for the past few days. It was all very comforting–-you felt better.

Just as you clicked on a video about symptoms at week 13, the front door opened to show Jake coming through. You quickly shut the app off and locked your phone, pretended to be reading as sweat accumulated in your arm and knee pits. (Lovely.)

Though, you couldn’t help but turn your body to peek at him in his peacoat, with a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie covering his ears. Much like he’d looked on the night of the macaroni and cheese and therapy talk.

He had a little chill in his bones, it seemed, as he shook them out when taking off his coat and scarf. His hat was next, leaving his long hair staticky in its wake. He smoothed it back with one more chill before he was off to the counter, dropping off the mail and his keys. But he didn’t immediately go to his room. He went about opening a drawer, finding a pair of scissors and heading to the mail on the counter.

You did notice a package now that you looked closer. And he was hurriedly going about cutting through the yellow protective packaging.

Out of nowhere, you decided to speak. No idea where it came from. Curiosity killed the cat was all you could come up with.

“Whatcha got there?” Whatcha got there? Okay, first of all, what the fuck?

He peered over at you, raising a brow before lifting the now-open package to display it to you. “New guitar part I ordered.”

“Oh,” you blinked, not sure what else you’d been expecting from him. Of course he wasn’t about to make pleasant conversation. Not when something had apparently climbed up his ass where you were concerned for the past several days.

Once again, you were right back at square one at the most inopportune time. It made you question your idea to make him your go-to person for your expected night terrors. . . but you didn’t want to let go of the possibility yet. Not yet.

“Have fun with that,” you offered, turning back around to the book you most definitely didn’t want to read at the present time. Instead, you took a nervous bite of a pepper.

“Um, y/n,” he said your name with a question in his tone. “What the fuck is this?”

Your heart tripped over itself in your chest. What had he found? Without looking at him, you decided to just go ahead and get your ass off the couch to survey the situation.

He was holding the box containing your heart monitor in his hands.

Fuck. You really didn’t want him to be privy to that part of your life. For whatever ridiculous reason, you were embarrassed by it.

Deciding honesty was the best policy, you decided to just flat out tell him. “I went to the Emergency Room the other night,” you started. “And the doctor just wanted –.”

“The Emergency Room?!” His voice raised a decibel, obviously alarmed at the new information. “Wait . . . is that why Josh had to leave the bar–? The same night you were gone all night.”

“Wait. . .how do you know I was gone all night?”

“I live with you, y/n,” he scoffed, talking to you like you were an idiot.

You felt your blood pressure rise, your heart beating in your ears. “Yes, Jake, I know this,” you matched his tone, the hormones working in your favor this time–making you angry rather than sad. “But why the fuck were you awake?”

“I was waiting for–,” he stopped, clearing his throat before starting over. He looked down, a crinkle in his brow. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He was waiting for. . . who? Waiting for. . . what? Your curiosity peaked, but you ignored it for the time being.

“Well, not that you need to know, but yes. I was at the E.R. that night,” you explained. “Something happened that landed me there and it resulted in them wanting to track my heart activity. Nothing huge.”

And for once, you didn’t feel bad for lying to him. Your nerves were lit on fire with irritation towards him.

He doesn’t need to know.

“You got a heart monitor in the mail,” he stated, not dropping the possible severity of the situation. "And you're saying it's nothing huge?"

Without a second thought, you were yanking the package from his hands.

“It’s. not. your. business, Jacob,” you squeezed the package until the plastic wrap squeaked from the tight grip of your fingertips. Then, something else clicked. “Why the fuck were you not looking at the name on the package? Remember, like you said, you live with me. You know that not all of the shit that comes in the mail is yours.”

“I just wasn’t thinking–.”

“Kind of fucking invasive, Jake,” you interrupted hotly. “Don’t you think?”

“Well, it helped me to know something was wrong with your heart. You wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t opened the package,” he argued back.

“You didn’t need to know!” You said, your voice raising at the same speed as your blood pressure. “Still don’t!”

“But Josh sure as hell does, right?” He demanded, swinging his finger towards the door, his jaw clenching. “He needed to be your knight in shining fucking armor, huh?”

“Why the hell do you care?!” You fumed, the question exploding from your chest with the same emotion that had tears gathering in your eyes at the question. Angry tears. Confused tears.

“I don’t!” He snapped, his beautiful, brown eyes, hard. His jaw, set and tight.

His words sat in the air for a few minutes. Your stares were intertwined; swimming with tangled emotions. The air felt hot and heavy as it surrounded you. It was taut with newly spoken (and still unspoken) surmounting feelings and disequilibrium. Nostrils were flaring. Both of your chests heaved, the sound of his breathing mixed with yours in a way that made you want to slap and kiss his pursed lips.

You didn’t let yourself stand there much longer – needed to get away from him. Without speaking to him, you tore your eyes from his, gathered up your stuff from the couch, and tried to walk with as much dignity as you could to your room.

Somehow, you were able to get the door open with your hands inexplicably full, and after you’d entered and before you could shut it behind you, you shot a glare his way. He was still watching you.

“Fuck you, Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 17, 2022

The next night saw your ass in the shower again.

Except this time, you were sitting in the tub, legs drawn to your chest as close as possible with your rounder tummy, and chin on your knees as you let the warm water soak you through.

You’d already shaved and washed everything. So, now, you were just letting yourself be.

Your thoughts had been spinning since last night. So, in an effort to help your heart, you’d invited Josh over for a movie when Jake left to give lessons for the day. And, of course, he’d said yes without question.

You’d spent the day drowning yourself in popcorn and Canada Dry (Josh surprised you with a new 12-pack when he’d arrived) as you’d watched all three Bridget Jones movies. Back to back to back. They weren’t Josh’s favorites, but he humored you by trying to indulge in the trilogy – even managing to laugh at the funny parts.

Between movies, he’d let you cry on his shoulder. Or, intermittently, during the movies. . . By the time he’d left, your tears had positively stained the white long sleeve tee he was wearing.

He didn’t ever ask what it was about – who it was about. And you never told him. But you knew he wasn’t oblivious to who caused your emotional episode.

Now he was gone. Had been for about an hour. And Jake wasn’t home yet. Not that you fucking cared.

You’d meant it when you told him what you did. Fuck him.

Though, the devastating matter was that you couldn’t decide if you were more mad at yourself or him. Everyday was a replay of the day in the kitchen. And you were sure he replayed it everyday, too. . . and he was definitely allowed to feel hurt after the horrendous shit you’d thrown at him.

But what was with the back and forth? Hot and cold? How he’d been okay the night with the mac and cheese? How he’d spent his time researching therapy for you to try? How he’d been quick to defend your song to his girlfriend?

And, just as quickly, he was snapping at you. Getting upset out of nowhere. Instantly angry with you when you’d come out of the bathroom at the bar. Getting pissed for no reason at you and Josh for sitting in the car. Telling you last night that he didn’t care about you.

Was that true? Did he not? It fucking killed you if it was true. But you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t care. Why would he?

You took the moment to stretch your legs out in the shower, watching as the water painted your skin with droplet after droplet. Then, you looked down at your tummy, extra round after a day of pigging out.

Placing a pruned hand on it, you looked down at the part of your body that housed your human. Surprisingly (not), tears clouded your voice as you spoke to it, rubbing the skin reassuringly. “I’m so sorry that your mommy and daddy are so fucked up.”

After letting a few tears fall to meet the tight, rounded skin of your tummy, you forced your legs to stand up. The feat was proven a little difficult as they’d fallen asleep, but you still managed. Regretfully, you’d turned the water off. You didn’t want to leave the shower but you were officially prune-y as hell.

And, as you gathered a towel to wrap up in, you realized you were also very fucking tired.

You carefully attached the heart monitor’s adhesive to your chest like the instruction manual (and multiple videos you’d watched) told you to, and followed it with the monitor itself. You then checked to make sure the phone you’d been given with the kit was ready to track what it needed.

Finding your phone on the counter after you’d washed your face and brushed your teeth, you decided Josh deserved a thank you after putting up with you the last several days.

Especially after you’d just rocked his motherfucking world . . . and he’d been so cool about it.

God, you just loved him.

You, 10:17 p.m.: I’m so glad I have you. I mean it from the bottom of my heart that I wouldn’t make it through this pregnancy without you. And your love and amazing fucking support. I’d be lost without you.

And after you sent it, you began towel drying your hair, then brushed through any tangles the best you could.

When you heard a ding! sound from the living room, you spent a few minutes thinking it was your imagination. But when you heard it a second time, you realized it was most likely not in your head, and that Jake was home.

So, checking your appearance once more, you wrapped the towel as tight as you could around your body before shutting the light off and opening the door.

You glanced up to see if he was in fact home, and the sight that met you had you stop in your tracks.

Josh’s white phone case with the little triangle symbol he’d drawn on it one day at the B&G.

In Jake’s hands.

Jake’s face, looking at the screen of said phone, mouth open in shock.

And as soon as you closed the door to the bathroom, the smallest sound of it shutting, made his eyes slowly slide up from the phone to your face.

He held the phone up, showing you just what he’d seen. Fuck.

“You’re pregnant?”

You took a careful step forward, the blood in your veins frazzled and vibrating. Deny deny deny. As long as you can, y/n. “What gives you the right to be in Josh’s phone? Your invasiveness really knows no fucking bounds these days,” you clipped, voice shaking in spite of yourself.

He blinked a couple of times, a smile forming on his mouth. A wide, sarcastic one, which turned into an astounded scoff. “Really? That’s what we’re going to focus on right no–?” He shook his head, clicking the phone shut before taking a few cautious steps towards you. “His face I.D.; it opens to me. I’m his fucking identical twin.”

“Prove it,” you challenged.

“Was already planning on it,” he snipped. And right in your line of sight, he opened the phone, putting his face in front of it. Then, it was turned to show you. The same tantalizing screen as before. “Proven.”

“Well. . .,” you faltered, scrambling. “Why did you have it?”

“It was laying on the counter. I went to grab it and my keys,” he jingled the keys in his other hand. “I was going to take it to him,” he explained, sounding exasperated and patient all at once. An anomaly. “But when I picked it up, I looked down, and it opened.”

He took two steps back, once again, holding the phone up to show you the text screen. The gray bubble had never looked so horrifying as it did in that moment. The sweat accumulating on your forehead proved your entire skin care routine pointless. You were shaking. Your skin felt like it was going to fall off from the vibrations taking over underneath it.

“Now,” he started slowly. “Will you answer my question, please?”

His voice broke on the last word and it triggered a single tear to trickle down your cheek.

“Yes, I am.”

“Whose?”

“Really, Jake?” You questioned, the question making your heart break. How could he–?

His eyes went soft momentarily, pleading with you. “I just need to hear you say it, y/n.”

“It’s yours, Jake. The baby is yours. Who the fuck else?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: this monstrous chapter was a fucking doozy and you already know i wanna talk about it!! come to my asks and we shall chat <333

oh, but i'm just wondering........ what do you think reader's safe place will be? ;) a place? a person? both? hmmm....

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu <3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98

(and, due to t*mblr’s shitass guidelines, i will be adding the other tags in a reblog of the story!)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

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jakeyt · 6 months

Text

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in.

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smut (!!); unprotected sex (p in v); vivid recollection of forgotten childhood trauma; feelings of betrayal; jealousy; anxiety; panic attacks; mentions of therapy; mentions of an absent parent; sam is an idiot; abandonment issues; light mention of being under the influence of weed (lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 16.6k+

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: much to my disdain, this chapter has to be chopped in half. :((( ugh. the last part of this chapter has been a mf monster to write, and since i already finished up this entire first half today (a little more than half, actually), i figured i might as well post it. so, without further ado, here is the first part of chapter 8. . .

thank u to my girls @joshym & @alwaysonthemend for putting up w my ass. you two are the realest aaaand ilysm 😭

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

Two Weeks Later

Friday, August 26, 2022

The wound-up ball of tension in your tummy was about to let loose.

His thrusts were getting desperate, his heavy breaths were mixing with yours. And you couldn’t help but look between you, where your bodies met. . . it made your heart beat even more rapidly in your chest, seeing you connected in such a way. It looked so right. You felt full. You felt whole. In your drug-induced haze, your thoughts couldn’t help but wander as you thought of the final step to feeling close to him.

Fuck.

As soon as the thought entered your brain, you had to throw your head back in ecstasy. It was almost too much to imagine.

Your mind was so fucking cloudy– nothing sounded better in that moment than to feel him fully.

You wanted it. Needed it. And you knew this time might very well be the last. And you had to feel him in that way. Just once. You’d get a Plan-fucking-B in the morning. It was worth it to feel him in that way.

Just this once. This one last time. It would be the perfect ending to this beautiful chapter of your life.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

Saturday, August 13, 2022

“Yeah. Not too bad,” you shook your head, as if it were nothing. But you knew your expression was still sunken and weird.

He studied your face for a bit after you’d spoken, his expression said he wanted you to say more.

But you weren’t going to, and he knew it.

“What if I make you dinner, then we watch a movie or something?” He requested, his brow raising at the prospect.

He’d do what now? Your tummy did somersaults at the idea of him taking care of you. . .and especially like that. Cooking for you?

Surely he had an ulterior motive.

“What do you want in return?” You asked suspiciously, your tears evaporating as you squinted at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You want sex after you cook me dinner or something? An even trade?”

He blanched at that, drawing his head back a bit to observe you. “Even trade?” He scoffed, scratching his chin. “What the fuck even happens inside that brain of yours, y/n?”

Going into defense mode, you placed your hands on your hips to square up. “I’m still learning you, Jake. I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“The worst, per usual,” he said, rolling his eyes and flicking at the tip of his nose with his index. “Your favorite thing to assume about me is the worst. Always.”

“Not true,” you scoffed, flushing. He wasn’t wrong. . .you were regularly unfair towards him. But. . . “You haven’t exactly been trustworthy the entire time I’ve known you. Think back.”

“I don’t have to. I know I was an asshole and I wish like hell that I could take it back,” he revealed, sending earnest eyes your way, swiping a sweet thumb across your cheek, taking time to appreciate your left cheekbone. Then, he moved to bashfully tuck his hair behind his ears, taking a moment to untie the hair tie from his finger to pull his hair into a bun. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

You got momentarily sidetracked by watching the action of him pulling his hair up, suddenly wanting nothing more than to run your fingers through it, just as you liked to do.

Then you noticed him, waiting for a response as you drew your eyes from him.

Clearing your throat, you refocused your thoughts. “Don’t worry about it,” you brushed off, not wanting to harp on it for too long, for fear of putting your foot in your mouth. “It’s whatever. Really.”

“No, it’s not. I wasn’t kind to you at the beginning, and I’m sorry,” he continued, looking you directly in the eye, showing sincerity in his deep brown irises. “I was going through a lot and took it out on you and that wasn’t fair.”

Nodding, you took the bait. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair. But,” you walked a couple steps forward, closer to him. Then, reaching a hand out, you held the side of his face. Suddenly, it didn’t matter what an ass he’d been before. He’d proven that he wasn’t truly like that. And you understood hurt feelings making a person act irrationally. “I get it. I’ve been through some shit, too, and I reacted in ways I shouldn’t have.” Smirking, you looked past him and thought back to your therapy sessions from years ago, reciting a few of your counselor’s words that’d stuck with you. “‘All that matters is that you see it, own it, and then grow from it.’ That’s what my therapist always told me when I was a kid, anyway.”

Swiveling your eyes back up to see his expression, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes had softened significantly at your vulnerability, seeming to take your words in. His eyebrows dipped and lips tilted in concentration.

It always took you by surprise just how much his eyes showed his emotions. And how interested he always seemed in the things you would say.

“Very wise words,” was his response before he reached out to grip your bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then he was moving towards the kitchen, calling back to you. “I’m gonna go make some stir fry. Chicken?”

You watched him leave, wanting to follow him wherever he went.

But you didn’t.

After responding in agreement to his suggestion, you made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower and wind down before dinner.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next morning, you woke up, curled in a fluffy pallet of blankets on the floor.

Both of you, still in sweats. You, in a t-shirt, him, wearing no shirt (fuck yeah).

No sex had happened the night before. Jake’d thought it would be a good idea to do dinner and a movie, but you’d had the bright idea to make a pile of blankets to lay on to watch the movies. And, of course, you’d let yourself fall asleep next to him.

And. . . As much as you knew you shouldn’t admit it, it was fucking wonderful just falling asleep next to him. The act was so domestic that it should scare you. . . But all it did was make you want more.

More you couldn’t have.

But for now, you’d pretend you could.

Your head was resting on the same pillow as Jake’s, abandoning yours in your sleep for the sake of being closer to him.

Though, rather than pulling yourself away, you did the complete opposite. You rolled onto your belly and wrapped yourself around him, one arm over his abdomen, a hand splayed on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to let yourself feel so tied to him in the midst of your sadness. It completely abandoned the idea of not being emotionally dependent on him. . .

But you also weren’t so oblivious to not see that you’d broken a few rules already.

And, after your anxiety attack (because that’s exactly what it had been) last night, you decided it was better to just let yourself have this time with him now and not worry too much about the rules.

Rather than stressing about making sure you were following every fucking rule, you figured it would be worth it to appreciate the time you still did have with him. Because this wasn’t going to last forever, you felt it was a good idea to make the most of it while you could.

It was going to be gone soon (too soon), and you weren’t going to take for granted the time you had left.

So, when you woke up, instead of immediately initiating sex, you took time to admire him.

You propped your chin on the hand you’d put on his chest. Trying to memorize every freckle on his handsome face, tilted to the side, perfect for your line of sight. You studied him . . .his features, sharp, yet delicate. His tanned skin was perfectly sunkissed from spending the day in the sun at Sam’s AirBnb. His pretty lips, partially open like always. . .

You’d learned that he didn’t snore a bunch. But, every now and then, like this morning, he’d let out the occasional, slight snore in his sleep.

Usually, snoring of any kind annoyed you. Elsie was the worst snorer in the history of all mankind, and it always aggravated you. And any man you’d ever slept with who did it was always immediately woken up and kicked out of your bed.

But when Jake did it, it was nothing but endearing to you. It was something that he did that just made him him.

You pressed your body closer to his- he was so warm. It felt so overwhelmingly natural to be so close to him.

You watched the way his eyes fluttered behind his eyelids as he slept, wondering what he dreamt about. Did he dream? And were they vivid like yours?

Then, you absentmindedly ran a thumb lightly against his cheek, mesmerized by how soft his skin felt beneath your fingertips.

Just as your pointer finger went to trace the cupid’s bow on his upper lip, he started stirring, showing telling signs of waking up. You stopped yourself before he could possibly wake up with your damn finger on his lip.

Don’t want him to think I’m a fucking weirdo, you thought, resting your hand, again, on his chest. And I definitely don’t want him to know I was watching him sleep either. That would be embarrassing as hell.

This time, you laid your cheek on top of it, deciding to feign sleep for the duration of time it would take for him to wake up.

Not too long after, you felt a big breath lift your hand, then you heard his voice.

“I know when you’re watching me,” he commented, his voice deep from just having woken up.

You didn’t say anything, just lifted your head, an apologetic look on your face as you opened one eye at him in defeat.

He had a soft smile resting on his lips.

“It’s cute,” he said, reassuring you, sitting up a bit underneath you to lean his head against the couch, balancing on an elbow. He reached a hand up to come gently through your hair with his fingers.

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head, his face thoughtful as he continued to look at you. “Not at all,” he replied. Then, a smirk grew on his lips. “The morning after we fell asleep in your bed—.”

“What?”

He raised a brow, as if to say ‘really?’ “When you fell asleep on the couch, I got you to lay down and try to sleep. Then, you yelled at me from your room—effectively freaking me out, by the way—and then asked me to sleep with you?”

You blushed, feeling stupid that you momentarily forgot. “Oh. Yeah.”

He raised his brows with a hum, the same grin appearing on his lips again. “I watched you the morning after. You slept later than me that morning, and I was so glad you did,” he watched his movements as he tucked a lock of bed-head hair behind your ear.

“Why?”

“Because you look so fucking ethereal when you sleep,” he said. “Not that you don’t all the time. . .but when you sleep? Dammit, you just look so peaceful. And I love that you feel that peace in those moments. Not all of the stress.”

It was your turn to hum in response, completely caught off guard by his kind words. You didn’t know why it still did surprise you to hear him say such things. It wasn’t out of character to hear sweet things leave his mouth, but it still felt like a gentle surprise anytime he did say something like that.

Then, something in your heart told you to open up. Let him in.

And so, without considering anything else, you did.

“You know, I don’t always sleep peacefully,” you commented, your hand now tracing circles on his chest. “That’s a sort of new thing. Good dreams. Peaceful sleep.”

His brow raised, questioning your words.

“I haven’t always been able to sleep so well,” you started, apprehensively. But when his hand kept combing through your hair, and his eyes opened up to learn more, you decided it was safe. He was safe. You could share this. “There are things that happened in my past that caused a hell of a lot of pain, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve carried those painful things into my sleep with me. They’ve haunted me. Another thing my childhood therapist confirmed. The trauma caused me to have restless, terrible sleep.” You paused, remembering some of the nights you were too scared to be alone, sobbing and screaming in your bed, crying for help. Your eyes naturally watered at the memories, your voice wet with your next words. “Some fucking terrifying nightmares.”

You sniffled, trying to alleviate the oncoming tears. You didn’t want to cry in front of him two days in a row. But, here you were. Jake brushed more hair behind your ear, then put that arm behind his head to lean up. The other strong arm wrapped protectively around your waist. He massaged shapes with his thumb, into the hip he held.

Your eyes closed on their own, relishing the feeling of him reacting so gently to you.

They reopened when you heard him clear his throat. His deep chocolate irises were shadowed with concern. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he pointed out, continuing to rub your waist. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to tell me anything that may hurt you.”

You considered his words for a few seconds, but ultimately decided what you wanted to do.

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay. I want to listen.”

You’d only ever opened up about all of this to Elsie (because she was there), and then Josh when you became his friend. But the urge to tell Jake about all of it was far too overwhelming to ignore. It felt as though you had to tell him.

“Where do I even begin?” You pondered aloud. “What do you want to know?”

He hummed, smooshing his lips together in thought for a few seconds, squinting his eyes in thought as he peered up to the ceiling. You tapped your fingers against his chest, waiting for his input.

“When did the bad dreams start? Can you pinpoint an age or anything?”

“After my mom left,” you replied, curling further into his body.

He accepted your motion, encompassing you, keeping you close.

“How old were you?”

“I was ten. Left me sitting on the front porch as she left in a string of curse words. . . Blaming Els and me for all of it,” you stared into the space just past his head, thinking back on it. You felt brave revisiting it at this moment, for whatever reason. “I can’t recall everything she said that day or before, but what I do remember both from that day and before that day. . .,” you stopped, your face flinching a bit at the dark thoughts. “. . . It’s not good.”

Your skin crawled, and you weren’t liking the feeling. Needing to center yourself, you decided to look at him again to gauge his reaction.

His face was rather relaxed, keeping a consistent air of calm to support you through your responses. “You doing okay?” He questioned, checking in. His brows dipped in concern for a moment, waiting for you.

Your lips lifted, back in the moment with him.

This is the present time. He is what’s happening. The past is the past and I’m bigger than it, you recited.

Some of the words were those advised by your childhood therapist. Truthfully, the lady had had some wise words. Jake’d been right when he’d come to that conclusion the night before.

A quiet, content smile was on your face when you responded. “Yeah. I promise. I want to tell you this.”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice quiet like your smile. “Who did you live with after?”

“My grandparents,” you said. “And Elsie.”

“Stayed with them until. . .?”

“Until I moved out to go to school at Pratt. When I moved here.”

“And you’re going to school for. . .?”

You grinned, appreciating his variation of questions. “Majoring in writing,” you groaned as the last word fell from your mouth. “And minoring in music.”

“Don’t like writing anymore?”

You sat on that for a second, then answered. “It’s not that I don’t like it. . . It’s that it’s not my passion,” you paused your motion on his chest and reached down to grab his hand that held your body. You lifted it up from under the fluffy blanket that covered you both. Holding his hand, you traced his calloused fingertips. “I admire how you went after your passion when you had the chance. I wish I’d gone after my own.”

He watched you, seeming to measure your words. “And yours is music, too.”

“Mhm. . . But not playing it,” you added. “Just listening to it– studying it. Learning more about it. I love writing, but I breathe those melodies.”

He smiled in response to that. “Me too. And I like that you feel that way, too,” he commented, letting your fingers play with his. “But who’s to say you couldn’t combine the two? Become a music journalist? A lyricist?”

For some reason, you’d never considered the latter. But it felt as though a fresh breath of air had been breathed into you. “I’ve never thought of being a lyricist, but that sounds. . .”

“Incredible?” He smiled.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I wonder how you get a job like that, though.”

You let go of his hand to fold both of yours on his chest, your chin on top of them. He moved his hand to encircle your waist again. “I’ll help you find something,” he assured. Your belly buzzed. The idea of him helping you with something so personal to you . . . it made you feel everything all at once. “Somewhere. You live in New York City. . .I’m sure the possibilities are endless.”

“I’m sure you’re correct,” you agreed, admiring the way his breaths would lift your chin, the way his bicep flexed as he moved the bent arm behind his head.

A comfortable silence crept over the two of you, him so obviously watching you– admiring you. It couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

His next words confirmed it.

“Even in the grayness of this morning, you shine so bright,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “You fucking glow, y/n. You’re just brilliant.”

Not sure what to even begin to say to that, all you could utter was, “Thank you.” The sound of tears in your throat, behind your response, was a surprise, though.

“Has no one ever told you?”

“Well, Josh says sweet things like that. And Elsie is great at encouraging me, too. . . But hearing you say something like that. . . those words. It just feels good. I don’t know,” you shook your head, a tear falling to meet his tanned chest. “And no one has ever said those exact words to me, no.”

“You are all of that and more, my lo—,” he cleared his throat. “You are so many things wrapped in one, y/n. So many fantastic things.”

“Stop,” you sniffed, for the second time that morning. More tears fell onto his chest. “You don’t have to say things like that. I promise I’ll still want to have sex with you if you don’t,” you laughed, wiping your leftover tears. The words sounded funny (true, but still funny) as they left your mouth.

“I want to tell you those things,” he said, firm in his response. “You deserve to hear those good things. Sex or not.”

“Thank you,” again, was all you could say.

“But the sex is pretty good,” he smirked as he said the words, his eyes glinting mischievously as he skirted a hand up the back of your shirt, skating fingers along your bare back. His eyes found yours when he got closer to your shoulders. “No bra?”

“You know I don’t wear one when I sleep.”

“So I’m assuming you knew we were gonna fall asleep out here?”

“Mhm.”

“And you still let it happen?”

I did. . . And even though I shouldn’t, I keep breaking all of my own stupid rules, you thought in defeat.

“Wanted it to,” you remarked.

He hummed, watching you with a curious look in his beautiful eyes. You knew he was most probably thinking the same thing as you.

But, all he said next was, “Can I ask you more questions?”

“Yeah,” you whispered in the quietness of the morning. The rumbling of thunder outside, followed by the pitter-patter of rain droplets against the living room window made goosebumps grow on your skin. “Nothing better than a quiet, rainy morning.”

“You are correct,” he replied in an approving tone. “So. . .your mother. . . Is it okay if I ask about her?”

“Yes,” your lips quirked. “I’ve already told you as much, silly.”

“I know, I know. . . It’s just a lot, I’m sure.”

You nodded to confirm. “It is. But I want to share this with you.”

“Thank you.”

“For trauma dumping?” You giggled.

“For trusting me,” he said, serious in his reply. His eyes flicked to every inch of your face, taking you in. His hand, now massaging the tension from your neck.

Miraculous that he just seemed to know the place where your tension settled.

Not that it wasn’t a common place for tension to reside. But you wondered if he’d noticed you favoring the bottom of your neck during tense situations, over time.

Your heart hammered at the intimacy of the moment. You were so close to just leaning up and kissing him, but you didn’t want to cut conversation short. It was too enjoyable for you.

It felt so freeing.

Trying to bring you both back to the topic at hand, you inquired. “What was your question about my mom?”

“Oh, yes,” he refocused, his hand now moving up to massage the roots at the base of your head. More goosebumps grew at the sensation. “Do you still talk to her?”

“Uh, no. Haven’t even seen the woman since she left. She hurt me so bad back then. . .I’ve kind of closed off the fact that she even exists,” you said. “She wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s true. I’m just glad for the family I do still have,” you paused, deciding if you wanted to tack on the other words you were thinking. There was no reason not to, you’d already bared so much to him in a span of minutes. “Glad I have those people who want me.”

“I want you,” he wrapped a hand at the back of your neck, cupping the back of your head as one thumb rubbed over your pulse point. His eyes bore into yours, begging you to understand the words.

The next few moments were quiet and filled with everything left unsaid. What it was that remained unsaid, you didn’t know. Or maybe you did know.

He eventually let go, clearing his throat to show he was moving on. “Does Elsie feel the same? Closed off and all that?”

You blinked a couple times before responding.

“Y-yeah. Pretty much. She and I are on the same wavelength about 98 percent of the time.”

“Imagine 100 percent of the time,” he blew out a breath, his eyes getting big as he stared off.

“Twin life?”

He looked back at you, a grin on his pretty lips. “Twin life,” he confirmed. Pensiveness painted his features, then he spoke again. “Speaking of . . . Did you meet Josh at the record store?”

“Yes,” you responded. “Almost 4 years ago.”

“I’m jealous.”

“That I had that time with Josh while you missed him so bad?”

“Psh,” he said, rolling his eyes. “No. I’ve spent enough time with that fucker through the years,” he snickered, winking at you. “I’m jealous that he got all that time with you. Getting to know you while I was in Illinois, wasting away.”

Your tummy lit up with butterflies again. But you treaded carefully with this topic. You didn’t need him making any assumptions about Josh again.

There was no reason for him to be jealous. And honestly, you wanted to show him as much.

“Well, you shouldn’t get too jealous,” you said, moving from laying down. You positioned your legs on either side of his hips, then sat your ass on the tops of his thighs, opening yourself up to him.

He took in a sharp breath, and smoothed his hands over the tops of your thighs, then slipped his hands past the waistband of your sweats, giving your ass a generous squeeze.

“Why’s that?” He asked, his brow lifting in question. He brought himself up a little more, leaning against the couch. As he moved to sit up, he used his hands on your ass to push your crotch against his hardening cock.

The wet arousal in your panties pressed against you. You gasped at the feeling.

His lip curled to show his top row of perfectly straight, white teeth.

So fucking handsome.

“Well,” you ground your hips against him, his head lolling back momentarily. He got back by bucking up into you, just the slightest bit. It caused a breathy moan to leave your lips. “He will never have me like this, for one,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his face closer to your chest. “I only want you like this, Jake.”

Fuck. That felt so genuine slipping from your lips. And you wouldn’t tell him this (you could barely admit it to yourself), but you really did only want him. Like, in general. Out of all other men, he was the only one you craved.

When did that even happen?! Your incredulous thoughts could have taken over had he not effectively distracted you.

He moved his hands up under your shirt, abandoning your ass. His eyes were glued to your hardening nipples as his thumbs pressed into your tummy, massaging your hot skin.

It was getting harder and harder to believe there’d been a time that you would have stopped this—out of fear and a bunch of shit. Leaving him on his own, and you sulking, feeling conflicted as hell.

Though, these days, you couldn’t leave him.

There was nothing that could pull you away from him in moments like these.

(And that was a scary thought you could consider later.)

Your body was drawn to him, putty under his touch. Bending down the slightest bit, you curled your hands comfortably in his ever-growing locks. Your nose nestled into the part of his hair right behind his ear. One of your favorite parts of his body was that little crook behind his ear. You didn’t know why. . .

But dammit— he always smelled so delicious. His cologne held hints of sandalwood and amber. . . And something so delectably Jake.

And God, you loved his hair. The citrusy smell of his shampoo. The softness of the locks. The length.

Fuck, the length.

Silly as it may’ve been, you were so glad he was growing it out. The longer it got, the more his heat scale increased. And at this point, he was getting dangerously hot.

His cock nudged against you, leaving nothing to the imagination underneath the layers of clothing. Anytime you’d move your hips to entice him, his cock throbbed beneath you, making your panties more and more uncomfortable with how wet they were.

You felt his hands flatten, traveling up your tummy slowly. But just as he was about to touch your breasts, he switched directions, running his calloused fingertips down your back instead.

“Asshole,” you whispered in his ear. You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking.

The little raspy laugh beneath you gave him away.

Your skin grew goosebumps at the sensation of his rough fingertips making soft shapes on your back.

But you wanted his hands headed back in the direction they were before.

Your nipples were blatantly expanding the fabric of your t-shirt, begging for him.

And, when you pulled away to observe his face, he was already waiting for you, his eyes burning into yours, all the way down to your heart.

Though. . .he didn’t stay there for long. He let his gaze travel back down to your breasts, his pupils dilated, filling his iris almost completely black.

He looked hungry and your hips were moving of their own accord at that point. Every bit of him you got was making you need more, more, more.

“I love your fucking tits,” he growled, wrapping one strong arm behind your back and effectively placing you beneath him.

Your breath momentarily left your lungs, making you release a huge sigh as he arranged you so your back laid nicely against the soft blankets and pillows.

“What do you like about them?”

He groaned, smoothing his hand up your stomach again. His hand cupped the underside of one breast. You sighed at finally feeling his hands where you wanted them.

“I love that they’re yours,” he started, reaching his thumb to rub and pinch at your left nipple. “I love that the color of your nipples is the same color as your pretty lips,” he lifted your shirt the slightest bit, sucking one bud into his mouth, kissing it like he would your mouth. Then, he replaced his mouth with his hand, squeezing your breast as you arched into his touch.

Finally, he connected his mouth with yours, his bottom lip slipping between your lips to deepen it just a bit. You moaned into his mouth as he did yours. Then, he pulled away, leaning on his forearm. Switching between tits with one hand, he cupped the bottom of each, moving his hand under them enough to watch them jiggle. “And I love watching them bounce as I’m fucking you.”

“Shit, Jake,” you moaned, pushing yourself further into his hand. You were aching for him to be inside of you. “Fuck me so you can see what you like, baby.”

He sat up, slipped his sweats (there having been no underwear underneath, apparently) down his thighs, thick cock springing free. The sight made your belly swirl and your center wet with need.

Once he was completely naked, he repositioned above you.

But your skin was itching with the feeling of still being clothed. You needed to feel his warm skin against your own.

“Move,” you motioned for him to back up. You sat up as he took the hint, sitting back on his knees beside you.

His eyebrows wrinkled and his eyes grew worried. “Where are you go—?”

But he went silent as the t-shirt left your body and your bare chest flashed at him. And as you stripped yourself of the shirt, your boobs bounced a little, just as he liked.

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching for himself. You watched, your throat tightening, as he looked down at his shaft, his mouth falling open, just slightly, as he gave himself a couple of short, quick pumps.

Dear God.

But he seemed dissatisfied.

And when you’d normally stop him and tell him to let you do it instead, you didn’t this time.

But it seemed he still wanted your help.

You just sat in awe as he stretched his hand out to you. You were still as a statue as he gripped your chin, pulling it down the slightest bit. You followed his lead and opened your mouth more with his gesture. Then, you watched as he moved the hand, palm open, in front of your mouth.

“Spit for me, baby,” he nodded at the hand in front of you.

You didn’t argue, doing as you were told, heart racing as you spit in his hand.

After you’d done what he wanted, he wrapped the hand around the base of his thick cock, giving himself a few long strokes from his skilled hand.

Though, as soon as he threw his head back with one particularly generous, tight-fisted move, you decided that it was officially past time to get naked.

You made quick work of your sweats, his eyes flicking up to watch you pull them off in a flurry. Then you hooked your fingers into your soaked underwear, getting them off as fast as possible.

You wanted to be the one to please, rather than his hand.

You were growing jealous of the fist, as it held his pretty dick the way your pussy was aching to.

When you were finally just as bare as he was, you laid on your back again. You spread one leg wide to open up for him, keeping the other flat, against your heap of blankets. In this position, he’d be able to see the bottom curve of your ass, your full breasts, and your slick pussy.

He didn’t see you, though, as he’d gone to focus on pleasuring himself, eyebrows drawn and whimpering a bit as he continued to watch his hand work at a steady pace.

“Jake,” you called quietly, urging him to look at you and come to you.

As soon as his name left your mouth, he looked up from where he was watching himself work his cock. After one hungry once-over from his dark eyes, he bit his lip.

“You ready?” You asked, slowly spreading both legs a little more for him, reaching two fingers to slide through your wet folds, shivering at the feeling of finally being touched.

“Want me to eat your sweet pussy, baby?” He questioned, his voice a velvety rasp.

Ready to please, his hand left his thick cock in order to move the short distance it took to be closer to you.

“I want that pretty dick inside of me,” you responded, your voice exuding all of the need you felt running through your veins. “Now.”

And in a flash, he was on top of you again. His tip, damp from your saliva, nudged its way to the place it knew so well.

Before any more words could be spoken, he pushed inside of you in one swift take. The two of you sighed in unison, relief flashing over his face, as you were sure it did yours, too.

He leaned both forearms on either side of your head, keeping his handsome face close to yours as he fucked you, thick cock stretching you well with each deliberate, hard thrust.

His eyes were trained on your heaving tits, doing just what he wanted them to.

“I was starting to get jealous—,” you paused, whining with one particular snap of his hips, his dick hitting your secret spot. “Of-of that hand,” you said, your voice shaking on the words.

His forehead was beaded with sweat already, ever-energetic in his pursuits—whether it be playing music or in the bedroom.

“Don’t be,” he responded, pinning you with a stern look from his eyes, tone firm. “Your pussy feels better than anything else.”

The telling sounds of your bodies connecting only added to the ecstasy of the moment.

“Took-took y-you too long to get the hint,” you panted.

“It was a few seconds,” he said, rocking his hips extra hard with the last word.

Your toes curled with a moan.

“Still too long.”

“Impatient.”

“No, I just know what I want,” you grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues fighting to lick further into the other’s open mouth.

With one final swipe of his tongue against your teeth, he pulled away. “You’re high maintenance.”

You were suddenly self-conscious, overcome with a feeling that you weren’t good enough for him. That you annoyed him.

You covered it up with a defensive, haughty tone. “So?”

“I fucking love it.”

Oh.

Your body opened up at that, seemingly on its own. You bent your knees, spreading your thighs even more, letting him sink deeper.

You grabbed at his biceps, gripping them to give yourself some sort of grounding as he started giving all he had, each thrust of his harder than the one before it.

It was painful and delicious all at once.

Fuck he felt so good.

The way he filled you was unlike any man before him. He fit so fucking well, and your center never failed to grip him just right.

“I also love the way your pussy feels,” he said, breathing heavily. “You like how I feel?”

You grinned, feeling drunk on him. Your belly clenched, simultaneous to your center with each rock of his hips. Sighing, you let your hands move to hold onto his strong shoulders.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” you sighed, looking down to where your bodies met. It was almost too much. When you went to look up, something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. You squeezed his shoulder. “Jake.”

A concerned look painting his features, he stopped, checking you. “What? What’s wrong?”

You smiled softly, cupping his cheek, rolling your hips once, needing the pressure of him moving inside of you. “Nothing at all,” you went to tuck his hair behind one of his ears, reassuring. “Just got an idea.”

He picked up his movements: languid strokes, this time, making you forget about everything besides him momentarily. “And what is that?”

You kept on when you could find the words. “I—uhhh,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as he moved to lay his belly against yours, knowing the friction would be perfect for your swollen, throbbing clit. “I want to pl—oh!,” you sucked in a breath, seeing stars for a moment. Once you were able, you continued. “Wanna play a record.”

“Right now?” He grunted, making one hard rock of his hips into yours.

Your toes curled, still feeling the softness of his tummy on your tender bundle of nerves as his tip repeatedly hit your secret spot. “Yeah.”

He came to a slow stop, eyes trained on yours. He stayed there, watching you with an unspoken question in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing like they did when he thought deeply.

“Is that okay?” You asked, trying to break him from his reverie, nervous you’d freaked him out with the odd request.

“Y-yeah,” he shook his head, hair effectively falling from where you’d tucked it. “That sounds incredible, actually.”

Butterflies let loose in the pit of your stomach. Of course he’d like the idea. He loved music just the same as you did.

He pulled out, and you instantly missed him. But you watched him lazily, dreamily as he stood up smoothly, and walked to the shelf of records (now a mixture of his and yours, of course). “Which one?” He wondered aloud.

You sat up on your elbows and watched him as he thumbed through the records, appreciating the view. “You pick and I’ll let you know if I like.”

As he searched through the albums, you let your mind wander with your eyes.

His body was a work of art.

His thighs, muscular, from the way they flexed when he’d move his body with his guitar on stage.

The perfectly round ass that was undoubtedly gifted to him by the body gods.

And those broad shoulders that were strong to match his equally strong personality.

When he turned a bit towards you, his eyes quickly scanning the back of a vinyl, your eyes instantly found his straining dick. His tip, still swollen from being pulled mid-sex. Your clit thrummed and twitched, seeing how it now glistened from your dripping pussy. Dammit you needed him to hurry.

But most of all, damn this idea for taking him away from you.

Once he turned to you fully, an Aretha Franklin vinyl in hand, you found his eyes. They were questioning, but you looked away from them to admire your most favorite parts of his body.

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck.

There were truly no words for the way he was built— pecs naturally firm and rounded with lean muscle.

And his stomach— just a little soft and the perfect finish to it all, complimenting him just right— finishing out his sturdy, powerful stature.

His aura was compelling. He was utterly beautiful, with his sparkling brown eyes, flowing chestnut locks, and sharp features. And the way he was built matched so well with how he carried himself. Without even trying, he could control any room he was in.

He was honestly what all of your dreams were made of. . . And in moments like these, you wished more than anything that he was yours.

But he wasn’t.

And that bitter thought helped to snap you out of your trance, finally looking at him to answer.

He was smirking, knowingly. “I love your body, too, Beautiful.”

You flushed, rolling your eyes to play off the way his words made your heart flutter. Glancing briefly at the record, squinting to truly recognize it, you nodded at the choice. “Aretha is always a yes.”

“Agreed.”

He turned to put it on the Crosley, and as soon as the needle hummed against the record, making its wonderful crackling sound, you knew you’d made the right choice.

The sound added to the bliss you were already feeling on this quiet, rainy morning.

The combination of watching him walk back to you, with some of the most incredible music backing him. . . Shit.

“I hope you don’t mind. I skipped past the first few,” he said as he came back to you, falling to his knees beside you.

You smiled up at him. “Perfectly fine. This is the best song on the entire record anyway.”

“I think so, too,” he said, eyes lifting with a grin.

When he went to lean over you to pick up where you left off, you scooted over, motioning for him to lay down instead.

Without question, he did as you wanted, and as Aretha sang of a man making her feel like a natural woman, you sank onto him, letting him stretch you so well.

The look on his face when you fucked him was one of your favorite sights. He always watched you so closely. . .whether it be your face, your breasts, your ass, or your pussy that wrapped around him, so tight. He’d scrunch his brows and let his mouth open a bit with certain movements of your hips, and bite his lip at other times. . .

But, in moments like this one, when one hand would be holding your face while the other gripped your hip, a small, close-mouthed smile on his soft, plush lips. . . His emotion-filled eyes, boring into yours . . .

Your world tipped slightly on its axis when he’d do shit like that. Moments like this made a whole lot of gray in what should have been a strictly black and white situation.

And, as you listened to the soulful voice flowing quietly from the record player, your thoughts drifted further. . .

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me,

Till your kiss helped me name it.

This song perfectly summed up how you felt about this man. The same man who had been the bane of your existence so recently was now a light on your darkest days.

And, as you watched him, his hips beginning to move on their own, making you feel complete and right. . . You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him.

And not just because of the sex. It was him. Having him around made you feel . . . whole.

Without evening knowing or trying, he’d been helping you find missing pieces to your puzzle.

Hidden pieces of your soul that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Some good. Some bad. But all you.

Pieces you’d forgotten even existed.

And by just being near you, he made you feel authentic in a way you’d never felt with another man.

As you rode him, leaning down on your forearms to get close to his face, you gave him a long kiss. A kiss that you hoped said thank you. . . Because, truly, you were so grateful for him.

But as you separated your lips from his and pressed your perspired forehead to his own, you looked into the deep pools of his eyes that held so much. And you knew you had to say the words out loud.

“Thank you,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand as you felt new tears cloud your vision. Your hips were moving on their own, matching the slow rocking of his hips. You were holding onto him, keeping rhythm with the song as you had this moment.

He held your gaze, a secret smile forming in his eyes as he spoke. “Thank you.”

You studied him seriously, the feeling in his eyes seeming to match your own. Both of you stayed there for a minute, taking the other in.

You kissed him once more. And, rather than continuing the conversation, you focused on finding a release for you both.

Just as another favorite of yours came on.

The opening chorus resonated with you just like every time you’d heard it before, but this time it was different—better—as he laid underneath you, holding you. . . Staring at you with eyes that held the motherfucking world.

Like the sweet morning dew,

I took one look at you,

And it was plain to see you were my destiny.

With my arms open wide, I threw away my pride.

Feeling everything all at once, you spread your legs wide, thighs stretching out on top of his to get as close as you could to him. Then you bent your legs at the knees, and leaned toward him, laying on top of him and nuzzling into that sweet spot behind his ear. You made yourself comfortable as you knew this would be your undoing.

It always was from this position.

And this song was just feeding into the emotions coursing through your heart, intensifying all of it at once.

Your favorite way to finish was in this exact position, and you knew at that moment, that it would take you no time.

Fucking him at that moment felt extremely dissimilar to all of your times before. The damned music was untying every string you’d used to close up your fragile heart.

While lost in your sudden wave of thought, he took over, knowing all the moves. He’d grown familiar with this position, just as you had. He knew your body. What you liked.

He grabbed a hip and a handful of your ass, and moved your body down forcefully to meet him while also thrusting his hips up.

The contrast of motion and the tugging at your heart helped every piece of you to get the much needed stimulation. And fuck if it didn’t make your thighs shake.

You whined, your toes curling as, simultaneously, his tip hit your g-spot and your clit nudged against the lower part of his tummy.

“Jakey,” you moaned.

“I know,” he breathed hotly, not letting up on his motions in the slightest. “I can fucking feel you pulse around me, baby.”

“You like it?” You sighed, still next to his ear, needing to hear the affirmation from him.

“Best fucking feeling in the whole world.”

Your tummy lurched at that, butterflies fluttered their wings.

That’s how you feel for me, too, you thought.

And with one more strategic move of his hips, you saw stars. You felt every nerve ending light up. Your skin felt like static.

“Oooohhh,” you moaned, your body shaking.

He groaned, whining a bit. “Y/n—I’m—.”

You felt far away as he tapped your hip, sinking into all things Jake, Jake, Jake.

You jostled back to reality right as he lifted you off of him, depositing you as carefully and quickly as he could on the covers next to you both in no time.

Just as you laid down, he was instantly on his knees, warm seed spilling onto your tummy, right where he’d placed you.

You blinked and shook your head, registering what’d almost happened. Your thoughts were flying— going crazy.

“Fuck,” he said, flopping down next to you as he slid a hand down his face. “That was a close one.”

“Yeah,” was all you could mutter, your heart beating hard against your chest.

Before much more could be said, he sealed the interaction with a slow, sure kiss and got up to fix you both breakfast.

Now that you’d had his cooking the night prior, you were really looking forward to the breakfast. You’d learned the man was extremely gifted in culinary— just as he was in music.

But, even as the bacon crackled and the vanilla-laced smell of fresh waffles wafted in through the open layout of the apartment, you weren’t really thinking about his cooking.

No; inside your mind, you were swirling back and forth with how close you’d felt to him. How sex was starting to feel so effortless and all-encompassing with him. . . And that coupled with how much you’d been feeling in the moment?

It was obvious he’d carved a place in your heart.

A big one.

But you’d worry about that later.

Because. . .what was clawing at you more was one particular thought.

You now had a nagging curiosity of what it might feel like to have him actually finish inside of you.

How in the hell had you let it come to this?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Every year, it was tradition to have a family dinner at your grandparents’ house to celebrate a new year of school.

But this year, on a whim, you decided to make it a little different. . . You acted on impulse and invited Jake to it.

To your surprise (and excitement), he’d agreed with no hesitation.

And before the annoying voice in your head could say anything, you reassured it that him coming with you wasn’t a couple-y thing.

Not at all.

You’d had time to think back on the way you’d started cracking during sex the other morning.

And you had already started the process of tying your heart back up, protecting yourself from a whirlwind of unnecessary, surely unreciprocated emotion.

He liked having sex with you, that was it. And it could be that way for you, too. It had to be.

The flash of feelings you’d felt during sex a few mornings back honestly meant nothing— you chalked it up to just being caught up in the moment. You had simply gotten far too ahead of yourself.

As you got ready that night, you thought back on the few times your grandma and grandpa had asked about your roommate. You were sure you’d only thought to invite him, because you’d been subconsciously thinking it would appease your wondering grandparents.

You also just really enjoyed spending time with him. That much you could come to terms with. And, admittedly, you really wanted him to meet your grandparents.

Of course, you were a little nervous at the prospect of him meeting your them (more your judgmental grandfather than your grandma). But, nonetheless, you were really looking forward to having him there with you.

And, the cherry on top: Elsie would be there to alleviate any weird tension your grandparents may add. . . So, truly, it was the ideal time to have him come meet them.

At 5:00, thirty minutes before it was time to leave, he still wasn’t home. You knew he had a few lessons today, but he’d assured you that he would be home on time.

Though, you couldn’t help feeling nervous that maybe he’d regretted saying yes, and he was going to run late on purpose just to get out of going to dinner.

Before your thoughts could get too crazy, you got a text from him.

Jake, 5:10 p.m.: so I’m still working with this fuckin client :(

But at the sight of the text, your stomach sank.

I knew it, you thought, downhearted. He’s gonna try to get out of it.

Then, another text came through.

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: and I think it’s the time of day

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: but I’ve had like 3 Ubers in a row cancel on me for my scheduled time

He’s really pulling out all the stops, you thought, feeling your chest tighten, anger coming into play. Just say you don’t want to go.

While you were sulking, you noticed one more text pop up in its gray bubble.

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: I hate to ask you to do this

Here it comes.

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: but can you pick me up on your way to your grandparents house? I really don’t wanna miss it

You could’ve sighed with relief. In fact, you did. Watching the screen for a few more seconds, you contemplated waiting a bit to respond. Play the classic ‘hard-to-get’ and ‘make-sure-he-knows-I-don’t-take-this-too-seriously-game’ and keep him on the line. . .

But you couldn’t wait. And probably too quickly, you texted back.

You, 5:13 p.m.: I’d be happy to. I’ll be there soon. Just send me the address.

And within five minutes, the address was sent as you were scooping Stevie some fresh food in her dish. And as soon as you saw it, you were making your way out the door, hurriedly making your way to the car.

Why am I so anxious to see him when I literally just saw him this morning? You thought, as you started the car, hearing your soul music playlist take over the car’s stereo. Calm the fuck down, y/n.

But you couldn’t help it as you pulled quickly out of the parking lot, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you pulled up to his client’s house, you suddenly saw the appeal of the private lessons. You were sure he got paid good fucking bucks to give lessons to whoever it was that lived in this mansion of a place.

You were busy admiring the giant home, when you felt your stomach flutter at the sight of him, carrying his acoustic guitar case.

Though, your gaze didn’t stay on him for long as you caught sight of the beautiful woman with flowing, jet-black locks, walking out of the door behind him, her pristine black dress. Her full ass, big tits, and small waist accentuated perfectly in the outfit. You saw her blatantly checking him out and saying something as she followed behind him.

Whatever it was she was saying, it made him laugh. Truly laugh. His dimples were showing and his mouth was open wide, then he said something back.

But he was seemingly oblivious to her glances at his ass as he continued walking ahead of her. The perfectly straight, gleaming white smile on her glowing caramel skin was wide with whatever he said and whatever it was that she was saying in return.

Your blood was boiling. And it just got worse as you watched her come up behind him and lightly grab his bicep, turning him gently to face her.

For a few brief seconds, you watched in terror, afraid that you were about to witness a kiss between him and this woman.

Thankfully, you didn’t.

But what you did see still made tears climb up your throat.

You watched him sit his case down, and then saw an extremely genuine, heartfelt hug take place between the two. It wasn’t a quick, friendly side hug, it was a full-on hug. She was grasping him tightly, holding the back of his head as she clung to him. Her eyes closed as she continued speaking over his shoulder.

At one moment, her mouth closed and you saw just how beautifully shaped and plush her soft lips were. She was strikingly gorgeous. Everything about her.

Was this her house? Was he giving her lessons? Or did she have a kid that he was giving lessons to?

Whatever the case may have been, you had to swallow back every tear that was threatening to escape as he started walking toward you, case in hand again.

She stayed on the sidewalk, watching him walk down the steps to the curb where you’d pulled up.

Right as he got to your car, he turned around to wave at her once more.

And then, what you heard him say through the closed door made your heart fall to the very pit of your stomach.

“It’s my favorite part of the day!” He laughed heartily, before finally opening the door to the backseat.

His favorite part of the day? Was it being with her? Fuck.

You turned to face the front of the car, gathering yourself as you stared out the windshield. You were so embarrassed. For a variety of reasons.

Your hands shook as you held tightly to the steering wheel.

The back door shut, and you prepared yourself for him being close to you by clearing your throat and reminding yourself of a few important things.

We are not together. I don’t love him. God no I don’t, you shook your head at the idea of that. And he can be with whomever he pleases. It’s none of my business.

But when he opened the door to the car, all thoughts from before vanished. The musings from your self-mantra and your worries of the girl had dissipated as soon as he spoke in his ever-raspy, sweet tone.

“Hi, beautiful.”

You glanced over at him, a tight smile on your lips working to mask any worry that there may have been. Working to convince him and yourself that things were okay.

You couldn’t help but ask. “Is she a client or does she have a child taking lessons?”

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his nose. “Oh, she’s the client,” he said, his smile matching his tone as he spoke of her. “She’s doing really well. I’m proud of her progress.”

The next question slipped from your lips out of pure curiosity, nothing more. “Does she live in that giant house all by herself?”

“Yep. Single. No kids,” he affirmed. “Crazy, huh? Oh! I almost forgot,” he reached over the armrest and into the backseat to click open his case and get something from it.

His proximity to you was overwhelming, the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and amber infiltrating your senses.

Please want me more than you might want her, you pleaded silently.

When he was sitting in his seat again, he lifted to reach into his back pocket, getting his wallet out.

“What did you almost forget?” You inquired, trying to mask your ridiculous thoughts with a plain tone.

“This,” he held up a guitar pick, before opening his wallet to put it inside. “My lucky pick. I always use it at my lessons. Forgot to put it back in my wallet today. Got carried away talking to her.”

Fuck.

Then, without meaning to, you caught his gaze. The a/c blowing against your hair and face, cooling you off from your distressing thoughts.

But your bearings were almost lost again with the sincerity you found in his eyes, and with the hand that fell to squeeze your thigh as he leaned over the console to kiss your cheek.

Closing your eyes momentarily, you turned your attention back to the road right before you put the car in drive.

We are not together. Everything is fine. Whatever we are— it’s fine. Stop worrying, you chanted all of this internally as you increased the volume on Victoria Monet, gearing up for your playlist to serenade you for the duration of the drive. Drown out your ridiculous train of thought.

“I actually like this,” Jake commented, his hand still on your thigh. His thumb sweeped wide circles on your inner thigh, burning through your jeans. “What’s it called?”

Coming to the stop sign at the end of the street, you waited for the car on your right to go as you responded.

“We Might Even Be Falling In Love,” was your simple response, right before you took your turn at the four way stop.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The car ride to your grandparents’ was slightly tense at first, but eventually you got over it as Jake started making his regular small talk. He was the same as always. Anytime you talked with him, he reminded you of his brother with how intent and caring he was about every word that left your mouth.

But, for you, it meant more coming from him than it did Josh.

Jake was just. . .special to you. And you wanted to be special to him.

It was a relief. And by the time you pulled up to the quaint, familiar house, everything felt the same as it always did. You were feeling better. . he was him and things felt normal. Felt okay.

As you walked up to the front door, him following you closely behind, you felt comfortable. And when you entered the house, it felt so good to have Jake in tow, the never-changing atmosphere of the home combining perfectly with having him near.

You were giddy with the fact that he was there.

And it just continued to get better as the night wore on.

Both of your grandparents greeted Jake with open arms, real welcoming smiles adorned their wrinkling faces. Your chest, warm with contentment as you watched the three of them interact. Jake, continuing the theme of coming out of his shell, as he made smooth conversation with your people.

As you’d been standing in the entryway chatting, Elsie’d rounded the corner from the kitchen. And to your delighted surprise, Josh had been in tow behind her.

You knew they’d decided to take it to the next level after the night at the bowling alley. They were becoming the power couple. So it made sense that he’d be here tonight, too.

Everything was absolutely perfect. Elsie and Josh being there made the ideal mix of people for Jake’s first time meeting your family.

Then dinner came.

“Joshua, I will never get over how sweet it was for you to make the drive to us with Elsie a few weeks ago,” your grandmother commented as she poked some salad with her fork. “Didn’t leave her alone on that late night drive.”

“She is in good hands with you,” your grandfather agreed, making sure to catch Josh’s eyes to emphasize his words.

“I’m lucky to have her,” Josh smiled in response, kissing Elsie’s cheek.

Everything was going great, conversation flowing until your grandmother spoke next.

“Y/n, honey, how long have you been seeing Jake?”

Your eyes stayed trained on your plate, suddenly feeling all eyes on you. You heard Jake clear his throat from where he sat next to you. Fuck. Of course she’d ask this. Assume that you two were dating.

To your relief, Elsie started speaking for you.

“Grandma, they aren’t together,” she said, covering smoothly with a giggle to top it off, trying to alleviate any tension.

You took that as your cue to look up, monitoring the situation.

“Oh,” your Grandma responded, a little smile on her face as she put an aged, perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “Silly old me. I guess I just assumed because you were here together tonight, sis,” she looked at you, her eyes apologetic.

“You sure act like it,” your Grandpa chimed in, motioning with his fork at you two sitting next to each other.

“Howard, quit,” your Grandmother defended.

At your Grandpa’s comment, you finally found your voice.

“Elsie’s right. We are not together,” you stated, leaving no room for argument. “He’s just my roommate.”

“Harsh, kid,” your Grandfather interjected. “Not even a friend?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, looking over at Jake who seemed to be trying his best to stay focused on his plate, dodging any involvement in the conversation. “But mostly just my roommate.”

For some reason, the awkward air persisted, hanging in the air around you.

Your words felt wrong. You knew you were friends (and more than that), but you didn’t want to get too mushy, for fear of being questioned further. You were trying your best to diffuse the tension, fixing it so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

You were so fearful of somehow exposing your current predicament—especially to those in the room. You hadn’t even told Elsie of your whole ‘fuck buddy’ situation. Shockingly.

She’d known about you two having sex that first time. . . But you had never told her anything further than that.

Honestly, you’d been too focused on Jake the past few weeks to even think to inform her. It was something that only you and Jake shared and you mostly liked it that way.

You also didn’t want to tell her because you were positive she’d question the situation. Make you admit things you didn’t want to. Things you couldn’t admit. Push you to say too much. You didn’t need her to make it anything more than what it was.

It was your little secret. And you intended on keeping it that way.

Josh swooped in seamlessly, taking over the conversation with talks of all things music and film.

Eventually, Jake tuned in to the music talk. He’d stayed quiet for longer than you’d anticipated . . . surely feeling the awkwardness of the initial question with you. But he’d played it off well.

And as you watched him interact with your grandparents, the version of him that you witnessed made your heart flutter. Your senses were filled with all kinds of happiness.

Eventually, you, the twins, and your Grandpa had migrated to the living room as Elsie and your Grandma went to prepare dessert.

You sat there, across the room from him. You, on the couch, him on the ottoman next to your Grandpa’s chair. Why he’d sat so far away from you, you didn’t know – but you didn’t care. You just enjoyed watching him talk.

The way he got along with your Grandpa made you light up with joy considerably.

Your Grandfather was a hard nut to crack. Not to compare the two, but you wouldn’t ever put it past Josh to get through to your Grandpa (because Josh was, quite possibly, the easiest person in the world to talk to). So seeing his easy talk with your Grandpa was expected.

But Jake? Jake was just a quieter person by nature. Not in a bad way, by any means. . . He just was. You liked him that way. He was thoughtful and kept parts of himself hidden. . . revealed more of himself the more he trusted someone. You really liked him for all of his ways.

But the way he was bonding with your Grandpa? It was just astonishing.

By just being himself, Jake was making your Grandpa open up more than ever.

You’d never seen your Grandpa this way.

As you watched the three of them, Jake’s efforts to connect with your Grandfather honestly seemed to flow more smoothly than the other twin’s.

Josh had even ended up leaving the conversation, going to join your Grandma and Elsie in the kitchen, as the other two seemed to be venturing into their own conversation. Neither Jake nor your Grandpa needed a buffer. But you’d stayed anyhow, too intrigued by them to want to leave.

And, you just really liked being where Jake was. He made you feel so calm and happy.

You also just couldn’t miss out on the moment in front of you. . .you’d never seen your Grandpa talk so animatedly.

The way he talked about music with Jake was shocking to you, as you didn’t know he loved music to the depths that you did.

But apparently, Jake knew how to bring out that side of him. The smiles exchanged with the topic of conversation were exhilarating— so joy-filled.

Then, to your complete shock, your Grandpa brought up how he’d played guitar for years before your mother had been born.

“You played guitar, Grandpa?!” You couldn’t help but ask, as you quite literally sat on the edge of the crisp, floral sofa. “How come you never told us?!”

“Well, I never really felt the need to revisit that part of my life,” he said, sighing. “You two girls didn’t need to be privy to that. It’s all in the past.”

You shook your head. “I love that about you, Grandpa. . . I wish you would’ve told me.”

He just looked at you with his eyes, so much behind them, left unsaid and filled to the brim with an unnamed emotion. A sad smile came to sit on his face.

“Did you have a favorite to play?” Jake asked, looking at him.

“I did. I feel like all of us do.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth,” Jake grinned, nodding. “Do you still have your favorite one?”

“I sure do,” he looked at your roommate, a big grin spanning his usually-sunken cheeks. “I’ll show ya.”

Jake offered to go get it for him as he watched the old man try to stand. But when he was finally on his feet, he waved him off.

“Nah, son. It’ll be good for me to get up and around to get her.”

As he left to grab it, you waited for Jake to turn to you. But, he didn’t.

Instead, he just looked at all of the photos on the walls rather than anywhere in your direction. The living room was so quiet, you literally heard every breath he took as he looked at the pictures of you and Elsie as children.

You cleared your throat, trying to get a reaction from him.

He kept looking around the living room, not paying you any mind.

It was awkward.

Why was he avoiding looking at you? You weren’t used to him acting in such a way anymore.

Unable to take it any longer, you cleared your throat again, harsher this time.

But he still ignored it.

“Jake,” you sharply stated his name, irritation seeping through your tone at his behavior.

When he finally looked at you and you met his eyes, he looked distant. But after watching you for a long minute, his eyes started lightening a bit, seeming to come back to himself just a little.

You tentatively grinned at him and shook your head.

“What’s wrong?” You asked quietly, your eyes searching his face.

“Nothing,” he stated, his voice sounding far away, jaw clenching.

“Jake.”

He just ran a quick, stiff hand through his hair, looking ahead of him for a few seconds and then back at you.

You didn’t tear your focus from him, trailing your eyes past his face and watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

When you looked back into his eyes, your heart beat rapidly as his eyes seemed to sink into your own. He was observing you so intently, your nerves sparking to life under his attention. You shivered a little under his stare. His gaze was dark, something hiding behind his amber-brown irises.

You felt vulnerable and stark naked.

Instead of shying away, you kept your eyes on him. And the more you studied him—challenged him—an urge started creeping from below the surface. You watched him swivel further to face you.

You let your eyes drift again. Down his body, where his legs were spread.

And just as you were about to take him somewhere private to talk, maybe even offer him a tour of your childhood bedroom. . .

Your Grandpa reappeared. Jake’s eyes quickly averted from yours, growing huge at the gorgeous white guitar your Grandfather had in tow.

“A White Falcon?!” Jake asked in astonishment, his eyes growing bigger the closer it came. “Holy sh— wow.”

Your grandpa gave a belly laugh, handing this hidden, prized possession over to the long haired man. “You can say it, son. Holy shit is right. She’s a beauty.”

“A 1960. . .?”

“She’s a ‘67,” your Grandpa replied, admiring the nearly spotless guitar. The gold accents practically sparkled under the yellow glow of your Grandmother’s lamps. “A rare one.”

“You’ve got that right,” Jake said, inspecting the relic. “These are worth thousands these days. Especially in a condition like this,” he commented. “But I’m glad you kept it. I would have, too.”

Your Grandpa made his go-to clicking sound with his cheek. He seemed to be agreeing and disagreeing. (Normal behavior for the aging man.) “I debated getting rid of her a few times here and there. . .but ultimately, I decided she was far too precious to me for me to ever give her up.”

You couldn’t help but feel every single emotion you’d been (uselessly) working to bury, rise to the surface. He had you completely enraptured. . . he was driving you crazy.

Back to observing him and your Grandfather, you lost yourself in thought at the man in front of you. He’d done the impossible. Not only had he started cracking your hard shell, he’d brought out something you’d never seen in your Grandpa. He had helped you to discover this bright side of your Grandpa that you’d doubted for years even existed.

An easygoing, free-minded person that had apparently been lurking below the surface your entire life.

But it made sense that Jake had been able to do it.

He really had done it for you, too. You’d trusted him with countless things. Your emotions. Your body. Your home. Your TV shows. Your cat.

Jake held the guitar so delicately. But his hands were simultaneously strong and purposeful, making sure to protect the guitar. It was so similar to how he handled you.

The thought made your blood feel hot in your veins and your legs weak. You crossed your legs, watching his hands hold the keepsake just right.

The rest of the words exchanged were technical terms about the original price, what it’s currently worth, how it played. . .

But you weren’t really focused on all of the technicalities as you observed Jake’s fingers on the body of the guitar. How intensely he stared at the instrument as he kept steady conversation, his voice, deep and raspy. . .

You didn’t want to expose yourself with how entranced you were by him at that moment.

So, you decided you needed to escape as soon as possible.

“I’m going to search my room for something,” you said, glancing at Jake— who, yet again, wasn’t acknowledging you speaking. What the fuck? “I’ll be back shortly.”

Your Grandpa acknowledged you, giving a little wink before going back to his discussion with Jake.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d walked the couple of short hallways to get to your childhood bedroom, you sort of regretted using your bedroom as the excuse to get away.

You hesitated to open the door for a few long moments.

You hadn’t been back to this room since that day in the car where Elsie had brought up the parts of your childhood that you’d forgotten.

If you were being honest with yourself, it was intimidating to stand before the door as memories flooded back.

There was the unnecessary screaming at your sister, coming back to you first. And as you thought back on that, you outwardly cringed at the words you now remembered saying to her. Terrible, hateful, completely untrue things.

Then, you saw yourself throwing objects. Only ever at Elsie. With her being the person you felt safest with, naturally she was also the person punished most. In particular, a dent in the wall, adjacent to the door, reminded you of this. It was something that your grandparents and Elsie had always dismissed, saying it had ‘always been there.’

How in the hell had you blocked these things so intensely? Looking back on it now, it seemed as if those things had happened almost as soon as you’d moved in with your grandparents.

To be fair, you had been very young and very recently grieved by the things which had occurred at your mother’s house.

Had it been a bad case of disassociation which had made you lose these fragments of time?

Trauma-induced memory loss?

Your childhood counselor had used the terms. You remembered that.

Based on what you could vaguely rehash from those sessions, you probably had disassociated to protect yourself from the dark things.

Disregarding what happened after moving to your grandparents’, there were several other things you literally couldn’t remember from your time with your mom. Distant flickers of barely-there echoes from a much darker, secret life.

You were apparently an extreme pro at blocking out anything that may hurt you, and times with your mom and the things you’d done as a child were just that.

Your eyes tracked the old wooden door, contemplating opening it when you saw the hole at the bottom of it.

Another thing that had ‘always been there.’ But, right then and there, you could recollect the moment it happened. Clear as day.

You’d been home alone with Elsie. Something had happened that had you screaming at her. Throwing things at her. Chasing her. If you were seeing the memory correctly, you had even managed to hit her with something. She’d gotten scared and the place she’d thought to run and hide had been your room. She’d been so stricken by the incident, sobbing for you to ‘stop, please!’ But you hadn’t listened. When she’d escaped behind the door, she shut it and locked you out. It had angered you more, making you release every last bit of bottled emotion with several hard kicks to the bottom of the door, resulting in the obscurity that now faced you, taunting you.

Then your grandparents had returned home, observed the incident, and decided that you both needed to immediately start counseling.

Without even realizing it, you were beginning to choke on dry sobs. Your breaths were becoming short and hard to catch. You couldn’t breathe.

Your vision was fuzzy as you held to the door frame to balance yourself. But seeing it as pointless, your body going limp, your arms shaking, you slid down the wall to the floor. Putting a hand to your chest, you focused on taking deeper breaths, working to count each one you released.

You pinched your eyes shut and tried to think of something to calm you down.

Long hair that smelled like citrus. Smooth, tanned skin, glowing in the sun. A kiss underwater. A hand smoothing over your cheek, catching your tears. Soul-filled eyes, like dark whiskey, watching you closely and carefully. A body around yours, protecting you in the most quiet and intimate moments. The smell of sandalwood and amber.

But, right now, that smell was more present than it just being a figment of your imaginings.

You slowly opened your eyes, still focusing on breathing, to find him right there, next to you.

He was crouched down, a hand on the wall next to you, using his body as a shield around you.

Your eyes welled with tears at the sight of him. It was like he knew you needed him.

“You were gone for a bit longer than what seemed normal,” he said, worry evident in his words. “What’s going on?”

Tears were escaping down your cheeks steadily. He took his flannel off, clad in a black t-shirt underneath, collar torn (on purpose?). Then, started dabbing at your cheeks for a few moments with his flannel. Once finished, he handed it to you, for you to wipe at your face with it.

“Nothing's going on,” you gasped on a breath, almost bringing the flannel to your face when you stopped. “I don’t want to get it dirty with my makeup, Jake,” you gasped, still trying to calm yourself. But the relentless crying was making it near impossible.

“I don’t care,” he went from crouching, to sitting against the wall, right beside you. His shoulder was a couple inches from touching your own. You caught yourself naturally leaning into it. “I want to help you. Let me.”

You didn’t say anything in response to that, letting the heartfelt words hang in the air around you two, laying your head on his shoulder. Bringing his flannel up to your face, you closed your eyes at the wonderful smell of him that lingered on the shirt and wiped your face with the plaid material.

Keeping your eyes closed, you used his steady breathing as an aid, trying to breathe in time with him. Anytime his shoulder would lift your cheek with a breath, you took one, too. It worked well, your chest feeling less tight, the tears subsiding.

After a bit, you heard him speak again. His voice, causing a comforting rumble against your cheek. “What happened, honey?”

Honey. Your heart lurched in your chest at the name.

You slowly pried your eyes open again, focusing on the light beige of the walls and the way the textured paint on the wall made a sort of pattern.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. You feared bringing up the details of the way you used to behave. The idea of saying anything was embarrassing. It was daunting to think of exposing yourself like that. “Stuff from the past that’s embarrassing and awful.”

“Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

“Wrong.”

He snickered, placing a hand on your thigh. His trusty black hair-tie, wrapped around his middle finger. You traced the long digit, his knuckle, and then picked at the hair tie, pulling at it to see the skin beneath the band.

Before you could do any more to his hand, he removed it from your leg. You watched, your head still leaning on his shoulder as he took the black rubber band off. Suddenly, you were moving from his shoulder as his body shifted. Peering up curiously, he motioned for you to turn your head. You did so, and within seconds, your hair was pulled up and away from your hot face.

You looked over your shoulder at him, growing goosebumps as his fingers lingered on the skin of your neck. “Thank you.”

Situating yourself in your position from before, you decided on a whim to wrap your hand underneath his arm. You continued until you were lacing your fingers through his, his calloused fingertips wrapping around to rest on the top of your hand.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he started, voice low, as if keeping a secret. “But I’m here. I need you to know that. Whatever the case may be, I am here for you.”

“Thanks,” you hummed, squeezing his hand. “Jake?”

“Hm?”

“How did things change between us?”

He chuckled. “Well, it started when you walked into my bedroom the night of—.”

You shushed him, not able to hide your light giggle as you used your other palm to hit his hard chest. How was he able to turn things around so quickly for you? Your body felt so light and airy now, calm and at peace. The foggy memories weren’t so scary when he was with you.

“I mean. . .how are we like this now? Cordial?”

“We started trusting each other, I guess,” he said, all joking gone from his tone.

“Yeah. . .,” you agreed. “And as silly as it is, I think you were onto something with mentioning the first night we. . .”

“I don’t think it’s silly, honestly. . . If we are being honest with ourselves, sex changes everything,” he stated, his thumb tapping a light beat against your hand. He was right. It truly did change things. For good or for bad, you didn’t know.

“And those Aretha Franklin songs the other morning. . .,” he pushed a breath from his lips to follow his words.

You gasped. “You felt it too?” Finally looking up from his shoulder, you ignored the voice that was telling you to not give into the moment as you turned to him. Because when you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes were familiar, honest, and real. You couldn’t help but let them be your safe place. That was what they’d become.

It can’t be this way forever. Stop while you’re ahead, the voice warned. Stop giving in.

But you kindly told it to fuck off as you swam in his irises.

“It was impossible not to. The music and the moment. . . ,” he grinned, a dimple presenting itself in his cheek. Then he raised a brow, turning his head a bit, keeping his eye on you. “But, don't forget. We’re just roommates.”

You flushed. “I had to say that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, hearing them from his mouth, you realized that your Grandpa had been right about your words being harsh. “Didn’t want anyone catching onto anything? I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, but still there. His eyes traveled the walls around you. You could tell his mind was still looming on how he’d found you in the hallway, only minutes ago.

The column of his neck hypnotized you, the muscles that flexed beneath the flesh so strong and sure. You were aching to put your lips on the skin, then his eyes found yours, caught you watching him, yet again. He lifted a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, staring at your mouth as you licked to wet them.

When he bit his lip, it was over.

You couldn’t help it. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart was racing. . .

Without even worrying about getting caught, you angled yourself towards him until your lips met his in a kiss. You had to be near him. Needed to be closer, closer, closer.

He gave it back, matching the force behind your kisses.

It continued like that for a few short moments, but right before you could slip your tongue between his lips, he placed a hand to your cheek, gentle as he held your face steady, pulling back to study your features.

He waited for you to speak. You both knew why he’d put a stop to it.

And as if to drive the point home, Josh’s laugh echoed through the entire house— a blatant reminder of why you couldn’t do this here.

You looked down to see where he was situating himself in his black skinny jeans, your skin heating all the more.

As much as you wanted to leave at that instant, you didn’t want to seem abrupt or strange by doing that. You knew it would be best to eat dessert and then leave.

You tucked a couple of loose strands, having fallen from your makeshift ponytail, behind your ears. Then, you asked. “Wanna eat some pie and then get out of here?”

“Sounds perfect.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Laying in his bed later that night, sweaty limbs pressed together and chests heaving, your head resting on his chest as he twirled fingers in your hair, now loose around your shoulders. . . You decided to tell him.

“Earlier tonight, when you found me,” you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words. “I was trying to recover from a panic attack.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, pausing. As much as you wanted to look at him when you told him the next part, you decided it would be easier to keep your eyes on his SG, sitting on its stand across his bedroom. “I get them sometimes.”

“Why?” He asked, voice light and calm.

“Different things. . . tonight, it was because I started having these extremely vivid flashbacks from my childhood.”

“About your mom?”

“Not necessarily— not this time,” you cleared your throat as tears pricked at your eyes. It hurt to think about the nasty, younger version of yourself. “This time, it was more about what I used to do when I was younger.” Tears were falling on his chest, your chest was tight as they kept coming, his skin prickling in their wake. “I–I’m sor–sorry.”

“Why, baby?” His voice settled your nerves. Warm. Soft. Him.

“I hate that you have to see me cry,” you sniffled, wiping at the tears on his chest. But instead of letting you continue, he held your hand there, so you could feel the stable beating of his heart.

“If crying is what it takes to heal, I’m here to listen to you as you wade through it.”

This time, you were crying from his words and the way his skin felt against your own. He was your safety. He was here. He was real.

He was here to help. Let him.

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to settle your breaths, focusing on the way his heart beat rhythmically under your hand.

So, you opened up. You told him about everything that Elsie had reminded you of that day in the car; told him what seeing the door had done to you – and everything that had reared its ugly head all at once tonight.

“Wow,” he let out a deep breath in response. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. I was such a fucking demon,” you muttered sadly, your heart breaking as the images and sounds were once again coming back. “And I can’t escape it.”

“Why can’t you?”

You wrinkled your brows, resituating to lean on your arm beside him. His eyes followed you, open and honest and Jake. “I caused severe trauma for others– just like my mom did. I made mistakes that I can never take back.”

“You said you were ten?” He asked. You nodded. “You were a child.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But you need to give yourself some grace.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re human.”

“But so were the people I hurt.”

“Who would you say you hurt most?”

“Els.”

“And has she forgiven you?”

“I think so,” you muttered, remembering Elsie that day in the car.

“I’ve moved on. Anytime you did any of that stuff, I moved on as soon as you’d done it.”

“You were in pain and somehow, I just knew it. . . I knew then it wouldn’t be fair for me to hold something against you that you probably didn’t mean. I knew the only reason you were acting that way was because someone else had hurt you. It wasn’t all your fault. It was mostly mom’s. You just didn’t know how to react to it.”

“Then you need to forgive yourself,” he said, moving some tresses of hair behind your shoulders to be able to put an open palm to your chest, right where your heart laid beneath the flesh. “Your heart is beautiful. That’s what matters. Always has been, always will be,” he gave you one kiss, deep enough to emphasize the words. It left you dizzy as he went back to his spot, never letting his hand leave your chest. “I just want you to understand that people make mistakes,” he smiled, reassuring. “I’ve made a shit ton.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, both of you sharing a knowing laugh.

“But," you started, feeling the need to encourage him as well. "That wasn’t you. You were hurting.”

“So were you, back then,” he reasoned, his voice soft.

“I guess,” you relented slightly. “Elsie told me a lot of this, too, but I just couldn’t believe her. It’s hard to see the good in myself from back then, though, knowing all of the horrific things I did,” you stated simply. You held his hand to your chest as you laid on your back, not wanting him to move it. “I just can’t shake how I let myself forget it so easily. I’ve gone all these years not truly knowing who I was– who I am.”

“Have you ever considered going to therapy again?”

“No,” your heart beat faster at the prospect.

He could feel it, and reacted as such. He came closer to you, his chest and stomach pressing into you, more skin-to-skin to help calm you. “Would you consider it?”

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hand and his, still over your heart. “Depends, I guess.”

He hummed. “Okay,” he answered, relenting from the hard questions. “How about you work on forgiving yourself and I’ll look into different types of therapy? Let you know what I come across?”

Your heart slowed down, the tiniest smile lifting your lips. Your hand gripped his. Your anchor. Your safety. “Alright.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

A couple days later, you sat on your couch, mesmerized by Jake, who was sitting next to you.

Well, kind of. He was on the cushion at the opposite end of the sofa as you.

All you wanted was to be closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could trust yourself.

These days, if he was close enough for you to touch him, you were going to be touching him. Whether it be rubbing his shoulders, playing with his continuously growing hair, or laying on top of him (sometimes naked, sometimes not).

But you were appreciating your vantage point tonight. Watching closely as he played through some new songs with Josh. Josh would sing, and Jake would play the same thing. Jake would play, then Josh would sing it verbatim.

It was interesting to watch them, bouncing off of each other creatively like that.

Twin telepathy at its finest.

You were stuck in a trance, trying your damnedest to give equal attention to Josh, so as not to raise any suspicion. But it was getting harder and harder to resist watching Jake– being near him, day by day.

Trying to find other things to focus on, your eyes floated across the room, observing all of the men around you. They’d all been growing their hair out as well. And, normally, a guy growing his hair out was not a huge deal.

But with these guys? It seemed to you, it was a visual for their changing life. The longer their hair got, the more it was obvious that they were moving onto a new stage of life.

They were becoming rockstars. Truly.

Not only were they making music day in and day out, playing it live every week, preparing for a humongous music festival that would feature many huge bands. . . they were looking more and more like it, too.

But they were still your boys.

Never changing.

Sam’s ever-nasally voice interrupted your rambling thoughts, as if on cue. You smiled in his direction, pointing your attention to him.

“Jake,” he started, excited as he looked intently at his phone screen.

“What, Sam?” He responded with a slight growl to say his younger brother’s name. “Can’t you tell I’m creatively processing?”

Danny let out one loud laugh, his eyes sparkling with a laugh. Josh joined in momentarily, then went back to humming

“Oh, fuck off, Jake,” he rolled his eyes, a smile still adorning his baby face. He trotted his lanky legs over to the couch, sitting between you and your roommate. “Look at this picture of Maya,” he angled the phone so it was right in front of Jake, but turned just right so you couldn’t see it.

You giggled at Jake having to pull away from the bright screen to get a better look. “God, Sam,” he said, annoyed, grabbing the phone out of Sam’s hand. “Turn your fucking brightness down.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Jacob,” he responded, flipping his hair and rolling his eyes. He turned in your direction for support, throwing a thumb behind him at Jake. “He’s annoying.”

You were still laughing as you asked your question. “Who’s Maya?”

“Jake hasn’t told you about Maya?!” He wondered aloud, his voice raising a decibel or two.

“No, I haven’t, Sam,” Jake said, his tone clipped, holding the phone tighter in his firm grip, long fingers flexing around the device. “Shut the fuck up.”

Your brows drew in at his behavior. Now you were dying to know who Maya was and why he was suddenly acting so weird about her.

“I ask again, who is Maya?”

“She’s asking Jake,” Sam stated, as if he’d won. “I’m telling her.”

“Sam–.”

“Maya is Jake’s super hot client that he used to fuck. When he first moved here,” Sam clarified. “Still does, I think. I mean, who wouldn’t?!” Then he laughed, hitting Jake’s stiff arm with the back of his hand.

He was doing what, now?

Chancing a look at the man in question, you noticed he was angry.

Seething was a better term.

You could tell as he gripped the neck of his guitar, his chest rising with constricted breaths, nose flaring, staring at Josh, who was simply shaking his head in return.

Sam took his phone from Jake’s hand, gaining it with some effort. But getting it in his grasp anyway. Right as he’d done so, the hand Jake’d been holding it in clenched to a fist, his jaw tightening. The hand on the neck became dangerously tight.

“Sammy. . .,” Josh tried intervening. His eyes jumped back and forth between each brother, desperate for there to be peace.

Social cues apparently off, Sam was still smiling wide.

“This is Maya,” he said, flashing the phone in front of your face, holding it there for you to get a good, long look.

No. Couldn’t be.

The air left your chest, your vision zeroing in on the bright screen of the phone, everything else blurry around you as your head suddenly felt extremely light, body heavy.

Surely not. . .

You squinted, taking a closer look at the phone before you jumped to any sort of conclusion.

But the house behind her, as well as her long, dark black hair. . .

You knew you were correct in your assumption of who it was.

The joy that the youngest brother exuded was the exact opposite of how you were feeling. The giant stone that had fallen to sit at the bottom of your stomach was suddenly weighing you to the couch.

You nodded at the screen, pushing the device away from you, hands shaking slightly. “You really do need to turn your brightness down, Sam,” you said, clearing your throat as it got painfully tight.

Play it cool, play it cool.

You were working so hard to hide your emotions. A small smile twitched at your lips. The tears in your throat made them wobble a tiny bit.

Stop it, y/n.

Jake’s voice cut through, directly to your ears. “It meant nothing—.”

You didn’t look at him, only focusing back on Sam as he spoke. You tried hard to keep your eyes wide and clear of anything concerning.

“He still sees her for lessons,” he said, wiggling his brows. “What happens at guitar lessons, stays at guitar lessons,” he elbowed Jake’s arm, tense as the muscle in his bicep flexed, fist still bunched. “Am I right, brother?!”

Sam was the only one smiling in the room.

The room was tense, Sam tucking his phone back into the pocket of his silky, vibrant button down. He pushed his sunglasses further into his hair.

You were frozen, not even daring to look up at Jake’s face. You studied your hands, then grabbed your phone off of the coffee table to pretend you were checking it. The frenzied emotions in your gut were not trustworthy. If you looked at him, you were sure you’d fall apart.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re still fucking, you tried to reassure yourself. Right?!

But then, you thought about him taking a while at her house. All of his excuses were adding up.

Had three Ubers really canceled? Or had he just been too busy fucking her and lost track of time?

It made sense, considering the way she’d watched him leave. The hug.

And what he’d said to her right before he got in the car. Talking about his ‘favorite part of his day’ . . . Fuck. Your chest hurt, the words making so much more sense now. . .

His favorite part of the day. . .

Your vision got cloudy. What were you? Sad? Angry? Both? You couldn’t fucking tell.

You just needed to get out of the room.

As you stood up from your spot, your legs wobbled a bit, your mind scrambling for the first excuse that could come to it. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Still not looking at Jake, you walked as fast as you could to the bathroom.

The last thing you heard before shutting the door to the bathroom was Danny’s voice, trying to break the air-right atmosphere.

“How about dinner?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: uh oh. . .

alsoooo, you'll notice that we haven't even gotten to the scene from the sneak peek yet. . . all of that will come to you in part 2. . . see you again soon, loves ;)

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