29. Shiloh

Chapter twenty-nine

Shiloh

Liam wants to make our relationship official, so he’s taking me out to his home in Martha’s Vineyard. I’m in love, and he says he loves me too…

But there’s only one thing on my mind, and I don’t think I can tell him.

I got into Trinity College.

I got the email right before he picked me up—congratulatory and exciting. But I can’t be excited—not about Liam and not about Trinity—because this feels like a choice I’m not ready to make.

Liam's car hugs the curves of the road as we approach the ferry that will take us to the Vineyard. Inside, my mind races with thoughts of Trinity and what it means for us. I watch the trees blur past, each one a reminder of how quickly life can change.

"Shiloh?" Liam's voice breaks through the hum of the engine and my spiraling thoughts.

I turn to him, and his hand reaches over, resting on my thigh with an easy familiarity that sends a jolt of warmth through me despite the chill in the air. My heart flutters with a mix of love and fear. I smile at him, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. His presence is a balm, yet I dread the distance that might grow between us.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he says, beaming with genuine enthusiasm. The pure joy in his eyes is infectious, but it's also a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.

"Yeah," I whisper, squeezing his hand on my thigh, holding onto the moment.

He's unaware of the storm inside me, his thoughts occupied with plans and dreams for us both. He's all in, his commitment to our relationship showing in every small gesture, every shared laugh, every look that lingers a moment too long.

"Can't wait to show you around," he continues, oblivious to my internal struggle. "You'll love the vineyard this time of year. It's peaceful—just you, me, and the autumn leaves."

The idea of being away with him, surrounded by beauty and tranquility, should fill me with anticipation. Instead, it's tinged with silent grief for what could be lost—a future where our paths diverge, his leading towards settled contentment and mine... uncertain with newfound opportunity.

"Sounds perfect," I say, but my voice lacks conviction. I'm caught in the eye of an emotional hurricane, with him as the calm center. If only I could tell him everything. If only I knew how to without risking the very thing that makes me feel whole.

For now, I let myself lean into his touch, clinging to our connection, hoping it's strong enough to withstand the secrets and choices that lay ahead.

We pull onto the ferry, and the solid ground gives way to a rhythm of waves. Instead, my stomach churns with more than just motion. I step out of the car and head over to the railing, gripping it tight enough to whiten my knuckles. The lighthouse in the distance should be a beacon of serenity, but it's just a blur as I try to steady my breathing.

"Hey." Liam's voice is gentle as he comes up beside me, his hand finding its way to my back in a comforting rub. "I didn't even ask if you're okay on the water. That was stupid of me."

I force a half-hearted smile. "I usually am. Dad used to take me fishing when I was a kid." The memory is a safe harbor, but it feels far away now. "Just haven't been feeling great lately."

His concern is immediate, his brows drawing together. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. "You sure you're alright? We can stay inside the cabin if it helps."

"Thanks." I lean into him, grateful for the solidity of his presence. It anchors me, keeps me from drifting too far into a sea of worries about the future. "I'll be fine. Just need some fresh air, that's all."

But the fresh air isn't doing its job. Each roll and pitch of the ferry amplifies the unease in my belly until I can't hold it back anymore. I lurch forward and am sick over the edge of the boat, my body heaving with a relentless rhythm that has nothing to do with the ocean's waves.

"Shiloh!" Liam's voice is tight with worry. He's right there, his hand on my back, steadying me. "Are you okay?"

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling the last of the nausea fade, replaced by a fresh wave of anxiety.

"Yeah, I think so. Maybe just short on sleep or something." My voice sounds more convincing than I feel. It's not just lack of sleep. The letter from Trinity looms in my thoughts, an unopened verdict on my future.

"Let's get you seated, okay?" His arm slips under mine, guiding me away from the railing's cold metal.

The ferry docks with a gentle jostle, and as we step onto solid ground again, relief floods through me. The island is a kaleidoscope of autumn—reds and golds painting the trees, a pristine blue ocean stretching into the distance, dotted with pretty vacation homes, and iconic lighthouses like postcards come to life.

Liam leads me to his car, and we drive down winding roads lined with nature's vibrant display. The sickness fades, falling away like leaves from the branches, and I find myself caught up in the beauty of Martha's Vineyard.

"Wow," I exhale as we pull into the driveway of a secluded home—his home here. It stands proud and inviting against the backdrop of the setting sun, casting a warm glow over the wooden facade.

"Like it?" His voice is soft but edged with pride.

"Like it? It's beautiful, Liam." As I step out of the car, I take a moment to simply stand there, taking it all in. The crunch of gravel under my shoes, the salty tang of the sea air, the way the house seems to fit perfectly into this picturesque landscape—it's a world away from the chaos of my own mind.

"Come on. Let's get you inside." His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward the house.

The door swings open, and we step into a space that's both grand and intimate. The walls are hung with paintings, splashes of color and emotion that I recognize as the work of Liam's mother from back at his place in Boston. Modern furniture is arranged with an artist's eye, inviting and sophisticated all at once.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says. "I'll get you some tea. It might help settle your stomach."

"Thanks, Liam." My voice is a whisper of gratitude as I wander into the living room. A plush couch beckons me, and I curl up in its embrace, sinking into the cushions as I try to quell the storm inside me.

A few minutes later, Liam returns, a steaming mug in his hands. He sets it on the coffee table before turning to tend to the fireplace. Flames lick the logs, and soon a comforting crackle fills the room. The warmth spreads, chasing away the chill from outside and within.

"Here." He hands me the tea. I wrap my hands around the mug, the heat seeping into my fingers, grounding me.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking a tentative sip. The herbal blend is soothing, calming my unsettled nerves.

Liam sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. He watches the flames dance for a moment before his gaze finds mine, a question lingering in the air between us.

"Feeling any better?" His voice is gentle, laced with concern.

"Getting there," I admit. And it's true—the tea, the fire, his presence—they're all working their magic on me. But the unease, the fear of what comes next—it's still there, a knot in my stomach that refuses to untie.

He reaches out, his hand finding the small of my back, and I lean into him without thinking. It's instinctive, the way I seek his comfort, his warmth. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer until I'm tucked against his side. The steady beat of his heart is a rhythm that anchors me.

"Shiloh," he says softly. "Talk to me."

"It's nothing," I lie, but it comes out weak, unconvincing.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into me. "I know you better than that. You've got your worry lines going on." His thumb gently brushes across my forehead, smoothing away the invisible creases I know are there. "Whatever it is, it's okay. You can tell me."

His faith, his openness—it makes this so much harder. How do I drop this bomb and disrupt the calm we've created here? All I can think about is the way he looked at me when he saw my application material at the office weeks ago. I don’t want him to get angry… to feel like I’m abandoning him.

I sit up, creating space between us, needing to see his face when I say it. My fingers are reluctant as they release the mug, setting it down with a soft clink.

"Liam..." I start, my voice barely above a whisper. He waits, patient, expectant. "I got into Trinity."

His eyes search mine, a mix of emotions playing across his face. There's surprise, yes, but something else too, something I can't quite read.

Then the surprise gives way to a grin so wide it could split his face. He lunges forward, his arms encircling me in a secure embrace that lifts me off my feet for a moment. His kiss lands like a benediction on my forehead, warm and reassuring.

"Congratulations, Shiloh," he breathes out, his voice thrumming with excitement. "That's amazing news! We need to celebrate. I'll cook something special for dinner tonight."

I want to melt into him, to let his enthusiasm wash away the dread pooling in my stomach, but I can't. Not yet.

"Should I head out and grab some champagne?" He's already halfway to standing, his body poised to leap into action.

I reach out, tugging gently at his hand. "No, don't worry about it. I'm not feeling great," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Are you sure? A little celebration never hurt anyone." He's looking at me now with concern etched in the lines of his face.

"Yeah, I'm sure." I force a smile, hoping it looks more convincing than it feels.

For a moment, we sit in silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space between us with a comforting rhythm. I watch the flames dance and flicker, their warmth chasing away the chill of the autumn air creeping through the house.

I should be ecstatic about Trinity, about the future it represents. I should be thrilled that Liam is happy I got in. But as Liam's thumb strokes the back of my hand, a silent litany of fears begins to unfurl within me. There's a weight to his touch, a gravity that holds me here even as my mind races ahead.

What I don't tell him—what I can't bring myself to voice just yet—is the suspicion that's been gnawing at me, relentlessly and unbidden. The thought that there might be more than just acceptance letters and celebration dinners on the horizon for us.

I'm starting to suspect... I'm pregnant.

I’ve been feeling nauseous a lot… food tastes wrong, and most importantly, I missed my period. At first, I thought it was just the pill—I started it after Liam and I started seeing each other—but we didn’t use protection that first night on our road trip.

I stopped taking the pill three days ago because this feels true, even if I haven’t taken a pregnancy test.

The realization sits heavy in my chest, a leaden truth that threatens to spill over and shatter the fragile peace we've found here. It's not just about me anymore, or the dreams I've harbored. It's about us, about the precarious balance we've struck between desire and responsibility.

And as I lean into Liam's embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek, I know that this secret will test everything we are to each other. Our forbidden romance, born from shadows and whispered promises, might not survive the daylight of reality.

But for now, I let myself be held, clinging to the solace of his presence even as the future looms uncertain before us.