Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rowan

It’s been a week of raw emotions and sleepless nights since Bex stormed past me in the stadium and Charles’ office sent me an email to let me know that The Seattle Sunrise was letting me go. Charles still hasn’t taken any of my calls and he’s told security to escort me out if I ever so much as touch the building that houses his office.

Jordan practically dragged me out of the house this afternoon, insisting I need groceries to feel human again. I'm a mess, and I feel like I haven’t eaten anything with substance in days. As we wander through the aisles, Jordan casually opens a bag of popcorn she grabbed off the shelf and holds it out to me.

“Want some?” she offers, already crunching a handful.

I recoil instantly, the buttery smell hitting my nose and making my stomach twist. “Ugh, no.” The reaction catches even me off guard—I usually love that stuff.

She pauses, frowning. “This is your favorite popcorn, Ro. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I wave her off, trying to ignore the nausea creeping up. “I’m just not feeling great. You could try being a little more sensitive, you know. My entire life just imploded.” I shoot her a pointed glare. “Plus, my period is due any day now. That’s probably it.”

Jordan eyes me skeptically, crunching another handful. I try to ignore her intense scrutiny, but as she sets a bundle of bananas in her cart, I find myself gagging again. Her gaze sharpens as she watches me turn away, trying not to dry heave.

“That’s it.” She storms off, leaving me standing in the aisle with our cart.

“Where are you going?” I call out for her.

“Wait here,” she calls over her shoulder, marching toward the front of the store.

Three minutes later, I’m still standing there, brows knit, trying to figure out what on earth she’s up to. Then she returns, a receipt in one hand and a small, pink cardboard box in the other. Without a word, she presses it into my hands.

I glance down, and my heart stops. Pregnancy test.

“Are you serious, Jordan? Why would I need one of these?”

She crosses her arms. “Rowan, you missed your period. I had mine almost three weeks ago and I just realized that you didn’t call me over for CSI and ice cream like you usually do when you’re on your cycle,” she says, giving me a meaningful look.

My heart sinks as I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean anything. I can’t get pregnant, Jordan. I mean, Drew and I tried everything and nothing took. And Bex and I have only been together a few times,” I scoff, trying to convince myself as much as her. “It’s impossible.”

“Okay, but… did you have your period and just decided not to invite me over for our moon party? We usually don’t miss one.” Her voice softens, and her brows lift.

Her words sink in, reminding me of the cycle I’ve built around disappointment. But I push it down, shaking my head. “I’ve missed it plenty of times. It’s not unusual. It doesn’t mean…” I trail off, my voice fading.

She doesn’t let up. “Look, I already bought it, so you might as well take it. And if you’re not pregnant, we’ll know right now, and you can stop freaking me out over here.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I want to argue, to push back and insist it’s pointless. The idea that I could be pregnant with Bex’s child feels… impossible, and yet my heart aches with a longing I can’t explain. I’m almost as terrified of a negative result as a positive one. A part of me—a part I’m ashamed to acknowledge—wants it to be positive, while another part of me doesn’t want to face Bex with the news. What will he think since I promised him I can’t conceive.

I swallow hard, clutching the test. “No, it’s fine. It’ll just be a minute and then we’ll move on and pretend this didn’t happen.”

My feet feel like lead as I walk toward the bathroom at the back of the store. My hands are shaking as I unwrap the box, the crinkling of the cellophane cutting through the silence. I shut myself in the stall, and for a second, I’m frozen. Memories of tests just like this flash through my mind, each one bringing nothing but disappointment and heartache. But I take a deep breath and follow the steps I know by heart.

I take both tests, just to be sure, and set them on the box, glancing at my phone to time the wait. But the results start to appear almost instantly, the plus signs turning vivid and undeniable right before my eyes.

My breath catches, and I stare, unable to process what I’m seeing.

I’m… pregnant?

Tears well up, blurring my vision as I sit there, gripping the tests as if they’re the most precious thing I’ve ever held. Joy, disbelief, and overwhelming love flood me all at once, filling the space where doubt and fear once lived.

Suddenly, I hear a soft voice. “Rowan? Are you still in here?” Jordan’s voice is cautious, as if she’s afraid of what my answer might be.

I swallow hard, struggling to find my voice. “Yes,” I squeak, my throat tight with emotion.

I hear her footsteps inch closer until her white sneakers come into view just outside the stall door. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice soft and supportive.

Wordlessly, I slide the box under the door, the two positive tests perched on top of the box for her to see. I’m relieved she’s here with me as I flush the toilet and stand, pulling my sweats back into place.

I hear her gasp and then open the stall door to see her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re pregnant!” Her voice is barely a whisper, filled with awe and joy, and somehow hearing it aloud makes it more real.

And that’s the moment it hits me too. I’m pregnant. After years of thinking I couldn’t have kids, of resigning myself to a different life… I’m pregnant. And not just with anyone’s baby—with Bex’s baby.

My hand goes to my belly, tentative, as if I’m afraid to believe it. I smile, tears slipping down my cheeks, and Jordan’s excitement echoes in the background as I sit there, basking in the incredible, unexpected wonder of this new life.

My next thought?

I need to make an appointment with my OBGYN, immediately.