Page 144 of Forbidden Lyrics

Good question, Gibbs. I have no idea.

I lick my lips and motion to the couch, praying he can’t see the way I’m trembling like a freaking leaf right now. “You can, uh, take a seat. I’ll go get Mads.”

“I’m right here,” Maddie interrupts, her hand on her swollen belly and her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. She looks gorgeous in an effortless kind of way. But that’s how she’s always been. Even before she started dying her strawberry blonde hair that always made me jealous a dark chestnut. Even before she mastered eyeliner and I even knew what it was, she was––is––breathtaking. She’s always been the one to shine. The one to stand out. The one that everyone noticed while I always blended into the background. I was always forgettable.

But not Mads.

Never Mads.

And I know Gibson must’ve thought the same thing. Because he slept with her.

For months.

Until she ended it.

Not him.

Her.

Would they still be together if it weren’t for Maddie’s feelings for Milo? Should they give things another try if the baby’s his? Would I be able to handle it if they did?

My stomach churns with acid, but I swallow it back as I take a seat on the floor opposite Gibson and wait to see which seat Maddie will choose. There’s a chair tucked in the corner or the cushion next to Gibson’s. She doesn’t hesitate, sitting opposite Gibson and next to me in the wooden rocking chair before arranging the decorative pillow behind her back to get more comfortable.

And we sit.

In silence.

Our gazes shift from one person to the other in some messed up version of Who Dunnit.

And I’m afraid I might choke on it.

The suffocating silence. The weighted looks. The knowledge that the love of my life knows what my sister looks like naked. That the baby inside her belly might be his. That I’ll always be second to her. Because she was first. Just like always.

Why did I think Gibson would be any different?

“I can see it now,” he mentions, his voice quiet yet still booming in the otherwise silent room. “The resemblance. When I first met Dove, I knew she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place how or why. I can see it now.”

“Is that why you came?” I ask. “To discuss our similarities?”

“No.” Silence. “I guess not.”

“Then why are you here?” I murmur.

“Because you both deserve an apology face-to-face.” His gaze shifts from mine to Maddie’s. “Em––Maddie––”

“You can still call me Em,” she clarifies, shifting in her seat as her forehead wrinkles. Like she’s distracted. Uncomfortable. Probably another Braxton Hicks, though I’m not sure.

“Em.” Gibson clears his throat. “I’m sorry for how things played out. I’m sorry you’ve felt like you needed to handle this pregnancy on your own. I’m sorry I was an ass when we were texting and that I wasn’t as sensitive as I should’ve been. I was scared to acknowledge that my life might be changing when this baby’s born. I was scared that I might lose the one person I’ve ever loved because of my past, and I thought that sticking my head in the sand might fix it. But it’s no excuse. And it wasn’t a plausible solution, either.”

Maddie nods but doesn’t reply.

“I have a shitty relationship with my dad,” he explains, “but if this child’s mine, I want to be involved. I want to be a good father. I want to break the cycle of shitty parenthood and be there. Financially. Physically. Emotionally. I wanna know my kid. And I want you to let me.”

Maddie’s lips are pulled into a thin line, her hands propped on top of her basketball belly, but still, she doesn’t say a word. She just stares blankly back at him. But can see past her façade. Her fear of the unknown. Her fear of letting someone in. Her fear of raising a child by herself, let alone with one of the three potential fathers.

“When can I take a paternity test?” he prods.

More silence.

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