Page 29 of Better as It

I breathe in her hair, my hand rubbing soft circles on her back. “You don’t have to know right now.”

She shifts slightly. Her forehead presses into my collarbone. “It could be Benji’s,” she says again, like maybe I didn’t hear her the first time. “My cycle hasn’t been regular since he passed. But then it could be yours.”

I close my eyes. The lie I want to tell her perches on the edge of my tongue. But I can’t do that to her. Not to Dia. So I say what I do know without a shadow of a doubt.

“It’s not mine.”

Her whole body tenses.

She pulls back enough to look at me, confusion written in the furrow between her brows. “What?”

I nod once, slow. “It’s not mine.”

Her eyes search mine. She’s trying to understand. “How can you know that?”

She’s not accusing me, simply asking. Her voice is too tired to be angry.

I open my mouth. But the truth—the real reason—I can’t tell her that. Not yet. So I just say, “I know. Trust me.”

Dia stares at me for a long second. Her lip trembles. She looks like she wants to ask again. Press harder. But instead, she remains quiet.

Maybe it’s too much. Maybe it’s easier to believe me than to question anything else right now.

She nods slowly, biting her bottom lip until it goes white.

I brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Whatever you decide, I’m here.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, wide and fragile. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” I cut in, firm. “And I want to. Because it’s you. That baby is yours.”

I let the words hang there between us. Truth. Weight. Promise.

Dia leans into me again, forehead to my chest. “I don’t feel strong enough.”

“You don’t have to be strong alone. I’ll hold the line until you can.”

Three days later

We haven’t told anyone, outside of Maritza who isn’t going to share. Dia’s not ready. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I am either.

This isn’t a clubhouse conversation. It’s not something you bring up between beers and prospects doing cleanup. It’s personal. Sacred, in a way that most of the world doesn’t get.

I park outside her condo in the early morning, my truck idling while I stare up at her living room window. The curtain shifts, and a moment later, the door opens and she steps out.

Dia’s bundled in an oversized hoodie, hair in a bun, no makeup. She looks exhausted, but there’s something solid in her spine that wasn’t there three nights ago. I get out and round the truck to open the door for her.

“You didn’t have to do this today. I can go by myself. Justin,” she tries to keep going.

“I want to,” I say before she can finish.

She blinks like she doesn’t believe me and finally seems to settle in with the idea that I really am in this behind her. She climbs in and clicks her seatbelt.

We drive in silence for a bit. The doctor’s office is across town, tucked into a small strip of medical buildings with names like “Women’s Wellness” and “Family Futures.”

The kind of place I never expected to find myself parked in front of.

But here I am.

---