Page 64 of About That One Night
She finally looks up, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions I can’t quite decipher. “Hey, Max,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Are you okay?” I ask, concern lacing my words. “You seem . . . preoccupied, distracted.”
She takes a deep breath, her grip on the cup loosening slightly. “I’m fine,” she says, but I can tell she’s lying. Her eyes dart away, and she bites her lip.
“Sure, you’re totally fine,” I say sarcastically. “Which is why you called and said, ‘It’s’ really important we speak today—the sooner, the better, Maximillian.’” The last words come out a little squeaky as I try to imitate her but do a shitty job at it.
“I sound nothing like that,” she says, clearly annoyed.
I tap my ears. “To me, you did, and you can’t take that away from me.”
“What are you, ten?”
I arch an eyebrow, and a grin spreads across my face. “Thirty-five.” My eyes sparkle with amusement as I watch her brow furrow and her cheeks flush slightly. She crosses her arms, trying to look stern, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward. I lean in closer, my voice softening. “And there it is—that adorable little crinkle between your eyebrows when you get annoyed.”
Somehow, she relaxes and I feel better knowing I’ve put her at ease.
“So what would you like us to discuss, Zo?” I call for the waitress. “If you want to be part of our legal team, you’ve contacted the wrong partner. Liam is the one who makes those decisions, but you have my vote.”
She snorts. “That’s a good one, but no. I don’t need a job—not just yet.”
“But you might need it?” I ask, wondering if she’s calling all the people she knows to see if we can get her new clients. If she allowed it, I would invest in her business. Anything for her.
She shrugs. “Probably . . . I don’t know, really. Isigned up two more clients this week. It’s a very slow and steady flow. I’m hoping that it’ll keep growing.”
“Okay, so you didn’t call me about work. What is it then?”
She looks nervous, fidgeting with her cup.
“Zoe, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?” I try to sound understanding but probably failing miserably.
She nods, but her eyes dart away, a flicker of uncertainty clouding their usual warmth. My stomach tightens, a cold dread seeping through my veins. Whatever she’s about to say, it’s big—the kind of big that reshapes lives, shatters foundations.
Is this why I’m here? To be the messenger, the bearer of bad news to Ethan and her family? The thought sits heavy in my chest. She sees me as detached, uninvolved. A convenient outsider.
But as I look at her—really look at her—I see the paleness beneath her skin, the slight tremor in her hands. Unbidden, memories flash through my mind: her laugh echoing across the room, the way her eyes light up when she talks about her passions. The thought of that light dimming, of her vitality fading, makes my heart clench painfully.
What if it’s serious? Cancer? Some rare disease? My mind races through worst-case scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. I can’t lose her. Not when I’ve only just . . .
I push the thought away, focusing on her needs right now.
“I’ll do and be anything you need me to be,” I say,reaching out to touch her hand. My voice is steadier than I feel. “Just tell me what’s happening.”
She scoffs, a bitter sound that doesn’t suit her. “Anything? I don’t even know what I need you to be.”
Fuck, that doesn’t sound good or reassuring. I lean forward, trying to bridge the gap between us. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
“Max, I . . . I don’t know how to say this.” Her voice wavers, barely above a whisper.
She bites her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth. Seconds stretch into an eternity. My palms grow damp as the seconds pass, pulse quickening.
“Just say it, Zoe.” I force a calm I don’t feel into my voice. “It’ll be perfectly fine.” I swallow hard, willing my face to remain neutral. “I’m here for you.”
I’m really starting to freak out.
She presses her lips together, and then the words tumble out in a rush. “Max . . . I’m pregnant.”
My brow furrows, my mind struggling to catch up. “Pregnant?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “As in, you’re having a baby?”
