Page 175 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“There’s something else,” I say as Skye cleans gel from my stomach with warm towels. “Is there a way to determine paternity? Without risking the pregnancy?”
“Noninvasive prenatal paternity testingafterbirth.” Skye’s explanation comes without judgment, recognition that complicated relationships sometimes require complicated answers. “Results take about a week.”
We drive home in silence, hands linked across the center console, minds processing news that changes everything while changing nothing. Pregnant. Having a son. Building a family from the ashes of loss.
Late-afternoon sunlight slants through windows, warming my skin despite the air conditioning.
The sunset paints our deck in shades of gold and orange as we settle onto the deck that’s become our evening refuge. Ocean waves crash against cliffs below with a rhythm that speaks to continuity despite constant change. Salt air carries the scent of kelp and brine, mixing with the jasmine blooming in our neighbor’s yard.
“I can’t believe we’re going to be a family.” My hand rests on the small bump that’s just beginning to show. “Hank would have been so excited about having a baby.”
“He would have been a great father,” Gabe agrees, voice carrying certainty alongside sadness.
“We don’t even know if it’s his baby or yours. But maybe that’s beautiful—not knowing, not needing to know. Just loving him because he exists.”
Gabe goes very still beside me. His hand, which had been tracing lazy patterns on my arm, stops moving entirely. When I look at him, his face has gone carefully blank—the expression he wears when he’s processing something too big for immediate reaction.
“Gabe? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s forcing words past some obstruction in his throat. “Everything’s… It’s good. This is good.”
“You’re being weird.” I shift to face him, studying features that have gone suspiciously neutral. “You’ve been weird since we found out about the pregnancy. Different. Like you know something I don’t.”
“I don’t?—”
“Don’t lie to me.” The words come out sharper than intended, pregnancy hormones making my emotions run closer to the surface than usual. “I can read you, Gabriel Martinez. After everything we’ve been through, after losing Hank, don’t you dare start keeping secrets from me.”
He flinches at the accusation, guilt flickering across features he’s trying so hard to keep controlled.
“Ally—”
“You’ve been lighter. Happier. Which should be wonderful, except it started the day we found out about the baby. Yousmiled when Skye said we were having a son. Really smiled, for the first time since Hank died. Why?”
“Because we’re having a baby?—”
“That’s not why.” I grab his chin and force him to meet my eyes. His skin is rough with afternoon stubble, warm under my palm. “Look at me and tell me what you’re not saying.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truth. Ocean wind carries salt spray that tastes of storms approaching, weather that matches the tension building in Gabe’s expression.
“It’s complicated,” he says finally.
“Everything about our life is complicated. That’s never stopped us from talking about it before.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Because…” He stops, runs his hands through his hair in frustration. The dark strands stick up at odd angles, making him look vulnerable. “Because it changes things. Because once I say it, we can’t go back to not knowing.”
“Knowing, what?”
“The truth.” The words come out like a confession, weighted with implications that make my stomach clench with something that isn’t morning sickness. “About the baby. About what this means.”
Fear crawls up my spine with icy fingers. “What truth?”
Gabe stands and begins pacing the length of the deck. Back and forth, hands clenched at his sides, internal war playing out in every movement. His bare feet slap against warm wood with each turn.
“When you asked about paternity testing,” he says finally, stopping mid-pace to face me. “I wanted to tell you then. Should have told you then. But I was being selfish.”
