Page 26 of Unleashed
Anthony’s fingers drum a nervous rhythm against his knee. “What are you going to do?”
The question sits heavy in the room. WhatamI going to do?
A part of me wants to answer immediately. Say something definitive. But nothing comes. Because nothing is simple anymore. Everything’s shifted, twisted, cracked wide open like fault lines splitting across the earth.
“I don’t know.” I stare at where my hand rests on my belly. “I’m not even sure what’s happening right now.”
“What’s happening is you’re growing a baby inside of you.”
He’s stating the obvious, but it doesn’t register all at once. It unspools in fragments. Like my brain can’t accept the whole picture, so it feeds me pieces. That sound. That heartbeat. The tiny flickering of life. Mine.
Emotion tightens in my chest so hard I curl around it, lips trembling, eyes burning. “I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant,” I whisper.
Anthony says nothing. He just stays close. Solid. Present.
“I didn’t plan this.” The words feel like a confession. “I didn’t think I could ever—God.” A sob breaks free. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m not even sure I ever knew…me.” I look at Anthony like he holds all the answers. “Between my mom, my dad, Michele…my entire fucking life so far, have I ever really known who I am? Or was I always just this extension of everyone around me, everyone who’s tried to control me?”
“Hey, hey, hey.” He shifts from his chair to the side of my bed, grabbing my hand. “You heard the doctor. No stress. Okay? I know it’s hard, but try to keep yourself calm. None of that matters right now. Whether you’ve always been versions of what others made you, or whether you’ve always just been…you, it no longer matters, because right now,” green eyes find mine, “you’re someone’s mother, Everly.”
Those words hit me like a freight train, and I try not to cry. I try not to choke on a breath. But I do. Hot tears slide down my cheeks, and I wrap my arms around my stomach like I can protect what’s already there. This new life. This new… everything.
“What if I’m not ready?” I cry.
“You just gotta take one day at a time. Okay?” He squeezes my hand, leaning close. “One day. At a time. We’ll get through this.”
I swallow. “We?”
“I’ve always been there for you, and I’m not about to stop now.”
My heart clenches so tight it hurts. Because for the first time since that night on the rooftop—when he sat beside me and became my best friend—I see it. Not friendship. Not sympathy. Not the gentle, protective kindness I’ve always clung to.
No. This is different. Something deeper. Something?—
His lips crash against mine, and I stiffen. It’s a rush of air that never reaches my lungs as he kisses me. It’s warm, steady, real, and for a split second, my chest squeezes so tight I almost let myself believe it could be enough because I do care about him. I always have. And for a split second, I wish I loved him in a way that would make all this easier. Less complicated. But even though his lips are soft, his touch careful, it feels like a betrayal to everything inside me. It’s like bitter lies coating my tongue, seeping into the cracks of my broken pieces.
I press against his chest, harder than I mean to, and he pulls back. His eyes burn, but it’s the wrong fire. Isaia is the only man who sets me alight, makes my body surrender. Anthony’s heat twists instead of ignites. The way he looks at me feels bent,twisted. And I don’t want it. I don’t want him looking at me like that.
“Everly…”
“Please don’t do that again,” I murmur. “You might not approve of the decisions I’ve made when it comes to Isaia, but he is my husband.”
“A husband who?—”
“I’m married, Anthony.” Conviction snaps in my tone, sharp enough to cut into him. My best friend. And I hate it—hate hurting him.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and I watch as he drags his fingers down the corners of his lips, his green eyes showing the storm that rages. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Yes. You did.”
The silence stretches thickly until I feel it pressing against my skin, and nothing about this moment feels right. It’s like reading the wrong lines in a play where everyone knows the script but me.
Anthony wraps his fingers around his cane and stands, guilt trickling through the cracks as it always does whenever I see him use it. As he stands, he says, “I know you don’t love me the way you love him, but I will be good to you, Everly Beaumont.” His eyes gleam with resolve. “That, I swear to you.”
My heart constricts. “Anthony, I can’t?—”
“—learn to love me the way I love you?”
I bite my bottom lip.
