Page 57 of Unleashed
Chapter 20
EVERLY
I’m sprawled across Molly’s bed, phone clutched to my ear, the sheets cool against my bare legs. The line clicks, the beep sounds, and before I can think better of it, I’m talking.
“Hi, it’s me again.” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to, a little breathless. “I had another appointment today. The doctor said the baby’s grown so much since last time. You wouldn’t believe it. There’s this tiny profile now—like a real little person.Ourlittle person.”
I press my free hand over my stomach, the swell of it firmer every week. “She—he—I don’t know. The doctor asked if I wanted to know the sex today. For a second, I almost caved. I was so curious, Isaia. But I said no. Because this…this feels like one of the only surprises life gives you where you can’t be disappointed either way. Boy, girl—it doesn’t matter. It’s ours. And I want to wait. I want us to wait. Together.”
My throat tightens, the wordtogethercatching on the way out. I close my eyes, imagining his hand resting over mine, feeling the press of our baby beneath.
“I swear, it’s getting harder to zip up my dresses. Molly keeps teasing me that I should just give up already and start living in her yoga pants.” A laugh slips out. “But I like seeing the bump whenever I walk past the mirror. I keep thinking…if you were here, you’d love it. You’d put your hands on me just to remind me I’m not imagining it. You’d probably smirk and say something cocky. You always do.” I smile, and silence stretches for a second, filled only by the hum of Molly’s old fan spinning lazily in the corner.
“It’s lonely, doing this without you.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I don’t even know whether you’re getting these messages or not. I like to think you do, so I’ll keep on telling you everything. Every flutter, every appointment, every stupid craving. Even if all you ever do is hit delete.”
The voicemail clicks off on its own, leaving me staring at the ceiling, phone heavy in my hand, heart even heavier in my chest.
“I miss you,” I murmur, then turn on my side. I’ve lost count of how many voicemails I’ve left him. Every time I feel the baby, I press call. Every time I bury a dress in the back of my closet because it no longer fits, I call.
Last night, Luna fell asleep with her head on my stomach, and it was such a perfect moment, I had to tell him about it.
After that very first voicemail, it became easier with every message I left. Now, I’m constantly reaching for my phone, needing to share everything with him. Everything’s become lighter somehow. The days, the nights, the moments I’m alone. It still hurts. I still long for him, but he doesn’t seem that far away anymore.
I glance at Luna. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”
She turns her head and whines.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
A knock on the front door rattles through the apartment. Luna lifts her head from where she’s curled against my legs. My pulse gives a stupid little jump before logic kicks in.
Probably one of Molly’s boyfriends. She’s been cycling through them lately—half-charming, half-useless, all terrible at listening when she tells them not to drop by uninvited.
I push myself upright, smoothing the fabric of my dress over my stomach, fingers lingering on the swell.
“It’s fine,” I murmur to Luna, who lets out a low whine anyway. “Probably some lovesick idiot with flowers.”
Another knock. Slower this time.
I pad across the living room, bare feet whispering over the rug, and tug the door open with a resigned breath. The speech is already on my tongue.Sorry, Molly’s not here. Try texting next time.But the words die before they’re born.
It’s not one of Molly’s boyfriends.
It’s Anthony.
He looks the same and not the same—hair neat, shirt rolled at the sleeves like he’s been dragging himself through a long day, eyes sharp but softer when they land on me.
“Hey,” he says quietly, almost tentative, clutching the cane in front of him.
“Hey.” The awkward moment has me placing both hands on my stomach, and his gaze follows.
“Wow. You’re showing.”
I shift my weight, palms still braced over the curve like a shield. “That tends to happen when you’re pregnant.”
“Yeah. I just—” His mouth tips, somewhere between a smile and a wince. “I didn’t think it’d hit me like this. Seeing you. It’s…real.”
The air stretches between us, full of things unsaid. He looks at me the way he always has—steady, protective—but now it feels different.
