“Every second,” I admit. “But also excited. I never admitted to myself how much I wanted a child until it was real. Even then, I’ve known for two weeks before fully embracing my choice. Take time to decide, Tristan.”
“If you’re in, so am I.” Zero hesitation in his answer. No doubt in his tone.
Something restructures in my brain at the sound of those words:If you’re in, so am I.It’s as if, by virtue of being spoken, they became something to build on. It isn’t the same as naivelybelievingeverything Tristan says, but the sentence is like a shelf on which to place the seed of belief and watch it grow.
He reaches out, resting his hand over mine. Against my better judgment, I turn my palm up so our fingers interlock. His thumb brushes over my knuckles and strokes cautiously, like he’s petting a skittish stray.
The gesture triggers disproportionate and conflicted reactions from me. I could sob or laugh, stand or lie down, who knows? I can’t decide if I want to be alone or if I want to sit on his lap.
Body:That’s a lie. You definitely want to sit on his lap.
Brain:Be quiet. The adults are talking.
“When did you find out?”
“Two weeks ago. I needed to be sure about what I wanted. Talking to you before I made my decision seemed pointless.”
That statement deepens the furrow between his brows. For the first time since this conversation started, he looks upset.
“Now what? What do we do?” Tristan asks.
We?My head can’t quite wrap around that word.
I should feel relief, right? He’s calm and supportive and eager to help. That’s a good thing. And yet, there’s no reprieve from my pounding heart and shortness of breath. Tristan’s willingness to be part of the pregnancy is oddly more alarming than if he walked out the door. Buying time to formulate my answer, I stand up and walk to the kitchen to fetch glasses of water.
“I secured an ultrasound on the twenty-second.”
“Can I be there?” His voice is closer than I expected, because he’d followed me into the kitchen.
“If you’re in town.”
I avoid his gaze, put his glass on the counter, and take a sip from mine. In my rush to ease my parched throat, I chug too quickly and trigger a coughing fit. The height of elegance, that’s me.
Tristan’s warmth wraps around me as he pets my back and then rubs it up and down. My hacking stops, but the rest of my body ignites in full awareness of his touch.
I step away and clear my throat.
“I’d like to be there.” If he notices my skittishness, Tristan does not comment on it. “What time do you have it scheduled? The twenty-second is our last morning practice before the Christmas break.”
“The ultrasound is scheduled for three in the afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll be there, Ligaya.”
CHAPTER 21
TRISTAN
If you’re in, so am I.
The words flowed out of me without restraint. Hearing myself only confirmed my intent. There’s no way I’m walking away from my responsibility. Respecting and supporting Ligaya’s choice to keep the pregnancy is the right thing to do.
She’s dressed in leggings and an oversized T-shirt that slips off one shoulder. Nothing fancy, but she’s beautiful without even trying. Her hair’s twisted up in a loose bun, a few soft curls escaping at her temples. Her lips are a beacon for my attention. They’re red and puffy as if we just kissed. My eyes glaze over a little and I shake off the images of our night together.
It’s important to focus on what she said instead of obsessing over how good she tastes.Pregnant. That’s the headline here. Not the shirt, not the shoulder. Definitely not the sudden sharp awareness of our intertwined fingers.
Her townhouse is bathed in the soft light of the winter sun filtering through linen curtains. Everything in here carries Ligaya’s unique touch. Warm tones, textured blankets, leafy plants in mismatched pots. Lived-in and thoughtful and personalized.
The opposite of the club’s soulless design.
