I didn’t know what to expect when I told Chase, so I asked my mother to keep Izzy overnight. Although I probably looked like a zombie when she asked if I was okay, I insisted I was and that I was just tired and needed a little alone time with Chase.

Izzy was disappointed. I think if the opportunity had presented itself, she would have dropped me off at my mother’s so she could have a little alone time with Chase instead.

I whipped up another roast beef, since it was Chase’s favorite, and made sure the fridge was stocked with Heineken. I grabbed myself a bottle of wine, then put it back. Even though I needed it, I wouldn’t be drinking any. Dr. Hart had discussed my options with me, and I knew no matter which side of this development Chase landed on, I would be having a baby.

When Chase’s Harley roared up the street and into the garage, I tried to remain calm. It wasn’t easy.

He came in through the front door and hung his leather jacket in the closet.

“Roast beef on a Monday? How come you’re not working?” His slow, warm smile warmed me all the way to the base of my spine.

I tried to smile back.

“Irena didn’t need me, and I had a little extra time, so I thought I’d make something special.”

I stuck my head into the fridge for a Heineken. They were right in front of my face, but he didn’t need to know that. Feeling only slightly more composed, I grabbed a bottle, slipped the neck into the bottle opener he’d screwed into the side of the counter, and popped off the top. When I handed it to him, he pulled me in for a long, slow kiss.

“Where’s Izzy?” he asked after letting go.

“Spending the night with my mom.”

I drained the potatoes and began pounding them with the potato masher as if my life depended on it. Chase watched me, an odd expression on his face, then asked if he had time for a shower.

“Yep, about twenty minutes. You want salad?”

“Not if you don’t. I’m good with anything,” he called as he disappeared down the hall.

“We’ll see about that,” I muttered.

* * *

“So,” Chase said, slicing into the meat I’d piled onto his plate. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just the two of us and my favorite dinner on a Monday. I figure something’s going on.”

I frowned. “Why does there have to be anything going on?”

He speared a piece of roast beef. “I don’t know. Just seems strange is all. And I miss playing twenty questions at dinner, although I do enjoy having you all to myself.”

He put the meat in his mouth and chewed. I should’ve gone for a tougher cut. It would’ve kept him busy longer.

He looked up to find me watching.

“What?”

I should probably wait until after dinner. No point having him choke on his roast beef. He was a pretty big guy for me to attempt the Heimlich.

I jumped up from the table. “Want more gravy?”

“It’s right here.” He held up the gravy boat.

“That’s not hot enough. Let me heat it up for you.”

“It’s fine.”

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down. Then he set his fork down and pushed his plate away.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Rain.”

“Nothing. Jeez.”

He leaned back and folded his arms. I stared at the indentation that separated the long, lean muscles in his forearms, the road map of veins running the length of his arms, the strong hands, the nails that were never quite clean no matter how hard he scrubbed them with Gojo. He waited patiently while my eyes traveled up his Mötley Crüe T-shirt to his face. His lips were pursed. The eyes that always sparkled for me were serious.

“What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. What came out was a low moan that quickly morphed into a sob.

He pulled my chair from the table with me in it, knelt before me, and took my face into his hands. I kept my eyes closed. It hurt too much to look at him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

I cried harder.

“Is it your mom? Izzy?”

I shook my head and sobbed louder. He helped me stand and led me into the living room, with me crying the entire way. When we reached the couch, he pulled me into his lap, which only made me cry harder.

“Rain, please.” He brushed strands of wet hair off my face. “Tell me what’s going on?”

The room was dark. He reached for the lamp, but I grabbed his arm. It would be much easier to say if I couldn’t see his reaction, especially if he hated me.

I wiped my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.

“Right around the time we got together—actually a few days before—I was sick. I had some kind of upper respiratory thing, and my aunt got me some antibiotics.”

I glanced up to see if he was following me. I could see enough of his face to tell he was clueless, although he looked worried, like I was about to tell him I had something fatal. I pushed ahead.

“Anyway, I was on antibiotics for ten days to help with the infection.”

While I spoke, his thumb traced circles on the top of my hand. I stopped speaking for so long that he finally asked if I had gotten sick again. I shook my head.

“Not really.”

“Not really?” He rested his forehead against mine. “Please just tell me. You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t hate me.”

His hand gripped mine. “Never. I could never hate you.”

“Never say never.”

He stiffened. “Is this about Preston?”

“No! Um . . . not so much. God. I don’t know.”

The tears were back. They consumed me as Chase dropped my hand, lifted me off his lap, and stood, looking down at me.

“You’re going back to him?”

The accusation was so shocking, I stopped crying. “No! Absolutely not. How could you even ask me that? I love you.”

“Then what is it? Whatever’s going on here has you bawling your eyes out and me scared shitless. Just say it already, for fuck’s sake.”

I rolled my lips together and nodded. I blinked several times and squeezed my eyes shut.

“I’m pregnant.” For as much as I was afraid of his reaction, I didn’t want to miss it either. As the words left my mouth, I squinted up at him.

He ran his hand through his hair.

“Again. Tell me again.”

“I’m pregnant?”

It was impossible to read him.

He dropped back onto the couch.

“I thought you were on the pill.”

“I am, but when I was sick, I was on antibiotics. Did you know the pill doesn’t work if you’re on antibiotics?”

He shook his head.

“Me neither. Obviously. And then there’s the whole orange juice conspiracy—”

“You’re doing this, right?” His eyes met mine. I nodded, and he wove his fingers between mine.

“Okay. When”—he cleared his throat—“when is the baby due?”

“Probably the third week of June.”

He nodded, staring down at our entwined hands.

“Chase,” I began, “you know there’s a possibility—”

He pressed his fingers against my lips. “Stop. Stop talking. If it’s okay with you, then as far as I’m concerned, we’re having a baby. You and me. We are having a baby.”

Fresh tears filled my eyes, and my heart felt as if it would beat right through my ribs.

“Are you sure?”

He lifted my chin and brought his face close to mine.

“I’m sure.” His lips brushed mine gently. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”