Pregnant?
HARDIN’S POV
Steam still curled lazily from the bathroom as I reached for a towel and offered my hand. Ariana looked up at me from the water like she was coming back to earth—slowly, reluctantly.
“Come here, baby,” I said softly.
She stood, water cascading down her skin, and I wrapped the towel around her like I was afraid she might shatter from the chill. Gently, I patted her dry—starting with her arms, her shoulders, moving down to her legs with careful, deliberate strokes. She didn’t say a word. She just watched me, her eyes too full, her lips too quiet.
I moved to her hair next, grabbing another towel, letting the strands slip between my fingers as I pressed gently against her scalp, trying to soak up the damp without tugging too hard. Her breath hitched, just a little, like the tenderness was undoing something inside her.
Still, she said nothing.
And I didn’t ask.
When she was mostly dry, I guided her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I wrapped my arms around her again, rubbing warmth into her arms.
“I’ll get you something to wear,” I murmured.
I headed to my closet and pulled one of my shirts from a drawer—navy blue, soft cotton, the one she liked to steal when she stayed over. I brought it back and helped her slip into it, careful with each button, though my fingers trembled slightly. Not from desire. From the growing weight of worry I couldn’t shake.
Her skin was still damp beneath the fabric, her legs bare and pink from the heat of the bath. She looked small in my shirt, swallowed up, vulnerable. It killed me a little to see her like that.
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my thoughts were a hurricane behind my eyes. I felt her studying me as I buttoned her shirt all the way up. My fingers lingered at her collar, fixing it gently.
She raised a hand, touched my wrist. “Hardin…”
“I’m okay,” I said too quickly, too tightly.
Her brows drew together, but she didn’t press. She let me lead her to the bed and tuck her in like a fragile secret. She curled beneath the covers as I pulled them up to her chest, my hand lingering there for a moment—just resting over her heart.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “I just need a quick shower.”
She nodded, eyes soft, watching me like she wasn’t sure if I’d actually return.
I gave her one last look before walking away.
***
The water hit my back and ran down my spine like it was trying to wash away everything I didn’t understand.
I braced my hands against the wall and dropped my head forward, letting the heat soak into my muscles.
But the ache inside me had nothing to do with tension.
What the hell was going on with her?
She hadn’t been herself for days, but tonight had taken it to another level. The way she snapped. The way she apologized like she was breaking. The way she clung to me like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.
Was it everything with our families? God knows she’d been through more than enough lately. Maybe this was just the pressure finally spilling over.
But it didn’t feel like just that.
It felt… final. The way she kissed me earlier. The way she looked at me like I was something she was trying to memorize before it was gone.
My stomach twisted. Was she thinking about ending things?
Was that what this was?
No. No—she wouldn’t. Not Ariana. Not after everything we’d fought for. Not after everything we’d survived.
But maybe she didn’t know how to say it.
Maybe she didn’t want to hurt me.
Was that why she wanted to come here tonight? To hold me one last time before she broke my fucking heart?
I gritted my teeth and let the water cascade down my face, trying to drown out the thought. It made no sense. She said she loved me. Over and over. And I believed her. I still did.
But something had shifted.
And I couldn’t figure out what.
I slammed the faucet off harder than I needed to, water dripping from my body as I toweled off and wrapped it low around my waist. I walked to my closet, yanked open a drawer, and pulled on a pair of soft black shorts, running my hands through my hair as I padded back into the bedroom.
She was still awake.
Lying on her side, facing my side of the bed, her eyes open but unreadable. Her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket as she waited for me. Like she couldn’t sleep until I was there.
I crossed the room and climbed in beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her close.
God, she was warm. Real. Solid.
She melted into my chest with a sigh, her breath fanning my collarbone.
I kissed the crown of her head and whispered, “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t answer.
But she clung to me again, like she couldn’t bear the thought of being anywhere else.
I held her tighter.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. I lost track.
Eventually, her breathing deepened, steadied. She drifted off in my arms, the tension in her muscles slowly, finally unwinding.
But sleep didn’t come for me.
I stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open in the dark.
My thoughts wouldn’t shut off. Every second brought a new fear, a new theory, a new version of the same gnawing question: What aren’t you telling me, Ariana?
Was this about her family?
Was it about mine?
God—for a brief, desperate second, I wondered if she was sick. If she got some diagnosis she hadn’t found the strength to share. My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
Then another thought hit me.
Out of nowhere.
Sharp and bright like a match being struck in the dark.
Could she be… pregnant?
I froze.
The idea coiled through me, slow and thunderous.
Was that what this was?
Is that why she was scared? Why she was overwhelmed? Why she couldn’t look me in the eye without her hands shaking?
I blinked into the darkness, heart racing now for an entirely different reason.
Pregnant.
The word echoed in my head like a secret I wasn’t supposed to hear.
We hadn’t exactly been careful lately. Not always.
My mind spun with flashes—her sitting quietly on the couch with that faraway look, her sudden mood shifts, her exhaustion, the way her body seemed a little more sensitive lately…
And tonight. God. Tonight.
The way she held me like she needed to feel every inch of me.
The way she kept looking at me like she had something huge to say but couldn’t find the words.
I looked down at her, still sleeping in my arms, her lashes resting against her cheek, her hand loosely curled against my chest.
Could that be it?
Could she be carrying our child?
A thousand emotions tore through me—fear, awe, protectiveness, more fear.
I wasn’t ready.
But I’d never let her go through something like that alone.
If that was it—if that’s what she was hiding—
Then I’d do anything to prove she didn’t have to be scared.
But I didn’t know.
Not yet.
And until she was ready to tell me, all I could do was wait.
Hold her.
And pray that whatever storm she was walking through… she’d let me walk through it with her.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
