The days after my doctor’s appointment blurred together. My body felt foreign, like I was trapped inside something I no longer controlled. The nausea came in waves, the dizziness making every shift at the bar an uphill battle. Every sound was too loud, every smell too sharp.
But the worst part?
The secret pressed against my ribs like a weight I couldn’t shake.
I hadn’t told Caleb. I hadn’t told Logan. Only Sarah and Maria knew, and even that felt like too much. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t real, to keep pushing through each day like nothing had changed.
But reality was catching up with me.
“Emma,” Maria’s voice snapped me out of my daze. I looked up to find her watching me, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’re pale as hell. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, forcing myself to stand up straighter.
Maria didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been ‘fine’ for days now, and no offense, babe, but you look like you’re about to pass out.”
I ignored her, focusing on wiping down the bar. “Just tired.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Listen, I can cover for you if you need to sit down for a bit, but if Mr. Torres notices—”
My stomach twisted at the mention of Caleb’s father, and as if summoned, I felt his presence before I even saw him.
Mr. Torres leaned against the doorframe of his office, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed directly on me.
Shit.
Maria followed my glance and swore under her breath. “He’s coming over.”
I barely had time to brace myself before he called my name.
“Emma,” Mr. Torres said, his voice steady but firm. “In my office.”
The weight in my chest tripled.
Maria gave me a quick look, but there was nothing she could do. I wiped my damp hands on my jeans and followed him into the office, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
The moment the door shut, the noise of the bar dulled, leaving only the faint hum of the overhead light.
Mr. Torres gestured for me to sit, but I couldn’t. My legs felt locked in place, my hands gripping the back of the chair for support.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, studying me like a puzzle he was piecing together. “You’ve been off lately,” he said, his voice unreadable. “Sick. Distracted.”
I forced my expression to remain neutral. “I’m just tired.”
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Emma, don’t insult my intelligence.”
My breath caught in my throat.
He exhaled slowly, as if weighing his next words. And then—
“I know you’re pregnant.”
It hit me like a physical blow.
My body locked up, my breath coming too short. “I—”
“Don’t bother lying,” he said, his tone not unkind but firm. “I’ve been around long enough to know the signs.”
I stared at him, my throat dry. My mind scrambled for a way out, a way to deflect, but nothing came.
He studied me for a long moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His voice softened, but there was an edge to it.
“My wife was just like you,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
He gave a small, knowing smile. “Stubborn as hell.” His gaze darkened with something almost like nostalgia. “I figured out she was pregnant before she ever told me. The signs were there—the way she flinched at certain smells, how she got quiet whenever the topic of family came up.”
I swallowed hard, gripping the chair tighter.
“And by your reaction it seems like I am not mistaken,” he said simply.
The words felt heavy.
I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t before, like someone had reached inside my chest and pulled my secret out into the open.
“You don’t have to tell me the details,” he continued. “But I have to ask—does Caleb know?”
My stomach clenched painfully.
I shook my head.
Mr. Torres exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Emma…” He hesitated for a moment, then his voice gentled. “You need to tell him.”
Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I don’t know how.”
He sighed, the weight of his years pressing into the room. “I know you think keeping it to yourself is protecting him, but it’s not. It’s only making it worse.”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “I just—I’m not ready.”
After a long pause, he sighed and stood, crossing the room until he was standing directly in front of me.
“I’m not trying to make this harder for you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I care about my son.”
My chest ached.
His expression softened just a fraction. “Go home. Get some rest.”
“No need, I’m fine, sir. I’ll go back to work.”
Before I could step out, his voice stopped me.
“Emma...”
I turned back, sure anxiety was written all over my face. He sighed, a long, frustrated breath, and I could see the tiredness in his eyes.
“Fine,” he muttered, conceding.
An hour later, Caleb walked into the bar, his expression tense.
He’d clearly been talking to his father, and now his hazel eyes were locked on me, filled with a mix of worry and determination.
“Emma,” he said, his voice low as he approached the counter. “We need to talk.”
I hesitated, glancing toward Maria, who was busy with a customer. There was no getting out of this.
“Okay,” I said quietly, stepping out from behind the bar. Caleb led me to the alley behind the building, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
He stopped and turned to face me, his jaw tight.
“My dad thinks you’re pregnant,” he said bluntly. I flinched, my stomach churning.
“Caleb, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Emma,” he cut me off, his voice sharp but not unkind.
“Is it true?” I nodded slowly, my hands shaking.
“Yes.”