Page 100 of Through the Storm

I’ll be more helpful and more present. I can do that. I’m excellent at adjusting my game when something’s not working.

I show up at her house with coffee, a bag of bagels, and three different prenatal books I found online at two a.m.

“Wow,” Katy says when she opens the door. “That’s… a lot.”

“It’s called being prepared,” I correct, holding them up. “There’s a lot of different philosophies about… every fucking thing. I figured we could see which ones resonate more.”

She laughs, but there’s tension in it. “Ben.”

“What?” I ask. “Too much?”

She hesitates. “Just… unnecessary.”

I step inside anyway, setting everything down neatly on the counter like I still belong here. Like I haven’t acknowledged the distance she’s been putting between us. I don’t miss the way she watches me.

Throughout the day, I keep finding ways to help. I decide we need to wash all of the baby’s clothes now. Then I fold them and arrange them in the dresser perfectly. Both by age and color.

“I don’t need you to do all this,” she says at one point, with her arms crossed.

“I know. But I want to.”

There it is again, that flicker in her eyes. The one I can’t name.

Later, when we’re sitting on the couch, I mention offhandedly, “I talked to my agent today. If things keep going well for me, next year I’ll land on a good team. Hopefully nearby, but if it’s far, we can make it work. Lots of guys do.”

Her body goes still. “Make what work?” she asks carefully.

“Us.” I glance at her. “You and the baby maybe coming with me to wherever I end up.”

The silence stretches.

“That’s… really sweet,” she says finally. “But you don’t need to plan your life around me.”

The words hit me too hard.

“I’m not.” I frown. “I’m planning it with you.”

She looks away. “I just don’t want you feeling trapped.” Her voice softens. “You have so many options, Ben.”

Options. Like she’s reminding me she hasn’t decided she wants me.

“I’m not trapped. I’m choosingyou. Willingly.”

KATY

“Glad that’s settled. Then maybe we can start figuring out a plan. Nothing crazy. Just… talk about options,” he says.

Options. The word lands wrong again. I wrap my arms around my stomach, a habit I’ve picked up without realizing it. Protective. Instinctive.

“Ben. Can we not do this right now?”

He pauses. “Do what?”

“All of it.” I gesture vaguely. “The planning. The fixing.”

His brow furrows, like he’s confused but not defensive. “I thought it might help you feel better.”

“I know.”