Page 8 of When the Sky Falls

“Yeah,” I whisper, resting a hand on my belly even though it’s barely anything yet. Just a bump. A maybe-bump. But it’s mine.

There’s a beat of silence on their end. The kind that’s heavy with words no one quite knows how to say yet.

Reese is the one who breaks it. “And… Fletch?”

Her voice is cautious. Like she’s testing the waters before diving into a frozen lake.

I hesitate. My throat tightens. “He knows.”

“And?” Thorin’s tone is sharper. More protective. Big Brother Mode activated.

I shrug. Try to act like the truth doesn’t burn on the way out. “He hasn’t really… responded. I don’t think he wants to be involved.”

There’s a beat.

Then Reese’s face crumples all over again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I force a smile. One of those brittle ones I used to wear all the time, the kind that hides the cracks if you don’t look too closely. “I’ve got this. I’m not scared.”

Lie. But it’s the kind you tell the people who love you so they don’t fall apart on your behalf.

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone,” Reese whispers.

“I know,” I murmur. “But I can. I will.”

Thorin doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me like he’s trying to x-ray my soul. His jaw flexes, then relaxes. “We’ve got you,” he says simply. “No matter what.”

That gets me. Hits me low and hard, right in the place where all the walls I’ve been rebuilding wobble a little.

“I know,” I say again, and this time I mean it.

We chat for a while longer—about Reese’s opportunity to open a new store for Simply Reese, about the songs Thorin’s been writing on their honeymoon, about whether my cravings for peanut butter and pickles mean I’m incubating evil—but eventually my body starts betraying me.

I yawn mid-sentence.

“Bed. Now,” Reese orders, holding up a finger like she’s my boss. “No arguing, no protests. I want your butt horizontal and your phone on silent.”

“Yes, Mom,” I mutter, already pushing back the covers.

She grins. “Damn right.”

“Night, Mya,” Thorin says gently. “Get some rest. And don’t be afraid to lean on us.”

“I won’t,” I lie, because old habits die hard, and vulnerability still tastes like vinegar in my throat.

But I smile. And I mean that too.

Because even if the guy who helped make these babies is a ghost with a beautiful face and commitment issues, I’ve still got people in my corner.

And that? That’s everything.

Chapter Three

MYA

One Month Later

The zipper of my suitcase shrieks like it’s auditioning for a slasher movie. High-pitched. Haunting. Melodramatic. Which, fine—same.