Page 28 of Better as It

His voice comes soft when he speaks again. “You gonna tell me what’s got you pacing your condo like it’s a cage?”

I freeze. Of course he knows. Of course he senses it. He always has.

But I’m not ready. Not here. Not in a booth with ketchup packets and old men playing cards in the corner.

I shake my head. “Later.”

He nods. Doesn’t push. Just goes back to his fries like he’s giving me time to find the words. He takes me home around midnight.

Walks me to the door. Doesn’t turn to leave. “You gonna be okay?”

I stare at the knob. My hand rests on it, but I don’t twist. “No.”

I open the door, and he follows me inside without being asked. That’s the thing about Justin—he doesn’t wait for me to invite him when he knows I need him.

I stand in the living room, arms limp at my sides, heart thudding like I ran here instead of rode.

He steps closer.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I whisper.

He tilts his head. “For what?”

I look up. It’s Justinmy heart screams at me.He will handle you with care.“Pregnancy.”

His breath catches. He blinks once, slow. But he doesn’t flinch. “And you just found out?”

I nod.

His voice is low now. Careful. “Do you...God I hate to even ask this. Do you want to keep it?”

I nod as tears fill my eyes. “You need to know, I don’t,” I pause, and it shatters me. “I don’t know whose it is. It could be Benji’s.” I pause again and take a deep breath, “It could be yours. And no matter what I want this baby, yes.”

The words hang between us like smoke.

He doesn’t run. Doesn’t curse. Doesn’t shut down.

Justin just stands there, absorbing it all. “Okay,” he says finally.

Just that.

Okay.

I break then. Not into sobs, but into silence—falling against him, letting him wrap his arms around me like he’s the last solid thing on earth.

I don’t know what happens next. But right now, he’s holding me.

And somehow... that’s enough.

NINE

TOON

"The bear adapts to changing seasons; embrace life's transitions with courage." — Unknown

I holdher while her world caves in. Dia isn’t crying. Not in the way people expect. She just presses herself against me like her bones might shatter if I let go. Her arms don’t even move—just hang at her sides, limp like she’s hollowed out.

Her voice is a whisper into my chest. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

---