The garage at Garth’s house is loud.

Not just loud in the way music is supposed to be, but the messy, chaotic kind of loud that only happens when a band is still figuring out a song. The air smells faintly like dust, old wood, and cheap soda, cables running across the floor between amps and instruments while the sound of guitars and drums fills the small space.

Eddie stands near the center of it all, guitar hanging low across his chest as he plays through the same riff again, curls bouncing slightly every time he moves with the rhythm. Garth sits behind the drum kit, tapping his sticks together before launching back in, while Jeff works through a bassline and Kyle adjusts the tone on his guitar before joining them.

They’ve been at it for almost an hour.

And you’ve been sitting on an old couch pushed against the garage wall the whole time, one leg tucked under you while you watch them practice.

Normally you love being here.

Watching Eddie play, hearing the band work out new songs, joking around while they argue over lyrics or riffs. It’s been part of your life for the last year, the same year you and Eddie have been together.

But tonight is different.

Because earlier today you found out something that changed everything.

You’re pregnant.

And Eddie doesn’t know yet.

Every now and then Eddie glances your way while he plays.

Not enough to make it obvious to the others—but enough that you notice.

He’d been watching you like that all day.

At school he’d asked you twice if you were okay. You told him you were fine.

You weren’t.

Now the band pushes through the end of the song one last time before the music finally collapses into a mess of feedback and laughter.

Garth drops his drumsticks onto the snare with a satisfied sigh. “Okay, that one’s actually starting to sound good.”

Jeff plucks a few quieter notes on his bass. “Starting being the key word.”

Kyle rolls his shoulders, setting his guitar down against the amp.

Eddie pulls his pick from the strings and glances over at you again.

That same look.

The one that says he knows something’s off even if you haven’t told him what yet.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he says casually, wiping his hands on his jeans before walking over.

You shrug slightly. “Just listening.”

He studies you for a moment like he doesn’t quite believe that answer, but before he can press further, Garth calls from behind the drums.

“Pizza should be here in like twenty minutes.”

Jeff immediately perks up. “Finally.”

Kyle flops into one of the nearby chairs while Garth starts fiddling with the radio, the tension in the room melting back into the easy chaos of friends hanging out after practice.

Eddie sits beside you on the couch, elbows resting on his knees.

For a moment neither of you says anything.

Then he glances sideways at you.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asks quietly.

His voice isn’t accusing it’s just gentle.

“You’ve been weird all day.”

Your chest tightens slightly.

Because you knew this part was coming.

You take a breath and glance toward the others across the garage, who are now arguing over whether pepperoni or sausage pizza is the superior choice.

“Eddie,” you say softly.

He looks back at you immediately.

“…Can we talk? Somewhere private?”

He straightens a little at the seriousness in your voice.

Without hesitation he stands up, nodding toward the side door that leads outside the garage.

“Yeah,” he says, already moving.

Once the door shuts behind you both, the muffled sound of the band fades slightly, leaving the quiet night air around you.

Eddie leans back against the wall beside the door, watching you carefully now.

Concern written all over his face.

“Alright,” he says softly.

“What’s going on?”

Your hands feel a little shaky as you look up at him.

Because now you actually have to say it.

And Eddie Munson is waiting for the answer.