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“WHAT?!”
“Dude, lower your voice!”
“Sorry, sorry. I just… Already?” His jaw is still flopping open.
I shrug. “She was sick a couple days ago and thought it was just a stomach flu or something. But then she realized she was late. Took a bunch of tests. A couple were positive, a couple were inconclusive, and one was negative.”
“The fuck does ‘inconclusive’ even mean? You are or you aren’t, right?”
“That’s what I thought, too.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Anyway… I dunno. We need to get a more official test.”
Marcus nods as he strokes his chin. “Wow. Unreal.” He looks at me. “So what happens if she is? With this Holly shit going on?”
“We’re having it,” I say, no questions asked. “And I’m raising it with her. I—I want to marry her.”
The surprise intensifies on Marcus’ face. Then it splits into a huge, goofy grin. He crosses the room and claps me on the back. “My man! I’m proud of you. I know you love her, but you’re, like, wanting to settle down with her. That’s big! Especially for you.”
“Y’know, I’m getting real tired of people implying I’m some sort of irreparable horndog with no self-control.”
Marcus grins. “No offense intended. I’m just… Hell, I’m really proud of you, dude. Look at you, getting all grown up.” He claps me on the back one more time, then gives me a friendly push toward the door. “Now, come on, lover boy. Before Coach has a fucking aneurysm that we’re not out there. Still got a bajillion sprints to go.”
25
OLIVIA
I rush to buckle her in and practically fly to the front seat. I throw the car in reverse and don’t even buckle myself in before I’m tearing out of the parking lot.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to speed home. Instead, I take every possible back way, turnaround, and loop I possibly can. Even though the man left before we did, paranoia has a stranglehold on my every breath. He knew Violet’s name—and I’ve never met him before. I’ve never seen him around Reese, or Marcus, or Dante, or anyone. And if he’s a fan, well, fuck him. That’s not how you do things.
I take two hours to get home and only then because the gas starts running low enough that if I do any more of this beating around the bush, I’m going to have another problem on my hands.
I quickly get Violet in the house, not stopping to catch my breath until we’re inside and I have the door locked, deadbolted, and chained in place.
I suck in air and push it right back out in staccato breaths that don’t slow the beating of my heart. Every inch of my body shakes. This has never happened before.
I don’t know what to do.
“Calm down first,” I suggest to myself. “Calm down. Put Violet down for a nap. Start dinner. Keep your hands busy and your mind will follow.”
The tasks are easier said than done. Violet can sense that I’m unsettled and it takes her from being fussy to outright upset. I have to bounce her around, humming with her baby music playing in the background for her to settle down and finally drift off. It takes nearly an hour of that and, while Violet is able to chill out and drift off into blissful sleep, I’m nowhere near that.
I’m still simmering by the time she’s down. But I’ve burned damn near four hours of the day and dinner still needs to be done. I’m tempted to just order in, but I know I need the distraction.
So cooking it is. I pull out everything I bought for spaghetti. Tomatoes, onions, ground beef, seasonings. I set to cutting up the onions, slicing through layers. I cut them the way Mom taught me, the way that stops your eyes from watering.
It’s not the onions that have me crying tonight, though. The breakdown I’ve been trying to hold off worms its through. As my vision blurs and I go to do another slice, pain shoots through my index finger.
“Shit!”
I drop the knife as blood splatters across the cutting board. The sting of the cut heightens with the fire of the onion juice seeping into my open wound.
I shuffle over to the sink, quickly rinsing off the wound and soothing the shoot of pain. I somehow cut myself pretty deep. How I didn’t chop off the whole finger is a miracle, but this is going to suck having to deal with for the next few days.
Today can’t get any worse.
My finger bleeds out into the sink, droplets of red dripping into the basin one by one. I breathe through my nose, trying to calm the storm that’s raging through my emotions. Keep it together repeats in my head on an endless, useless loop.
Then my phone starts buzzing.
