As Benji stirs, making little snuffling noises, I watch her face soften with love. She gently strokes his cheek, and I’m struck by the tenderness of the gesture. Whatever wounds her father has left, I know she is determined not to pass them on. In that moment, exhausted and overwhelmed as she is, juggling new motherhood and supporting me through my breakup, I have never admired my friend more.
Looking at her—my best friend since sophomore year, when we bonded over terrible cafeteria pizza and worse boyfriends—my stomach does a slow roll. Fifteen years of friendship, of knowing every secret, every heartbreak, every triumph. And here I am, sitting across from her with kiss-bruised lips and the ghost of her brother’s hands still burning on my skin, trying to pretend last night was just chili and conversation.
My stomach roils. That can never happen again.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” I tell her, my voice thick with emotion.
Surprise flickers across her face. “Who? Me?”
“Yes, you—being an incredible mom, an awesome friend... all while dealing with your own stuff.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
As I gather my things to leave, I turn to Brooke with a grin. “Hey, I’ve been thinking. Soon, why don’t we get you out of the house for a bit?”
Brooke’s eyes light up for a moment before doubt creeps in. “That sounds great, but Benji—”
I gently cut her off, placing a hand on her arm. “Jonathan can watch him for a few hours, right? You deserve some time to just be Brooke, not only Benji’s mom.”
She bites her lip, considering. “I... I don’t know. What if something happens?”
“Then Jonathan will handle it,” I assure her. “He’s the dad, after all. And you’ll only be a phone call away if there’s an emergency. But girl, you need this. A little break, some adult conversation that doesn’t revolve around diapers or feeding schedules.”
“You’re right.” Brooke’s shoulders relax a bit. “I know you’re right. It’s just... hard to step away.”
I nod understandingly. “Of course it is. But that’s why I’m here—to give you a little push when you need it. We’ll start small, okay? Just lunch. And if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll catch a movie. If not, we’ll come right back.” I pull her into a gentle hug, careful not to disturb the sleeping Benji. “That’s what friends are for. And hey, I promise not to judge if you spend half the lunch checking your phone for updates.”
She laughs softly. “Only half? You’re giving me too much credit.” Then her eyes brighten. “Oh! But next week is perfect—we can celebrate your birthday! I can’t believe I almost forgot.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly, but she’s already shaking her head.
“It absolutely is. Thirty deserves to be celebrated.”
As I head to the door, I turn back. “Next week, then. It’s a date.”
I’m just outside her house when my phone buzzes with a news alert.
Gale Knight OUT vs Rangers
Shit.Was that connected to the call? He hadn’t said much after hanging up with the coach and me calling an Uber. I pop open my messages and type outSaw the news. Want to talk?
But no. Things are too complicated right now. And I can’t mess up my work. And if anything—Gale needs E.M.M.A.’s help more than mine.
So I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket, keys jingling as my hand shakes slightly. The right thing to do and the thing I want to do have never felt so far apart.
Chapter Eight
The cat screamed—an unholy yowl, with a side of demon. Gale glanced back at his open patio door. Inside lay the life he’d been living just minutes ago: a bowl of Froot Loops on the coffee table, rockabilly thrumming on the sound system, his untouched coffee. But he had left that reality the moment he heard the first strange noise from the pool deck. Now he stood shirtless in cutoff sweats, barefoot, his breath coming out in white puffs in the chill February morning.
The orange cat stared at him with vivid green eyes, boring into his literal fucking soul. Was she sick? He saw no visible injuries, so she likely hadn’t tangled with a coyote and stumbled into his yard to lick her wounds.
She screamed again. Gale flinched, his heart racing. Good thing there was no cemetery nearby, or she’d wake the dead. His eyes darted to her swollen abdomen, and a wave of dread washed over him. The truth roiled, undeniable and urgent.
Fuck.
This cat would soon be giving birth. Right here. Right now. On his pool deck.
Panic clamped his throat. What the hell should he do? He knew nothing about delivering kittens—or anything else. His mind raced through a jumble of half-formed ideas, each more uselessthan the last. Should he call a vet? Search the internet? Try to move her? Give her privacy?
