"Well, you do have a serious boyfriend," Jenna points out.
"I know…"
"Apparently, all the boys want a little taste of Liza," she teases.
I smile. "Anyway, we're going to a support group together—for violent crime victims."
"Liza." Her tone shifts, sharp with concern. "That's a terrible idea."
"It's just a support group—"
"With a guy you're clearly into. A guy who asked you out." She leans closer to her camera. "You have a boyfriend. This is dangerous."
Heat flares in my chest. "I can have friends, Jenna."
"Friends don't make you feel the way he does. Trust me, I've heard you talk about him, and I know you have feelings for him."
Well, there's no denying that. As much as I hate to admit it, she's spot on.
She sighs. "I'm just worried about you. Daniel's already so intense, and if he finds out—"
"He won't." I force brightness into my voice, desperate to change the subject. "Besides, the group's in Portland. Maybe I can visit you guys after."
She studies me through the screen, unconvinced.
"Actually, that's why I wanted to talk." Her expression softens, a smile creeping back. "I have news."
My curiosity sparks. "What kind of news?"
A “slow smile stretches across her lips. “I’m… pregnant. Four months now.”
"Jenna!" I bolt upright, nearly knocking my phone over. "That's amazing! Liam's going to be such a good big brother."
"He's excited. Well, as excited as a five-year-old can be."
"Five already? God, time flies." I grin at her through the screen. "Do you know what you're having?"
“Not yet.”
"Caine must be over the moon."
She laughs, the sound warm and familiar. "He's probably already planning to teach the kid 8-ball before he or she can even walk properly."
We both laugh at that, the tension easing momentarily.
But when the call ends, I stare at my ceiling, emotions tangled. I'm thrilled for Jenna—truly. She deserves all the happiness in the world.
But I'm also annoyed. Frustrated that she doesn't trust me to handle my own life, that she thinks I'm making a mistake.
Maybe I am.
But it's my mistake to make.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The week drags at the pool hall. Every shift blends into the next—sticky bar tops, pool balls clattering, the same regulars ordering the same drinks. But honestly, I don't hate it.
Daniel won't drop it. Every night, it's the same conversation.
