Page 52 of Make it a Double

My gaze slid to hers. “What do you mean?”

Tatum leaned forward, bringing the phone closer to her face. “Look, I know you better than anyone, and I can tell by that puppy dog look on your face how badly you want to try and make this work. You’re no stranger to our father’s disconnect from anything that doesn’t involve a dollar sign, so I’ll cut the bullshit. There’s nothing I can tell you about yourself or your situation that you don’t already know, but you are not him, Beckett. And if you can find a way to make it work, I think you should. Don’t count yourself out because you’re scared. Do it in spite of that.”

“What if she doesn’t want me involved, Tate? I won’t force her into an arrangement just because I want to be there for her.” Not after seeing how shaken up she’d been. Not even if it meant losing something that I didn’t know existed before.

“That sounds an awful lot like defeat, brother. Are you hanging up your towel before even trying to play the game?” she asked, settling back against the pillows. “Clearly, the girl is dealing with a lot at the moment. All you can do is prove you’re going to be there for her. Don’t go in barking orders or trying to change her life like some Prince Charming with a black Amex. Just offer your support. And don’t be surprised if you have to put in some serious effort.”

That was what Sawyer had said nearly verbatim. I’d offered her anything she wanted or needed, and she seemed insulted. Which was not something I was used to when it came to women.

But Sawyer was different. I knew that from the moment I laid eyes on her. Most women would jump at the chance to have me support them long-term, but she was determined to do this on her own. If I had it my way, though, she wouldn’t have to. I just needed to prove myself.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any specific ideas in that brilliant mind of yours, would you?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, big brother,” Tatum said, laughing. “Of course, I do. Grab a notebook and a pen. It’s time for you to take some notes.”

SAWYER

Date: Wednesday, March 3rd

27 weeks:

- Swollen feet

- Craving Cherry 7UP

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Olivia asked, handing me a set of glasses fresh from the dishwasher. “I’m an excellent listener.”

“You’re an excellent yapper,” I sighed, reaching up to put them on the top shelf. “I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that I’m okay.”

I wasn’t. Not even close. But I couldn’t say that.

The problem with your boss being your only friend was that she knew the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’d spent the majority of my day thus far assuring Liv that everything was fine and dandy between Beckett and me. And every time I did, she rolled her eyes and mumbled something under her breath about my pants being on fire.

“I’m just saying. If he did something to upset you, I’m not afraid of spending a night in the county jail.”

“Olivia!” I exclaimed, turning to pop her with my towel. “Why is that where your mind goes?”

“Because I picked your ass up from his cabin at eleven at night days ago, and you didn’t say a single word the entire ride home. You were more chatty after finding out you were pregnant, which is saying something considering I could only manage a handful of words from you that weren’t yes or no.” She turned to me, hands on her hips. The cutting glare she shot my way was nearly enough to have me confessing all my secrets.

But not quite.

Beckett and Liv clearly had some kind of business together. Regardless of what happened, I couldn’t let my feelings jeopardize that, no matter how badly I wanted to tell someone about what happened. The moment she found out the truth, she’d have his balls as a trophy on her mantle.

Beckett’s reaction, while disappointing, was not altogether surprising. I had months to come to terms with my pregnancy, he had hours at most. Combine that with the fact I’d all but told him I thought he was a baby snatcher… Well, I understood how hard it might have been to process.

My disappointment didn’t come from a place of resentment, but hope. No matter how many times I told myself I was raising this baby on my own, there was some stupidly foolish, hopeless romantic compartment of my brain that perked up the moment I saw Beckett standing in this bar again. Questions I had no business asking formed at the tip of my tongue.

What if he knows?

What if he decided to stay?

What if I didn’t have to do this alone?

What if, what if, what if. It didn’t matter in the end because the answer was a resounding no. The quicker I learned that, the quicker I could pick myself up off the floor and forget Beckett Montgomery ever existed.

Unfortunately, the man in question just strolled through the front door at Frank’s with a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand and a twelve-pack of Cherry 7UP in the other.

Liv and I traded a look, staring in confusion as he set them both on the bartop and took a seat. “Olivia,” he said, with a polite dip of his chin. When his warm, chocolate brown eyes swung to me, my grip on the towel tightened. “Hello, Sawyer.”