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Braden
Harper is a monster to get to sleep, but thankfully, she’s been sleeping hard once she’s out now.
I flop down on my bed, already about to pass out. I glance at the clock. Eight-thirty. Wow. I’m that lame. Awesome.
Before I can give into my tiredness, my phone goes off. I push away the hope. I know it won’t be Firecracker.
It’s not a number I recognize, but given the insanity of my life, I figure I better answer it.
“Hello?”
“Braden?”
The voice is familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“Uh, yeah. Who is this?”
There’s silence for a second. Then…
“It’s Maddie.”
My stomach knots.Fuck, is she calling to tell me I’m a dad? Again?
“Maddie. I—”
“I’m sorry, Braden. I’m sorry you got that paper. It—it’s not you. You’renotthe father.”
I gasp out the breath I was holding. Halle-fucking-lujah.
“I’m not?”
“No. I never thought you were. I’m sorry. I got pregnant at least a month after we last hooked up, but my parents hate the father and I was afraid to tell them it was him, so I made it seem like it could be someone else. They assumed it could be you. My dad has connections at the courthouse. Anyway—I’m sorry. I told them tonight when I found out what they did. Not sure how much longer I’ll be living in this sweet beach house, but they know. I’m sorry you got caught up in all of it.”
“I appreciate that. Are you going to be okay?”
She laughs. “You’re not the boy I remember.”
“No. I’m not.”
“I’ll be fine. The father—I love him. It’s a good relationship. His parents love me too, so I have somewhere to go. It’s just messy.”
“Well, I’m familiar with that. Thanks for calling. I feel like I can breathe again now.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Again. Take care, Braden.”
“You too, Maddie. Bye.”
I lie back on the bed and breathe out a sigh of relief. Then I sit up again, yank off my stress-sweat-soaked shirt, and drop it on the floor. I pull off my jeans and leave them on the floor too, then slide under my covers.
Thank God for small miracles, right?
I reach for my phone, wanting to text someone, tell them the good news. But again, the only one I want to text is the one I can’t. I think about doing it, anyway. Of calling her. But I agreed to a clean break. For her sake, I won’t push that.
I set my phone to the side and lay back on the bed. I think of the words she said before we hung up. Not to stop being the person I am now. The person I’ve become. That’s who I still want to be. Not for her, but for me. I want to keep being that guy, even in the hard times. Even when there’s still darkness inside of me.
People say that darkness and light go hand-in-hand. That the people always trying to uplift others and make them laugh, do that because of their own pain.
I’m not sure if that’s true for me, but I do know that when I focus more on the light, the darkness doesn’t carry as much weight.
Fuck.
When did I become so philosophic?
When did I become the melodramatic one?
When did Jack Dawson fromTitanicbecome an influence on my life?
I blink at the ceiling, my eyelids feeling heavy.
I have no idea. But I know I want to get back to being the guy I used to be—the good parts of him, at least—while becoming the person Iwantto be.
