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“Brandi—”
“Poppy?”
“Yes?”
“Take your shoe off and stuff it in your mouth.”
She snorts a laugh, not in the least bit offended. “Already had a snack, dark horse.” Then she softens. “It’ll work out, B. He’s a hot mess who needs to figure his shit out. But he’s a good man, you know? And I’ve seen how he looks at you. Honestly, I’m disgusted I didn’t pick it up before the two of you started to bang. Beneath the ice storm shooting back and forth was fire, burning just for you.”
Trying and failing to ignore her, I’m second-guessing my decision. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called him?”
“You should be jumping his bones as often as possible. And yes, you should have. Husband and baby daddy.”
And before I can answer, like she has some dark magic, the phones light up and I’m distracted for the rest of my shift.
Maybe I should have let Travis pick me up, but with things between us so broken, I didn’t want him feeling the need to drive me around, see me like even more of a responsibility.
Maya even offered to drive me, and I couldn’t figure out if it was because she wanted to see the baby or if she wanted an excuse to slash Travis’ tires. But again, I’m tired of feeling like everyone is trying to take care of me. I already lost a huge part of myself by moving so quickly with Travis; I don’t need to let my friends take even more.
That isn’t fair, I know.
But now, old memories of my life on the streets, of never being safe, of never feeling like I’d be good enough… they’re back with a vengeance. And they’re not just fears. It’s the truth. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t safe. I wasn’t worth anything. I knew that. And I still let myself get mixed up with him. And those truths came back and when Travis admitted that he proposed because he knew I was pregnant… I was cracked open still, unable to catch my breath.
No one said it would all be so hard.
It is.
So many maybes pile up and while I know the maybe if it wasn’t so fast, and the maybe if I’d worked harder, took a step back, whatever it was I needed to do, they don’t change where I am.
Pregnant. A relationship that I need to fix or move on from.
I close my eyes. I want my baby to have a father, a family, and that’s the one place serenity lies in this turmoil inside.
Travis is a good man. And his parents? A wave of emotion crashes into me and I gasp a breath. I love them. They’ll be there with open arms.
For the baby and me.
His mom’s stated she’s mad at him but he loves me. Thing is, of course she thinks that. And my dumb heart yearns for that to be true, and maybe… maybe we can make this work. But it takes time.
For me.
I went over everything in my head last night. Together or not, I want him in the baby’s life. But for the baby—for me—I think, soon, I’ll be ready to talk and let’s be real. If he begged, told me he loved me I’d say yes.
He might not.
My lack of pride might make me pathetic, but… I shudder and sigh. But—
“Don’t cry,” my husband says.
Except it isn’t Travis. There’s something not quite right in the voice that sounds like his.
Everything goes still and I straighten, open my eyes, and look up.
The absolute spitting image of Travis. Superficially. But that most definitely isn’t him.
I glare.
His smile is easy with uncertainness hiding behind the curtain. “Brandi? I’m—”
