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“Jesus, August.” Break my heart, much? “Sorry, am I half growing them? Half pushing them out? Half feeding them and burping them and wiping their shitty ass?”
He scowls at the furball attempting to burrow beneath his t-shirt. “No.”
“They’re not half my kid, are they?”
A huff. “No.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“What’s mine is yours, little boy. My kid, your sibling.” I give his leg a shake. “I feel kinda bad for them, actually. Got some pretty big boots to fill.”
August makes another noise I can’t decipher but he lifts his gaze. He doesn’t quite smile but he tries. He proves that I truly am an endless fountain of tears, and that he is the best thing in my life, the only thing I’ve ever done right. “If it’s a girl, that wouldn’t be the worst.”
16
CASS
“Where’s Willow?”
Glancing up from the scrap of paper I can’t stop staring at, I smile at the owner of the occupied uterus I can’t stop thinking about. The woman I knocked up. The mother of my child.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve been accused of impregnating someone but I can count the number of times I’ve been okay with it being true; once.
“Hello? Earth to Cass?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked where Willow is.”
Sunday’s sister—the aunt of my child—had some very choice words for me;don’t fuck this up, hurt her and I’ll kill you,andI’m a lawyer, I know how to get away with murderwere all expected.What I didn’t see coming was what followed. Angry protectiveness melded with something else, everything about Willow softening.
“She’ll never admit it,” she said, cautiously glancing over her shoulder to make sure Sunday wasn’t around, “but John broke her heart, and she’s spent the last decade guarding that thing like a troll. I should’ve pinned a first degree felony on that motherfucker the second I passed the bar but I didn’t. Sunday wanted August to at least have the option of a decent father, and I respected that choice. I didn’t protect my little sister like I should’ve but trust me, this time, I will.”
I recognized that look on her face. The guilt of a sibling who could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. I know it, I’ve felt it, so when knuckles brushed my shoulder—the bad, on purpose, I suspect—I didn’t wince. I didn’t complain. I didn’t conjure up any quippy response. I let Willow threaten my life one more time before stomping away because I understand her.
I don’t think Sunday would, though. I think she’d get flustered and embarrassed and stressed so I swallow my knee-jerk response—plotting my death, probably—in favor of plain honesty. “In her room.”
Sunday plops down beside me on the sofa, very bare legs tucked underneath her, very bare arms crossed over her chest. Very bare, very pretty face staring at me skeptically. “What did she say to you?”
I frown, pretending to think. “Can’t remember.”
Sunday snorts. “Sure.”
“Is August okay?”
“He’s upset.” Sunday sighs, slouching until her cheek rests against the back of the sofa. A distant, hesitant smile touches her lips. “But he wants a sister.”
“Sisters are good.” So are daughters.Mydaughter.
Fuck, I can’t stop smiling.
A socked foot nudges my thigh. “'We’re figuring it out?What the hell was that?”
Oh. Look at that. Icanstop smiling. “What, you’ll have my baby but you won’t date me?”
“Cass.”
