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“No. I would have been thrilled.”
She snorts, then stabs her salad with a fork. “You’re just saying that because you freaked out and I brought it up.”
“Nah. I’m not.”
“We’re twenty-one, Holden. I’m planning on four years of vet school. You want to play basketball professionally. And you would bethrilledabout tackling parenthood?”
“I’m not saying the timing would be ideal. It would be hard. Challenging and stressful. But having a kid with you? I wouldn’t freak out about that. I would wish for that.”
A tiny smile appears on her face. “I can’t picture you with a baby. I didn’t even think you liked kids.”
“I would likeourkid.”
She rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure it would scream and cry like anyone else’s.”
“Yeah, probably.” I grin, then turn serious. “I mean it. If it happened…I want you to know I’d be more than okay with it. I hate that Sydney is going through this. That I can’t fix it for her. But if it had to happen, I wish it was with a guy who meant something to her. I know Baker is a decent dude. I know he won’t pressure her to end the pregnancy or ghost her and leave her to handle things herself. He’ll step up. But…” I exhale. “It’ll be about obligation and taking responsibility, not love. I mean, she hasn’t even told him.”
“It’s a lot to dump on someone. I know you feel like she—I—kept it from you, but she didn’t tell me right away. She’d been stressing about it on her own.”
I hesitate, not sure if I should voice the question. Then decide to go for it. “Who’s the first person you would tell? Honestly.”
She plays with the lettuce. “You,” she finally answers.
“You don’t have to say that just because—”
“No, I mean it. And you’re right. It would be different for us. I’d be nervous to tell you, knowing what impact it would have on our lives. But that’s also why I would talk to you first.”
I suck in a deep breath. I want that transparency and honesty from her.
And it’s not fair to expect it if I’m not returning it. I have to tell her about Friday night.
“Hey, Adams. Hardly surprised to see you here, considering the fridge is empty.”
“It’s Henry’s week to get groceries,” I tell Robby.
“Uh-huh, sure. Hey, Cassia.”
“Hi, Robby,” she greets.
“Mind if I join you guys?” he asks.
“Of course not.” Cassia slides her massive book over, making space.
“This yours?” He taps the shiny cover.
“Uh-huh.” She takes a bite of salad.
“I figured. I don’t think Adams even got his books yet.”
Cassia looks to me, eyebrows raised.
“Iorderedthem,” I tell her. “I just haven’t picked them up.”
“Hey, Reynolds! Johnson!” Robby calls. “Over here!”
A couple more of my teammates head this way.
I glance at Cassia, realizing that’s the end of our private conversation. And I still haven’t told her about Friday night.
