Love Song(114)

“No.” I reach for her hand again, and this time, she lets me hold it. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m in love with you.”

Her face crumples, as if she doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh. She doesn’t say it back. That should bother me, but it doesn’t. She’s going through a lot right now. I don’t want her to feel forced to say things or pressured to feel something that she doesn’t.

For a moment, we sit there. Fingers laced together, staring at each other like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Then she says, “What if I’m not ready? If I can’t do this? I’m not someone’s mom.”

I tighten my grip on her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’m in this.”

She sniffles, peering at the water. “It scares me that you don’t sound scared.”

Chuckling, I press her hand to my chest, where my heart is pounding harder than it ever has before.

“Feel how fast that’s beating? I’m fucking terrified. But…two weeks,” I remind her. “We sit in this together for two weeks. No rushing, no pushing. Just us.”

“Us,” she repeats slowly, as if testing the word out for size.

I gently stroke her knuckles. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yeah.” Blake leans toward me and rests her head against my shoulder. “I can do that.”





Chapter 44


BLAKE





DESPITE OUR AGREEMENT TO KEEP it between us, we decide to do the unthinkable and tell the dads. Not because we’re desperate for transparency but because morning sickness has descended on me like a swarm of locusts. It hits out of nowhere the day after Wyatt and I have our conversation on the dock, turning my life into a state of pure misery.

Mom told me that when she was pregnant with me, she only felt nauseous at night. My nausea begins in the morning, and then (fun times) continues well into the afternoon, and then (lucky me) stretches out long past evening.

Pregnancy sucks.

Day one, we were able to convince my father that I had a twenty-four-hour stomach bug.

Day two of me marrying the toilet was harder, because he got worried and suggested we go to the emergency room. Mom convinced him it was probably a forty-eight-hour bug, then secretly drove to town and picked me up some pregnancy-safe stomach remedies. They didn’t help.

On day three, when Dad was ready to drive me to the ER himself, Wyatt and I finally called a family meeting.

Sixty seconds ago, we told my father and Wyatt’s parents about the pregnancy. Now we’re sitting on our respective deck chairs, awaiting the explosion.

It doesn’t come.

Dad and Garrett look at each other for a moment. Then they nod and turn back to us.

“Okay,” Dad says.

“All right,” Garrett says.

I wrinkle my forehead. “What’s happening right now?”

“You’re pregnant,” Dad tells me.

“Yes, I know that! I’m asking what’s happening here.” I wave my hand between them. “You two are cool with this?”

They shrug, which heightens my suspicion. Wyatt told me about that midnight boat ride my father forced him on. What if they take him out on the boat again?

“Please don’t drown him,” I blurt out.

Everyone startles.

“Honey,” Mom starts.

“No,” I cut in. “That’s totally what’s happening right now. Why they’re so calm about it.” I plead my case to Wyatt’s parents. “You can’t let him kill your son.”

“I’m not killing anybody!” Dad protests, doubling over with laughter.

“No, she’s right,” Wyatt says uneasily. “You guys are too calm. I don’t trust this.”

Wyatt’s mom eyes him curiously. “You’re pretty calm yourself.”

“Yeah, because like we just told you, we’re waiting until the scan before we make any decisions.”

Hannah nods. “And we’ll support whatever you two decide.”

Relief flickers through me. I wasn’t worried about Hannah, though. She’s levelheaded like my mom. Our dads are the crazy ones. And yet neither of the crazies looks bothered.

“Dad,” I say, “you can’t possibly be happy about this.”

“Happy?” He mulls it over. “Well. I can’t say that my twenty-one-year-old daughter having a baby was in my five-year plan for you. But…” He shrugs. “Things happen.”

“Things happen?” I echo. “What’s going on here?”

A gasp sounds from the phone in the center of the deck table. It’s Gigi. She’s back in Dallas, but Wyatt didn’t feel right telling their parents and not including his twin. I don’t blame him. If I had a sibling, I’d include them too.

“Oh my God,” Gigi says. “I know what’s happening. They want this.”

My gaze swings back to our dads.

“You are happy,” Gigi accuses. “Admit it.”

“Again, I don’t know if happy is the word I’d use,” Garrett says carefully. “But we sort of came to terms with it already.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Wyatt demands.