I know I shouldn’t laugh. The mother of my child is upset. The last thing I should do is laugh at her, but the horrified expression on her face is priceless.
“Tucker!” She punches my shoulder. “Stop laughing and tell me what the hell that is.”
I glance at the picture and lose it again. “It’s comforting,” I croak.
Sabrina punches me again.
“Logan,” I choke out. “He made this for the baby. It’s the comforting test.”
“I swear to God, Tuck, if you don’t start making sense, I’m going to send this picture to the police and tell them I’m the victim of a hate crime.”
I hiccup uncontrollably.
“Tucker!”
Wheezing, I manage to sit up. I cough for a full minute to get the humor out of my system. Then I stare at the stuffed thing on the screen.
I think it’s supposed to be a teddy bear, but somewhere during the process, shit went horribly wrong. The stitching is something out of a Tim Burton movie. One eye is a button while the other is a serial-killer style X sewn with black thread. There’s a patch of fur missing on the side of its head, and the arms and legs are all different sizes.
Underneath the pic, Logan wrote:
Grace thinks this’ll scare the BB. She’s wrong, right?
She’s not wrong.
“Why did Logan do this to us?” Sabrina demands.
I snort. “He’s vying for godfather.”
“Start making sense!”
Swallowing another roar of laughter, I hastily clarify. “He and Garrett both want to be our baby’s godfather. I made this stupid offhand joke about how I’m gonna make them compete for the title, and they decided that was a great idea. So now they’re competing.”
Sabrina arches a brow. “And did you ever think that maybe I don’t want either of them to be the baby’s godfather?”
“Of course. I figured we’d talk about it at some point, but honestly, I think Garrett and Hannah would be awesome godparents.”
“They’re going to have to fight it out with Hope and Carin. But you’re already cutting Logan out?”
My gaze strays back to the phone. “Um. Yes.”
She finally cracks a smile. “Okay. So how does this competition of theirs work?”
I sigh. “It’s complicated. Stupidly complicated.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” she says cheerfully.
“There are five, I dunno, categories, I guess. Each one is designed to showcase a necessary parenting skill.” Jesus. I can’t believe I’m even saying this right now. I already had to sit through Logan’s ridiculous explanation. I feel like I’m endorsing the crazy by repeating it.
Sabrina, however, looks fascinated. “What are the categories?”
I scan my brain. “Comforting. Grace under pressure. Solid support system. Um…finances. And…shit, I can’t remember the last one.”
“How is buying a stuffed animal a sign of comfort?”
“Buying? Darlin’, that creature is homemade. They got these sew-your-own-stuffed-animal kits.”
Her jaw drops. “Oh my gosh. That’s…dedication.”
“They’re hockey players. Dedication is in our DNA.”
“How do they know who wins? Do they get awarded points?”
“I’m supposed to pick a winner in each category.” Because my friends hate me, apparently.
“Did they show you copies of their tax returns to determine who wins in the finances department?” she asks dryly.
“Naah. But that one’s a draw because they’ll both be playing for the pros. Same with support system—no way was I going to choose between Hannah and Grace. I like my balls where they are.”
She snickers. “So who wins comforting?”
“Unless Garrett sews something even more nightmare-inducing than that—” I jerk a thumb at my phone, “—I’m pretty sure he’ll win this round.”
“Your friends are fucking weird, Tucker. You know that, right?”
“Well aware of it.” I hesitate for a beat. “Hey, are you working at the post office tomorrow afternoon?”
“No. Why?”
“I was hoping maybe you’d come by the house and help me pack up some stuff. The guys will be there. And Hannah, Grace, maybe Allie. I rented a U-Haul, so everyone’s helping me load the furniture I’m taking with me.” I hurry to add, “Obviously I won’t let you lift anything heavy, but I figure you could help with the light stuff, like clothes. We’re ordering some pizzas, so there’ll be food…” I let the word food hang enticingly, because I know how voracious her appetite has been lately.
But Sabrina’s forehead is creased with reluctance. “Are you sure they won’t mind that I’m there?”
“Of course not. They really want to get to know you. Wellsy was saying the other day how she’s bummed that you never come around.”
“Wellsy?” she says blankly.
“Hannah. Her last name is Wells, so Garrett dubbed her Wellsy.” And all of a sudden I’m troubled that I’ve been with Sabrina since the winter and she hardly knows anything about my closest friends.
“I don’t know, Tuck…”
“Please?” I flash her my best aw-shucks smile. “It’d mean a lot to me.”
“Oh.” Her expression melts like butter in the sun. “Okay. I’ll come.”
*
Sabrina stays true to her word and shows up at my house around two o’clock the following day. When she arrives, she nearly gets sideswiped by the mattress that Logan and Fitzy are hauling out to the moving truck. It’s chaos in here.
I whisk her out of harm’s way and plant a kiss right on her lips. “Hey darlin’. Thanks for coming.”
A blush rises in her cheeks when she realizes that Hannah and Grace are standing directly behind me and had witnessed the kiss. I, on the other hand, don’t care if they witness us banging against the damn wall. Sabrina looks so fucking beautiful in her flower-print blue sundress, with her dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail. These last couple of months her cheeks have been perpetually rosy, giving credence to that whole pregnancy glow thing.
“Hey,” she says, her tone oddly shy.
I introduce her to the girls. They greet her warmly, and Sabrina quickly warms up to them too. Apparently she already knows Hannah from the diner, and Grace has a cute habit of babbling when she’s nervous, so she’s talking Sabrina’s ear off before the introductions are even over.
“You want something to drink?” I offer, guiding her into the kitchen while Hannah and Grace trail after us.
“No, it’s fine. Just put me to work.”
“We were going to take a break now anyway. Fitzy showed up earlier than planned and he has to leave in an hour, so we’ve already moved all the furniture out of my room. All that’s left is emptying out my closet and drawers.” I nudge her toward a chair. “Sit down. Water okay?”
“Sure.”
As Hannah and Grace join her at the table, I don’t miss the way both their gazes keep darting toward Sabrina’s stomach. She’s clearly pregnant, but not quite watermelon-big yet. Maybe a soccer ball?
Either way, that’s my daughter in there, and every time I think that, pride fills my chest. My daughter. Christ. Life is strange and unpredictable and so freaking awesome.
“How are you feeling?” Hannah is asking Sabrina. “Are you still getting morning sickness?”
“No, that stopped a couple months ago. These days I’m just tired and hungry and need to go to the bathroom every other minute. Oh, and it’s getting harder and harder to see my feet. Which is probably a good thing because I think they’re swollen to twice their size.”
“Aw, that sucks,” Grace says sympathetically. “But at least you get an adorable, chubby-cheeked miracle for all your pain and suffering. That’s a decent tradeoff, right?”
“Ha!” Sabrina grins. “How about I call you at three in the morning when my chubby-cheeked miracle is screaming her lungs out and then you can tell me if it’s a decent tradeoff.”
Hannah snickers. “She’s got you there, Gracie.”
I hand Sabrina a glass of water and then lean against the counter, smiling as the girls continue to joke about all the “wonderful” things Sabrina and I can look forward to—no sleep, diaper changes, colic, teething.
Truthfully, none of that scares me. If you don’t have to work hard for something, then how can it ever truly be rewarding?
Footsteps approach the kitchen. Garrett wanders in, wiping sweat off his brow. When he notices Sabrina, he brightens. “Oh good. You’re here. Hold on—gotta grab something.”
She turns to me as if to say, Is he talking to me?
He’s already gone, though, his footsteps thumping up the stairs.
At the table, Hannah runs a hand through her hair and gives me a pleading look. “Just remember he’s your best friend, okay?”
That doesn’t sound ominous.
When Garrett returns, he’s holding a notepad and a ballpoint pen, which he sets on the table as he sits across from Sabrina. “Tuck,” he says. “Sit. This is important.”
I’m so baffled right now. Hannah’s resigned expression doesn’t help in lessening the confusion.
Once I’m seated next to Sabrina, Garrett flips open the notepad, all business. “Okay. So let’s go over the names.”
Sabrina raises an eyebrow at me.
I shrug, because I legitimately don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.
“I’ve put together a solid list. I really think you’re going to like these.” But when he glances down at the page, his face falls. “Ah crap. We can’t use any of the boy names.”
“Wait.” Sabrina holds up a hand, her brow furrowed. “You’re picking names for our baby?”
He nods, busy flipping the page.
My baby mama gapes at me.
I shrug again.
“Just out of curiosity, what were the boy names?” Grace hedges, clearly fighting a smile.
He cheers up again. “Well, the top contender was Garrett.”
I snicker loud enough to rattle Sabrina’s water glass. “Uh-huh,” I say, playing along. “And what was the runner-up?”
“Graham.”
Hannah sighs.
“But it’s okay. I have some kickass girl names too.” He taps his pen on the pad, meets our eyes, and utters two syllables. “Gigi.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? I’m not naming my daughter Gigi.”
Sabrina is mystified. “Why Gigi?” she asks slowly.
Hannah sighs again.
The name suddenly clicks in my head. Oh for fuck’s sake.
“G.G.,” I mutter to Sabrina. “As in Garrett Graham.”
She’s silent for a beat. Then she bursts out laughing, triggering giggles from Grace and eventually Hannah, who keeps shaking her head at her boyfriend.
“What?” Garrett says defensively. “The godfather should have a say in the name. It’s in the rule book.”
“What rule book?” Hannah bursts out. “You make up the rules as you go along!”
“So?”
“Besides, you haven’t been crowned godfather yet,” I point out with a smirk, just as Fitzy and Logan drift into the kitchen. I jerk a thumb toward Logan. “This dumbass is still in the running.”
“Actually…” Garrett beams at us. “Logan’s out of the race.”
I twist in my chair to look at our teammate. “Since when?”
Logan’s expression instantly goes shuttered. “I decided to bow out,” he mutters. “It’s a big responsibility.”
A loud snort sounds from Garrett’s vicinity. “You decided to bow out? Is that what we’re calling it?”
Logan glowers at him. “It’s what we’re calling it because it’s true.”
“Yeah?” Garrett hops to his feet. “Be right back.”
Sabrina and I exchange puzzled glances as he steps out of the kitchen. I hear him moving around in the living room. A moment later he pops back into sight and whips up his hands in front of Logan’s face.
“Then how do you explain this?”
Sabrina yelps in horror.
Me, I’m just really curious to hear why Garrett is holding a tiny newborn doll.
Which is missing its head, by the way.
“You fucking took it home?” Logan sounds outraged.
“Hell yeah I did. What use were they going to have for it there? It doesn’t have a head, bro.”
“Where’s ‘there’?” I ask carefully, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“Newborn CPR,” Garrett explains. “We took a course at the campus health center this morning.”
“Newborn CPR?” Sabrina shakes her head, dazed.
“It was the grace under pressure test.” Garrett smiles smugly. “Which he failed. I, of course, passed with flying colors.”
“Is it my fault I don’t know my own strength?” Logan protests.
“Yes!” Garrett says in a spurt of laughter. “That is totally your fault.” He holds up the doll and waves it around tauntingly. “Show me on the doll where your brain is. Oh right, you can’t. Because you fucking decapitated it.”
Sabrina turns to me. “Can we go upstairs and pack now?”
“You guys are scaring Sabrina,” Hannah grumbles at the bickering idiots. “Babe, put that doll away. And Logan, remind me to never let you babysit my future children.” With that, she refocuses her attention on Sabrina. “Okay, assuming we’re putting a pin in Gigi, what other names are you thinking about?”
Sabrina and I exchange another look. “We haven’t even discussed it,” she admits.
“Are there any names you like in general?”
Sabrina ponders it. “I like the name Charlotte.”
“Oh, I love that!” Grace exclaims. “Charlotte Tucker. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Charlotte James,” Sabrina corrects.
I glare at her. “Her last name is going to be Tucker.”
“No it’s not. It’s going to be James.”
“What about Tucker-James?” Fitzy calls out as he grabs a beer from the fridge.
“No,” we say in unison. Not because we’re against hyphens, but because we’re both stubborn jerks.
I didn’t realize I felt so strongly about my daughter having my last name, but I do. Hell, if it was up to me, Sabrina would have my last name too. But that would require us getting married, which would require me to propose, and I’m pretty sure she’d flee to another continent if I did that. We might be sleeping together again, but I can tell she’s still fighting the idea that we’re in an actual relationship.
For some reason, the silly girl thinks she has to do everything alone.
“Okay.” Hannah grins. “How about we table the first name discussion until you’ve solved the surname quandary?”
That sounds like a good idea. The last thing I want to do is argue with Sabrina in front of all my friends. “Let’s go upstairs and do some packing,” I tell Sabrina.
Nodding, she allows me to help her out of her chair.
From his perch at the counter, Garrett’s expression turns glum. “I can’t believe you’re moving out.”
I roll my eyes. “You guys are moving out too.”
“Yeah, but not for two more weeks.”
I notice that Logan looks equally bummed at the prospect of my leaving today. They wanted to throw me a goodbye party, but I said no, because technically this isn’t goodbye. I’m just moving to Boston, which is where they’ll both be in a few months anyway.
Dean’s heading to New York, though. He’s bailing on law school and got a job teaching at a prep school. Allie landed a role on a TV show that’s filming in Manhattan, so I guess they’ll be moving in together.
Truthfully, I’m equal parts sad and relieved that Dean will be living in another state. He hasn’t exactly been supportive about my impending fatherhood, but he’s still one of my best friends, damn it.
“You guys decide yet who gets the master bedroom?”
Garrett is speaking to Fitzy now, who shrugs his tattooed shoulders. “Me. Obviously.”
“I don’t know,” Logan warns. “Hollis and the freshman are gonna try to fight you for it.”
Fitzy raises an eyebrow and then flexes his big biceps. “Let ’em.”
I stifle a laugh. Yeah, Hollis and Hunter don’t stand a chance against Colin Fitzgerald. Though, considering what a private person he is, I’m still surprised that he agreed to take over our lease with them. I figured he’d look for another place on his own, but I guess Hollis twisted his arm into it.
Sabrina and I head upstairs, where I sweep my gaze over my empty room. The bed’s gone and there’s nowhere to sit. I notice Sabrina rubbing her lower back, so I make a mental note not to let her stay on her feet for too long.
“Okay,” she says in a decisive voice as she opens the closet door. “Should we fold everything up nicely? Or just toss it in the boxes willy-nilly?”
“What boxes?” I swipe a cardboard container of garbage bags off the hardwood. “The clothes go in here.”
“Oh my God. You are such a guy.”
“Am I?” Smirking, I drift my hand down my abs and then cup my junk over my jeans. “Do you want to inspect the goods to make sure?”
“Did you ask me here to pack or to fuck?”
“Both?”
She waves a hand around the room. “There’s no bed.”
“Who needs a bed?”
“My poor fat pregnant body does,” Sabrina answers with a self-deprecating smile.
“How about this?” I counter. “Let’s pack as fast as we can, and then I’ll follow you back to Boston and we can fuck up a storm on your big comfy bed.”
She stands up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips. “Deal.”
*
Sabrina
I was nervous about spending time with Tucker’s friends, but really I had nothing to worry about, because they’re pretty awesome. Hannah and Grace are so easy to talk to. Garrett and Logan are hysterical, and a lot more laidback than I expected. I mean, they’re drop-dead gorgeous hockey players. Shouldn’t they all be super conceited like—
“We need to talk.”
Like this guy.
I stiffen when Dean Di Laurentis appears in the doorway. Tucker just went outside to say goodbye to Fitzy, leaving me to empty out the last dresser drawer on my own, but I stop what I’m doing when Dean enters and closes the door behind him.
The mere sight of him irritates me. It’s not fair that someone so jerky is so ridiculously attractive. Objectively, Dean is probably the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen outside of a movie screen. He’s got blond hair, chiseled male-model features, a spectacular body. And he’s charming as hell—that’s how he got me into bed in the first place. Well, that and the three daiquiris I drank. I might have even seen him again, if I hadn’t learned that he was sleeping with our TA in exchange for good grades.
“We do, huh?” I drawl. “And what do we need to talk about, Richie?”
He flinches, as he always does when I use the mocking nickname. I dubbed him Richie Rich after I discovered that he uses his money and looks to get ahead.
“You know exactly what we need to talk about.”
I frown. “If you mean this—” I gesture to my stomach, “—then there’s nothing to discuss. My baby and I are none of your business.”
“Tucker’s my business,” he says coolly, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “I mean, damn, Sabrina, I always knew you were an ambitious bitch, but I didn’t think you were a selfish one.”
Anger climbs up my throat. “Wow. Beau always tried to convince me that you were a decent guy, but he was so clearly wrong.”
Dean hisses out a breath. “Leave Beau out of this. We’re talking about you and Tuck.”
“Do you really want to pick a fight with a pregnant chick right now? Because I’m warning you—my hormones are all over the place. I might claw your eyes out.”
He looks unfazed. “You’re fucking up my boy’s life. You really think I’m just going to stand by and let you do that?”
Gritting my teeth, I slam the dresser drawer shut and mimic his pose, positioning my arms tight across my swollen breasts. “Tucker is a grown-up. He also happens to be the father of this baby. If he wants to have a hand in raising her, I can’t exactly stop him.”
Frustration clouds his expression. “This will ruin his whole life. Don’t you get that? He’s giving up everything he’s worked toward for a chick who doesn’t even love him.”
My jaw almost hits the floor. Where the fuck does he get off saying this shit to me?
“What makes you think I don’t love him?” I shoot back defiantly.
“Because if you did, then you’d already have a ring on your finger. Tuck doesn’t do things half-assed. He loves you, you’re having his kid—if he thought for a moment that you loved him back, you’d be getting married in City Hall before this kid pops out. Instead, he’s staying in Boston when all he’s talked about since freshman year is going back to Texas—”
Guilt pricks my throat. Hard.
“And now he’s going to take the first job he finds, instead of opening a business that he’s actually taken the time to research and think about.” Dean shakes his head. “Don’t you see that?”
I falter. He’s right. Tucker doesn’t half-ass it. And yet here he is, moving in with a guy he barely likes, considering buying shitty franchises he’s not passionate about, and all because I was so overcome with lust one night that I forgot that “just the tip” is as effective in knocking you up as having a guy ejaculate in you.
He’s changing his entire life for me. He’s changing his goals and his plans and his lifestyle to accommodate this baby. And I’m the one who caused him to do that.
Despite my threat about clawing Dean’s eyes out, I don’t feel at all feral anymore. I feel…wrecked.
So wrecked that I’m helpless to stop the sob that flies out. So wrecked that I fall apart right in front of Dean fucking Di Laurentis.
I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands, crying so hard that I can’t even draw a breath. I gasp for air while hot tears slide down my cheeks and soak my palms. I’m a shuddering, pathetic, pregnant mess, and it’s not until a firm hand clasps my shoulder that I realize Dean is sitting on the floor beside me.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, sounding as helpless as I feel. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I deserve to cry,” I choke out between sobs.
“Sabrina—” He touches my shoulder again.
“No!” I wrench away from his grip and stare at him with tear-filled eyes. “You’re right, okay? I’m ruining his life! Do you think I’m fucking happy about that? Because I’m not!” I gulp rapidly, trying to remember how to breathe. “He’s kind and sweet and so goddamn incredible and he doesn’t deserve to have his world turned upside down like this! He should be making all these plans right now and being excited about graduating college and starting a new chapter in his life, and instead it’s end of fucking story. The best guy on this whole planet is stuck with me—forever—all because of what was supposed to be a one-time hookup!”
I finish in a panting rush, viciously swiping at my tears. Beside me, Dean looks totally and utterly stunned.
“Aw hell,” he finally says. “You do love him.”
I hang my head. “Yes.”
“But you haven’t told him.”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because…” My face collapses again. “Because I’m trying to make this as easy as I can for him. Love complicates things, and shit is complicated enough right now. And…”
“And what?” Dean asks.
And I don’t know if he loves me back.
Sometimes I think he does, but in the back of my mind there’s always a little nugget of doubt. I’m honestly not certain if Tucker wants to be with me because he loves me, or because he thinks we should be together for the sake of our baby.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say hoarsely. “You’re right. This baby is screwing up his plans.” I wipe my face again. “The least I can do is make sure it doesn’t ruin more than it has to. I’ll take on the bulk of the responsibility. That’ll free up a lot of his time so that he can open a business he loves.”
Dean hesitates. “What about Harvard?”
“I’m still going.” Bitterness joins the sorrow clinging to my throat. “Don’t worry, you’ll have three more years to hate me and call me a bitch.”
“Actually, I won’t be there,” he confesses.
I frown. “Since when?”
“I accepted a teaching job at a private school in Manhattan.” He shrugs. “I realized law school isn’t where I want to be.”
“Oh.” I wonder why Tucker didn’t mention that, but I guess it doesn’t surprise me. He’s already admitted that Dean hasn’t exactly been Mr. Supportive about the baby.
“After Beau died,” Dean starts, but his voice cracks and he stops to clear his throat. “After he died, I kind of went batshit crazy for a while. But then I crawled out of the hole I dug for myself and really took stock of my life, you know?”
I nod slowly. Joanna Maxwell had done the same thing. So had I. Beau’s death made me realize how important life is, how short it can be. I wonder if losing Beau was a game-changer for everyone who knew and cared about him.
“It changed stuff for me too,” I confess.
It’s Dean’s turn to nod. “I can tell.” He pauses ruefully. “Sometimes I can’t believe you and I ever hooked up. It seems like a million years ago.”
I manage a laugh. “Yup.”
“You really love Tuck, huh?”
“I do.”
He lets out a heavy breath. “You should tell him.”
“No.” I swallow. “And you’re not going to tell him either.”
“He needs to know—”
“No,” I repeat, firmer this time. “I mean it, Dean. Don’t say anything to him. You owe me.”
Humor flickers in his eyes. “How do you figure?”
I jut out my chin. “You didn’t deserve that A in Statistics sophomore year.”
“Ah. So keeping my mouth shut is my punishment for the undeserved grade?”
“So you admit it was undeserved!”
“Of course it was.” His tone becomes pained. “Trust me, I did everything I could to try to get the professor to fail me.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. After I aced that project we teamed up on and you only got a B, I realized the TA was fucking around with my grades. I asked the prof to go over all my tests and papers, and turns out I was supposed to be failing.”
“Oh my God. I knew it.” Though I don’t feel as smug about it as I thought I would. My beef with Dean suddenly feels incredibly unimportant. And, like he said, as if it happened a million years ago.
“Well, I didn’t,” he says frankly. “I know you think I was boning the TA for the grades—” He flashes a grin, “—but I was boning her because she had a great rack and the sweetest ass.”
I pretend to gag before going serious. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”
He snickers. “Because we’re not friends.”
I snicker back. “True.” I mull something over. “But maybe we should call a ceasefire.”
“Jesus. Has hell frozen over?”
Embarrassment tickles my belly. “You’re one of Tucker’s best friends. I’m about to have his kid. It makes sense for us to try to co-exist.”
“Makes sense,” he agrees.
Dean hops off the floor and holds out a hand.
I hesitate for only a second before allowing him to help me to my feet. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence stretches between us, which I don’t try to fill by talking. I’m still not convinced that Dean isn’t a superficial playboy, and I’m sure a part of him still thinks I’m a bitch. But the hostility is gone, and even though we’re never going to be best buds, I know Tucker will appreciate it if I make an effort to get along with Dean.
It’s the least I can do, considering how much Tucker has already sacrificed for me.
