Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Well . . .” I bite back a burgeoning grin. If only he knew.
“So that’s where you’ve been? You hydrate, my friend,” he says, tipping his own water bottle on its side before rolling it down the long art nouveau–era meeting table.
Oliver gives a pained wince at the sound.
“We’ll get you some electrolytes,” Fin adds as the bottle rolls off the edge and into my hands. “Call Andrew back,” he says, glancing Oliver’s way. “Let’s get this man a protein bar, stat.”
“Thanks for your concern,” I drawl with good humor. “But I’m all good.”
“Yeah, I can see that. You’re smiling like a lunatic.”
“That’s because I have news.”
“News other than you’ve won her over?” From the far end of the table, Oliver examines me over the rims of the dark glasses he doesn’t like to admit he needs.
“That the sight of you no longer makes her sick?” Fin puts in.
“Har-dee-fuckin’-har.”
“So when do we get to meet the unlucky lady?” Fin waggles his brows ridiculously.
“Soon, I reckon.”
The idea of waiting twelve weeks before announcing the pregnancy went out the window with my sister’s visit. Thanks, Clo. Letty’s reaction was better than I’d expected, to be honest. She seemed pleased. Or maybe pleased isn’t the right word. Vindicated? Looking forward to me joining the parenting club? I’m not sure. Though I am certain she has thoughts and opinions, she was kind enough to keep them to herself. For now.
“We should have dinner,” Fin continues. “I mean, as long as that sickness isn’t contagious.”
“Definitely not contagious.” I brush a finger against the bridge of my nose, my words seeming to end in a curl. “She was, ah, sick for another reason.”
“I imagine it was shock.” Oliver’s gaze returns to the papers in his hand.
“A bit of that. A bit of something else.”
“What something else?” Fin pulls a face—a suspicious twist to his expression. Then, “No. No fucking way!”
“I’m gonna be a dad.”
Oliver lowers his papers slowly this time. Fin, meanwhile, looks like his jaw just unlocked at the hinges.
“She’s pregnant?” Oliver calmly lays the documents on the table.
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I turn Fin’s way. “You can shut your mouth now.”
“I am shook.”
“You’ve been hanging around with Ronny too much. But also, I know how that feels,” I add, rubbing my finger at the edge of my smile to temper it.
“But you’re okay about it. I mean, you look fucking happy.”
“Yeah, I am okay. And slightly terrified, naturally.” The terror comes from the shedload of pregnancy books I ordered, which has left me wondering if too much information is a thing. Reading some chapters makes me feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy and smile like an eejit. Other bits—and here comes the terror—leave me wondering if the human race would still be a thing if blokes were responsible for birthing babies. Or maybe it would just end if it was left to me.
Women. The fairer sex, for sure. The stronger sex, no doubt. And I don’t care what anyone says, the recent uptick of dipshit social media “We’re pregnant!” announcements makes not one bit of sense. Women bear the burden—generally speaking, and not to diminish anyone’s gender identity—they experience the pregnancy. Growing a whole new-arsed human is a 100 percent solo activity. Their partners might be lucky enough to be involved in the fun start, but to my mind, we’re entitled to zero of the kudos.
I’m all for sharing and mutual responsibilities. I’m committed to equal parenting, and of course I’ll support Ryan wherever and however I can. Where she’ll let me. But I’ll be sure to let her know that she deserves my endless gratitude for taking this one for the team.
“How far along?” Fin’s voice brings me out of my thoughts.
“Fourteen weeks.”
“A Manhattan October baby.”
I slice him a look. “That’s fucking weird.”
“That I know the last time you had sex? Agreed.”
“Whatever blows your hair back.”
Fin snorts. “If my internal joy was waiting on you getting your rocks off, I’d be miserable most of the time.”
I just haven’t been interested in anyone else thanks to this massive Ryan hangover I’ve been suffering. But it’s over now.
“And things are all right?” Oliver’s inquiry turns the conversation sensible. Thank the feckin’ Lord.
“Yeah, she’s okay? Happy, healthy, and shit?” Fin puts in.
My smile falls a touch. “She’s happy,” I answer tentatively. “But we’re not together.”
Oliver says nothing.
Fin says, “Oh, shit.”
“The official line is we’re in this together but we’re not together. Until I can change that.”
“Right.” Only Oliver speaks this time.
“It’s sudden, but things will improve.” I’m more than willing to do the work. To make her feel safe enough to let down those walls. Let her see in her own time how good this could be for us. For the three of us.
“So . . . what are you gonna do?” Fin asks.
“Be there for her. Literally. She’s agreed to stay with me.”