“Same here.” A girl raises her hand. “I was shocked when I found out he was married. We joked about him having a double life.”
If only I’d been a part of that conversation.
“He even told me he was on some dating website,” a guy added. “When I told him I was married, he told me he was sorry.”
“Ew,” Georgia says.
Hearing them say this is a relief. People will believe me.
I stand up straight as if I’m about to deliver an important speech. “He told me he was single.” Even though that’s all I planned to say, I continue, needing them to know I’m not a shitty homewrecker, “He was staying in a temporary small condo and had no evidence of a family. We decided to keep our relationship private in fear of being the talk of the school, not because we were having an affair.”
There.
They can choose to trust me or not.
But that’s my truth, and if anyone knows me, they know I’m not a liar.
“We get it, girl,” Rachelle says. “No judgment here. After all the lies he told, after the way he reacted to that other man visiting you, I’m on your side.”
Sometimes, I forget Finn isn’t the actual father of my unborn child.
Like today, as we’re leaving our birthing class and stopping at Twisted Fox for dinner.
Finn is the perfect labor practice partner. He performs our breathing exercises like a pro.
Everyone greets us as if we were celebrities when we walk into the bar. With all the drama, appointments, and planning for the baby, we haven’t spent as much time here as usual. Not to mention, Finn now works full-time at the dealership. We’re both usually exhausted when we get home from work. Hopefully, when everything dies down, we can visit more.
When we sit down, my mind wanders.
Will Finn be with me in the delivery room?
If not, these classes are pointless.
Will anyone be in there with me?
I can ask my mom and Faith. They wouldn’t say no. I’m sure Georgia and Lola would also be there for me if I needed them. As much as I love them, I feel as if I’ve gone through this journey with Finn more than anyone. He’s the one who holds my hair back when I’m puking. The one who taped one of the ultrasound pictures onto his car dashboard.
“Everything okay?” Finn asks, staring at me from across the table—most likely picking up on my mood change.
“Yeah,” I quickly reply.
“Babe,” he deadpans, “I know when something is wrong, and something is wrong.”
I don’t want to have this conversation here.
I need to figure out the best way to approach it before we have it, period.
I rub my stomach. “I think the pregnancy nerves are getting to me.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
That’s Finn.
What can he do to help?
“Hey, guys!” Cassidy says, appearing at our table in her waitress outfit with a pen and notepad in her hand. “What can I grab you?”
I order a grilled cheese and lemonade. Finn orders wings and a water. Cassidy salutes us and skips off to her next table—a group of guys sporting college sports gear.
Finn leans in, resting his elbows on the table, and taps my head. “What’s going on in there, baby?”
I gulp, wishing Cassidy had dropped off my lemonade already. “I’m wondering what it’ll be like in labor.”
“Are you nervous?”
I nod repeatedly. “Definitely nervous.”
He smirks, pulling back to smack his hand against his chest in pride. “I mean, you do have the best goddamn birthing coach in the world. I’m expected to tap in.”
“I can’t believe you just referred to being in the delivery room as tapping in.”
“As I told you before, I’m here for whatever you need. A shoulder to cry on during Vampire Diaries, hands to rub your sore feet, setting up the nursery, there with you when the baby is born. I’m all yours. In fact, it’d be an honor to be there with you in the room … if you’ll have me.”
I grin wildly. “I’d absolutely love that.”
Cassidy drops off our drinks, and minutes later, Silas and Georgia join us. They want all the baby updates. Georgia asks Finn if he’s ready for the baby to come as if he really were the father. It seems our friends are on the same thought process as I am.
It’s us.
Me and Finn doing this together.
I need to stop thinking otherwise.
I need to stop worrying about everything falling apart.
Becoming a mess.
Only that’s exactly what happens.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Finn
My loud-ass ringtone shakes me out of my sleep.
Nearly knocking down everything on the nightstand, I quickly grab my phone and silence it, not wanting to wake Grace. There’s no stopping the frown from forming when I see the name flashing across the screen. He’ll keep calling until I answer, especially when it’s this late.
Calls this late are never a good thing.
Like I told Grace, I’m always on pins and needles, waiting for the call to hear I no longer have a father. He might not be the best father, but he’s my father, goddammit. Albeit a shitty one, he’s the only family member I had growing up. My grandparents nor his siblings wanted anything to do with us. My mother was gone. We were all each other had. My father could’ve given me up when he and my mother couldn’t provide for me. He could’ve said fuck that to having a child and sent me to foster care, but he didn’t.
I’ll forever be grateful for that, so maybe that’s why I answer when I shouldn’t.
Why I give him money when I shouldn’t.
Why I stupidly see him doing his fucking job as a father as a favor to me.
Like I owe him for my life when he’s the one who chose to bring me into it.
Pulling on a pair of gym shorts, I silence the phone when it rings again and rush into the living room. Just as I’m about to call him back, my phone rings again.
“Hello?” I answer in a harsh whisper.
“Finn,” my father barks out, “I’m stranded, and I need a ride home.”
“Stranded?” I hiss, stumbling toward the laundry room and picking up a dirty tee. I sniff it, finding it satisfactory, and slip it on. The least amount of movements to wake up Grace, the better. “How are you stranded somewhere? You have a car.”
“I hitched a ride with some old friends to catch up with buddies from high school. Good ole times, you know?”
“Can whoever you rode with take you home?”
“I can’t find one … and the other is wasted off his ass.” He snort-laughs as if it’s the funniest shit he’s heard all night.
“I’ll call you a taxi or Uber.”
“I ain’t getting in no Uber and getting murdered!” he drunkenly screeches. “You want to be planning my funeral, kid?”
I snatch my keys, shove my feet into my shoes, and turn off the alarm. “Send me the address, and I’ll pick you up.”
There’s not a doubt in my mind that it’s a drug house I’m pulling up to.