Page 20 of Never Really Over

We stare at each other for an awkward thirty seconds before I roll my eyes and say, “Come on in. I need a beer or something.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Yup. Just keep it quiet. The baby’s sleeping.”

He follows me inside, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

“Want a beer? Soda? Water? I’d offer coffee but I’m low on it and need the caffeine in the morning,” I say honestly.

He chuckles and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Beer would be great. Thanks.”

I hand him a bottle and he twists the top off, taking a healthy swig before setting the bottle down on the table, looking around my childhood home.

“Nice place.”

I smirk. He was always a cocky dick about his parents’ money, like it was something he contributed to. “You really think so?”

He looks me straight in the eye and nods once. “I do. I wouldn’t have said the same years ago because I was a dick, still am, actually, but not about things like this. I appreciate more now. Hard to imagine, right?” He laughs to himself, tips his bottle in my direction, and takes another drink.

I drink as well and sit back in my chair, crossing my ankle over my knee.

He glances over, seeing Poppy’s high chair.

“Your sister’s?” he asks.

Now it’s my turn to nod once. “Poppy.”

“How old is she?”

“She’ll be one in about a couple months.”

His face is pained and he shakes his head. “Fuck.”

“Yup. That’s about right.”

“How’s she doing?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Confused as shit. Sometimes happy, sometimes so discontent she doesn’t know what to do with herself which means I don’t know what to do with her.”

“Fuck,” he repeats quietly. Dalton leans over, peeling away at the Miller Lite label on the bottle. “I’m so sorry, man. I can’t imagine.”

“Imagine your worst nightmare but you have the most perfect baby that makes it halfway better but your heart feels like it’s been torn out of your chest and stomped on by a herd of cattle because you can’t fixherheart and then you’ll understand by about a tenth.”

He closes his eyes and grunts. “My fiancee’s pregnant. Isn’t that a trip?.”

“Oh, yeah? Congrats. Didn’t know you conned someone into marrying you,” I joke. Kind of.

“It was a challenge, for sure, and there’s no way on earth that I’ll ever deserve her, but I’m holding on tight.”

“Best to do that, I’ve learned.”

He looks at me a long moment then says, “Yeah, I bet you did.”

Then the worst feeling in the world hits me and I have to ask, “She’s not your girl, is she?”

With a snort, he eases my concern. “No. It’s not Layla. Though, to be honest, I’m not good enough for her, either.”

“What’s her name?”

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