Page 51 of Over & Out

But then someone laughs a lot closer, and then everyone’s filing back inside, laughing and whooping and freaking out about all the presents, crowding around me, like this is my party. Which it isn’t. This is Tru’s party and Tru’s celebration, and Tru looks amazing and is my friend and is about to have a baby. But all the while, through all the flurry, Chris is staring back at me, her expression no longer annoyed. Her eyes are no longer rolling or glaring at me, but just on me, a question there I’m not sure she even wants the answer to.

The shower passes in a blur of ripped paper and champagne and flouncy little food things Chris arranged for. At one point, as the afternoon starts to spill into evening, that baby is handed to me, and I hold her so awkwardly I don’t know why I had that out-of-pocket thought that I could be a father. The baby is beautiful, covered in frilly clothes and with a soft head that fits in the palm of my hand, chubby arms that kick and a mouth that chews at something that isn’t there. But she’s so delicate, so tiny, I’m sure I’m going to break her. I hand her back and take that as my cue to leave.

I glance through the crowd at Chris, who gives me a nod. I say my goodbyes, and at the door, Tru asks me how it’sreallygoing with Chris.

“She’s incredible,” I say.

“She is,” Tru agrees. But something has shifted in Tru’s expression. There’s an awareness there. “Tell me what you like about her.”

I give her a look, like I know this is a trap, but she just stares back at me, daring me not to answer. Or to say something stupid like she looks like a fucking goddess in that sundress.

So I say, “She has good ideas. She thinks two steps ahead. She defends me in meetings and advocates for me, and I don’t know why, but it makes me feel like maybe I’m not a complete shit.”

I didn’t mean to say that last part. But all of it is true. Because how could an angel like Chris work for someone so awful? How could she laugh with someone that bad?

It’s wishful thinking, I know, but it’s what it is.

“Be careful, Hop,” Tru says softly.

I don’t ask her what she means. “I can take care of myself. Mostly.” I smile sheepishly. I give her a hug.

“Tell me the minute he’s born,” I say from the bottom of the steps. “I want the order to be you and Kevin, the doctor, then Uncle Hopper. And remember, Hop’s a great name.”

She laughs, despite the worry still lingering in her eyes.

Chapter 16

Hopper

Islip out without saying goodbye to anyone else. I’m a coward. And I drive home like one too.

But when I get through my gate, there’s another car in the driveway. A red Maserati.

I tell myself not to freak out. It’s been a long time since I had someone break into my place, but it’s happened. Maybe I left the gate open somehow when I left in a rush for the party.

I don’t freak out. But suddenly I get pissed. I’ve found myself wishing I was just some regular guy a lot lately, which always brings me a ton of mixed feelings. Because I’m lucky as fuck. There are people starving. Working day and night at the kinds of jobs I would have had if I’d stayed in the small town where I grew up—at steel mills and manufacturing plants. Coming home, backs broken. I have every material thing I could want. But I don’t have privacy. I don’t have my own identity. I’m a commodity—the person everyone else wants me tobe. The only one who doesn’t see me like that in one way or another, even if they care about me, is Chris.

I get out of my car and slam the door, making no secret that I’m home. It’s stupid of me to draw attention to myself. Mabel tells me I should carry a weapon. Or hire bodyguards. But I draw the line at all that shit. Plus I’ve never been great with listening to common sense.

As I approach the car, I see it’s empty, but the engine’s still ticking. When I press my hand to the hood, it’s warm. I peer in the windows. The car is neat as a pin. No wrappers, cups, or any of the other shit people leave in their cars.

A rental, I think, just as a voice says, “What took you so long?”

I whirl around, my heart thumping in a totally different way.

Chris stands to the side of my veranda. In the long shadows of early evening, she’s even more ethereal than she looked in the afternoon sun. My heart feels as buoyant as those balloons I almost lost. I want to see her there holding a cup of coffee, her head rumpled from sleep.

Bad; wrong, says my brain.

Good; right, says the rest of me.

“How the hell did you get here so fast?” I say, my words a little harder than I intended. “Never mind. I know how you drive.”

She looks slightly sheepish, which only makes my heart squeeze a little harder. “Tru gave me the gate code.”

“Good.”

She smiles, and for a moment, I try. I try one last timeto shove these feelings down. I think desperately about things I could say. That I want to be alone. Tell her I need her to do something menial like polish my sneakers or take out the trash bins so she remembers she hates me.

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