Page 31 of Baby for My Best Friend's Brother

“I think so. I mean, I have to try. This was always the plan. I can’t change it just because…”

“Just because my brother is an asshole. And an idiot.” She huffs. “Then I’m here for you. Every step of the way. And so is Slate.”

A tear slips down my cheek. “I love you. Both.”

“And we love you. So much. And we’re going to love that little baby you’re going to have.”

“Thank you.” I wipe under my eyes and force a smile. “My baby is going to love their Auntie Winter and Uncle Slate.”

“I can’t wait to spoil them. Now.” She gives me a stern. “You should go do something to distract yourself. Go get a mani-pedi. Get a pumpkin spice latte. Take a walk.”

“Jeez bossy when you’re nervous.”

“Damn right.” Winter sighs gently. “But seriously, take care of yourself. And if you need me, promise to call me later. Hell, call me later even if you don’t need me.”

“I will.”

“Good. And… good luck. Even though you don’t need it.”

“Wish me some anyway.”

“I wish you all the good things,” Winter says, her voice warm and fierce with love. “Always.”

After we hang up, I turn my phone off and tuck it in my bag. I want complete silence so I can be at peace as I take this huge step.

Even if my heart and tummy are anything but peaceful.

TEN

CLIFF

“Aw… fuck.”

My morning isn’t off to the best start.

I got in late after another fire call.

I knocked over the pile of fire wood.

And now, I can’t find a damn thing. Which is weird because my cabin is basically only two rooms plus the shitter.

I yank open the top drawer of my dresser and slam it shut with more force than necessary. I open the second, but don’t find it. I try to shove it closed but it sticks, then pops open so hard it nearly takes out my kneecap.

I curse under my breath and reach for the third drawer. I misjudge the angle and catch my thumb in the edge.

“Fuck it all to fucking Hell,” I hiss, shaking out my hand and cradling it against my chest. “Whatever. Fuck it. Who gives a fuck if I don’t have a clean shirt?”

It’s not like I have anyone to impress.

“Fuck,” I blurt out again, for good measure.

I march over to the laundry basket and dig through the pile, desperate for a flannel shirt that doesn’t reek of smoke. Most are crumpled or stained with grease. I find one at the bottom that smells like pine and worn leather.

“Good e-fucking-nough.”

“Whoa. Are you on your period or what?”

I spin toward the sound of Winter’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom, eyebrows arched, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand, held out like it’s some sort of peace offering.

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