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Sawyer sighs audibly, running a hand through his wet hair. “Just fucking peachy,” he rumbles, earning a glare from his wife.
“Everything isn’t peachy,” she hisses. “I haven’t heard from Gail since the day after she left to go to… doesn’t matter. She hasn’t answered any of my texts for the last three days. I’m starting to freak out here.”
Remembering hearing something about Gail ignoring Lucia before, I say, “Isn’t it kinda normal for her to disappear on you sometimes?”
This earns me a glare. “Not you too, Mickey!”
When I look at Sawyer, who looks like he’d love to be anywhere but here, I get the sense my friend has tried using the same logic on his wife already. “I’m sure she’s fine,” Soren says half-heartedly.
I wonder if I’m the only one who noticed Lucia’s little slip up about when she last talked to Gail. It sounded like she knew exactly where Gail went; to Cupid’s Court. Could she be in on it? Or is it possible that Gail really didn’t know we’re the men who’ve been playing with her body for weeks?
No, fuck that. It doesn’t matter whether she knows or not, she’s still a liar. She can’t be pregnant. She just can’t because I can’t go through that shit again.
The hum of the engine is a low growl that fades into the background as Soren and I glide out of the arena’s parking lot. He drives with a sort of heavy precision, muscles tense beneath his dark jacket, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His fingers drum the wheel, a silent beat to a tune I can’t hear. The city lights blur past us in streaks of color, but neither of us pays them much attention.
“Where are we going?” I finally break the silence, my voice sounding rough even to my own ears.
Soren shrugs, a slight lift of one shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Just driving.”
I lean back in the seat, the leather cool against my skin, and let out a long breath. The night air slips through the cracked window, carrying with it the scent of rain and asphalt. It’s a relief, a distraction from the heat coiling inside me, the frustration, the anger, the need. At least that’s what it should be, but there’s no derailing my thoughts.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Soren asks after a lengthy silence.
“Simone.” The name falls from my lips before I can stop it—a ghost of a whisper, a specter from the past that refuses to stay buried.
“Still haunting you, huh?” Soren’s voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of concern that wasn’t there before.
I don’t know why he’s asking since it’s no secret I still mourn the life I coulda had, which is evident by my annual January breakdown and my notorious bad mood when we face off against the New Jersey Jaguars, the team Jared plays for.
“Yeah.” It’s all I can muster. Simone. My heart clenches at the memory of her—her laugh, her touch, her betrayal. It’s been years, but it feels like yesterday she gave me my dream and ripped it away again all too soon. The wound never really healed; it just stopped bleeding on the outside.
“Man, Mickey, you gotta let her go. She’s not worth the space she’s taking up in your head,” Soren chides gently, but there’s steel in his tone.
Blowing out a breath, I turn so I can look at him. “It’s not about her, man.” It really fucking isn’t. Simone is a cunt, there’s no other way to say it. “I thought I was going to be a dad.” I don’t often speak the word out loud. In fact, I usually refer to it as the event, or something equally stupid. It still hurts to give voice to what happened.
I was deliriously happy when Simone announced she was pregnant. I bought every fucking maternity book I could get my hands on, read them with her, wanting to be part of every step. But finding out the kid wasn’t mine after I’d proposed and she said yes… how the hell does one get over shit like that?
“I know.” Soren nods, acknowledging the jagged edge in my voice. “But you can still have a family one day. It’s not over just because it isn’t happening with Simone.”
“With Gail you mean?” I ask, tasting the bitterness on my tongue. “She’s probably spread her legs for most men in fucking Minneapolis. That kid isn’t mine or yours.”
Soren takes a left turn, ignoring the red arrow on the traffic light. Then he pulls down a dimly lit street and before I know it, we’re parked outside the graveyard his twin is buried in. “This place,” he says, stabbing a finger toward the graveyard, “when you end up here, it’s too late to change anything. But we’re not in the dirt yet, Mick. As long as we breathe, it’s not too late.”
I feel like Soren’s trying to say something, something I’m not getting. All I can muster is a hesitant, “Okay?”
He shakes his head, his breath coming out in a whoosh. “Here’s the thing, Mick. I know she’s turned your world upside down with the announcement—”
“The fuck?” I shout, immediately angry to hear he’s apparently not as torn up about it as I am.
Soren carries on, completely ignoring my interruption. “But if she’s carrying family, I can’t turn my back on her. I just can’t, man. So don’t make me fucking choose.”
I open and close my mouth so many times my jaw starts to hurt.
“I called Cupid’s before the game, and they’ve scheduled an emergency appointment two days from now. If she is pregnant, I can’t keep freezing her out.”
“Soren… what?” I can barely believe what he’s saying. “Just because she’s knocked up doesn’t mean it’s ours.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t,” he volleys, shaking his head. “Nana would never forgive me if I turned my back on my family.”
