Page 31 of Wicked Brutal

Danny picks up his phone and turns it over in his hand. “Becca needs to hear it from me. Not in a room. Not in a group. From me, first.”

“You sure?” I ask.

His eyes lift. “No.” Honest. “But she does.” He stands. “Give me five minutes before you tell Ally we’re doing this — I’m telling Becca first, so it’s not sprung on her when Ally walks in. And Ryan.” He pauses. “Ally doesn’t apologize. For any of it. If Becca cries, if I have to step outside — none of that is Ally’s to say sorry for. Her being pregnant isn’t something she did to us.”

“Okay,” I say. “Understood.”

Becca wants to see Ally. So do Cat and Penny. Ally agrees, which surprises me less than it would’ve six months ago, because the girls have become their own thing now — not just our girlfriends, not just people who ended up in the same orbit because the five of us have been attached at the hip since we were kids, but something separate. Something I don’t fully understand and know better than to get in the middle of.

By four, we’re at Cat’s, and Ally almost turns around the second she sees everyone in the living room. I feel it happen through her hand — the little hitch, the recalculation. “Hey,” I murmur. She looks at me. “You good?”

“No.”

“Want to leave?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Her fingers tighten around mine, and here, in this house, the public rules don’t exist, so I hold on and don’t let go.

Cat stands. Penny doesn’t. Neither does Becca — good, because three girls rushing Ally at once would send her straight back out the door, and all three of them somehow know it. “Hey,” Cat says. That’s all. Not oh my God, not are you okay, not even congratulations. Just hey.

Ally swallows. “Hey.”

Penny pats the cushion beside her. “We have ginger tea. Come sit before it gets cold.”

A tiny smile appears at the corner of Ally’s mouth, and I feel my whole chest loosen a notch. She walks farther in, and I stay with her until she sits down between Cat and Penny — and then her eyes find Becca in the opposite corner of the couch, curled in with Danny beside her, their hands linked, and the smile disappears.

“Becca,” Ally says.

Becca looks at her, and then her gaze drops. Just once. To Ally’s stomach. There isn’t much to see. She looks anyway, and her fingers tighten around Danny’s, and Danny doesn’t move, doesn’t speak for her, doesn’t rescue her. He just holds on and lets her get there herself.

Ally starts to stand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“No.” Becca’s answer is immediate, and Ally freezes halfway up. Becca stands, lets go of Danny’s hand, and crosses the room. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know.” Becca stops in front of her, and for a second neither of them moves. Then Becca says, quietly, “Can I hug you?”

Ally nods, and Becca wraps both arms around her, and Ally breaks — not loudly, just one tiny sound against Becca’s shoulder. Penny immediately starts crying. “Oh, fuck,” she says wetly, and Cat reaches for the tissue box, and Penny points at her. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“My face is neutral.”

“Your face has never once been neutral in its entire life.”

Becca laughs against Ally’s hair, and it comes out wet.

“It hurts,” Becca says. “I’m not going to lie to you and pretend it doesn’t. It hurts, and it’s probably going to walk up and sit down next to me at completely random times for the rest of my life.”

Ally’s mouth trembles. “I know,” she whispers.

“No, you don’t,” Becca says — not cruel, just true. “And I don’t want you to. That’s the whole point. I can miss my baby and be happy yours exists at the exact same time. I can hate that I don’t get mine and still want every single good thing in the world for you. Both of those live in me now. They’re going to live in me right next to each other, and that’s mine to carry, not yours.” Behind her, Danny’s jaw tightens. “So if I cry sometimes, that’s not your fault. If I have a bad day, that’s not your fault. If Danny has a bad day, that’s not your fault either. You don’t get to apologize for your baby. Not to me. Not ever.”

Ally’s tears spill over, and Danny gets up, crosses the room, and stops beside Becca, his hand settling at her waist. She leans into him, and he looks at Ally. “She’s right,” he says. “If it’s hard for us sometimes, that’s ours to hold. You don’t apologize for your kid.” His voice catches slightly on the last of it.