Page 53 of More than Need

Sadie shifted her hand, rubbing her still mostly flat stomach. “They have an uncle that they’ll never meet, the same way I never really got to meet him as my brother.” Her lips wobbled. “They’re atadpole,and already somebody’s rejected them.”

“Hey, c’mon, that’s not fair,” Dawson said, guilt stabbing at him. “Nobody rejected the tadpole. It wasn’t—he didn’t—nobody got rejected.”

“That’s not true. He told me to leave, and he doesn’t want to be part of my life or eventryto see if we could have some sort of relationship. What is that if not rejection?” She clenched her hand into a fist against her stomach. “Maybe I should go back, try to talk to him again? Give it another chance?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” The words were out of Dawson’s mouth before he’d had a chance to really think about them. Was he trying to protect her or himself? He obviouslywanted to be in the running for “world’s worst best friend.” Going for gold.

“It can’t make things worse.”

It could, and Dawson couldn’t properly explain to her why. How much he’d fucked up, how much he would keep doing it until there was nothing left to salvage in the wreckage it created.

“You should give him some time,” Darcy said, eating some kind of potato dish—what the hell was it, that it started with Y?—out of a container, with a spoon. “It’s barely been a week, and it was big news. You needed time after you found out too.”

“A couple of days.”

“Not everyone jumps in feetfirst the way you do,” Dawson said dryly. “Some people actually need time to think.”

Sadie huffed. “How long?”

“I think that’s up to him? You left him your information, right? So that he could contact you if he wanted to?” At her look, Dawson’s eyes widened, lips parting. He knew that face. “Oh my God, youdidn’t? What the hell, Sade?” Even Dawson had left his number when he’d gone there. A good thing, too, since Gideon had been able to contact him, and he’d had the best sex of his life that night. And almost every night since.

“At what point was I supposed to give him my number and say, ‘Call me’? He had me escorted out like a criminal, remember?”

“If he wasn’t your brother, it would be an interesting meet-cute,” Darcy mused.

Sadie grimaced. “Really, Darce?”

“Just saying. Want someyakhnet batata?” he asked, holding out the bowl. “I skip the first step and make it without the chicken; it’s still yum.”

“Now you’re just making up words,” Dawson said. “That’s not—those aren’t real words.” Smelled nice, though.

“You’re so uncultured,” Sadie said, taking the container and shoving it in his hands. “Try it.”

Not his usual fare, but not bad.

She leaned over, gathering a few bites of her own. “Maybe I could call, in like… end of next week? Just… test the waters? That’d be enough time to let it all simmer, and him to cool off?”

Darcy nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

What didDarcyknow about reasonable? He thoughthermit crabswere good pets. And he bought them hats.

Dread set in. A week. Is that all the time he would have with Riley and Gideon? He couldn’t say she shouldn’t; he’d only be saying it for his own benefit, and he’d dug his hole deep enough already.

“You really don’t think I should?” Sadie asked, misinterpreting his look.

Dawson tried to think of the response that would have come from him a week ago before he’d majorly put his foot in it. Before he’d gotten stupid drunk and confronted Riley and gotten his first glimpse of both of the men that had slid the ground out from under him too damn quickly. Almost quite literally led by his dick.

“Maybe two weeks?” he said weakly, feeling like the worst sort of person.

Sadie nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. I can be patient.” At Darcy’s look, she said, “I can, excuse you. I’ll even make itthreeweeks, just to prove you wrong.”

“Is this what we’re betting on now?” Dawson asked, trying to laugh off the flutter of panic rising in his throat. “How long before you cave?” How many days did he have left before this all blew up in his face, and no one ever spoke to him again? Would Darcy still talk to him? There was some sort of comfort in knowing that at least one third of their trio would still act like he existed after this. A tiny, miniscule kind of comfort.

“A hundred bucks and you’re on.”

Dawson took the bet and hoped to God that he lost this one because he needed more time. To figure out what to do, or who to spend it with? He didn’t know. Did it matter?

“Uh—I need to—make a phone call,” he said, standing abruptly.

---