Page 49 of End Game
“I’m only asking this because I’m your friend, okay? It’s Branch’s baby, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“There are absolutely no other options. You didn’t sleep with Callum and not tell me or drink some wine and just fool around with your neighbor?”
“No. I haven’t slept with Callum in, what, four months? Branch is the absolute only person.”
She nods, obviously coming to terms with the situation too. “How do you want to proceed? I’ll do whatever you say.”
“Rewind to that weekend and don’t let me go to Linton.”
She grins. “I can’t do that.”
“You said you’d do anything,” I sniffle. “What am I going to do?”
My back drags down the wall until I’m sitting on the cool bathroom floor. Poppy plops down beside me sitting crisscross-applesauce and waiting for me to guide the conversation.
“I don’t even know him,” I lament. “How can I be having a baby by a man I barely even know?”
The tears fall harder, the salty streaks reaching my lips and dripping onto the floor.
“It’s going to be all right, Layla.”
“I know it’s going to be all right. I don’t have a choice but for it to be anything but all right,” I say, taking the piece of toilet tissue she hands me. “But . . .”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I’m the girl I never wanted to be,” I say. “Single. Pregnant. Unprepared. So fucking unprepared.”
My head falls into my hands, my stomach churning. Just a few days ago—hell, a few hours ago—my biggest problem was Callum texting me. That seems so much more manageable now.
“You aren’t any kind of girl unless you’re talking about a fun, sexy, best person kind of girl,” she says, scooting closer and pulling me into a hug. The contact does it. The river breaks and I sob on her shoulder.
After a long while, when I’m cried out for the time being, she finally pulls away. I mop up my face with the tissue.
“You don’t have to make any decisions now,” she soothes.
“That’s good because I don’t have any idea where to start trying to unravel this fucking mess.”
“Do you want to tell Finn?”
“Uh, no. Let’s not tell Finn. I’d rather him not get involved and kill us all.”
Staring at the wall, I feel completely detached from my body. It’s almost as if I’ve been usurped in a coup and now I wait to see where I’ve been banished.
I drag in a breath, my body shaking as it settles. “This is going to be okay,” I tell myself. “This is going to be okay.”
“Yes, it is. Let’s take it one day at a time and don’t get overwhelmed.” She twists her lips. “Can I still drink the champagne?”
As I fight not to laugh, she stands and pulls me to my feet.
“I know this is about you,” she insists, “but can I be the Godmother? I’ve always wanted to be a Godmother.”
“Oh my God, stop.”
She pulls me down the hallway, babbling away about baby names and does what best friends do—lets me lean on her.
CHAPTER 15
