Page 84 of End Game
“My senses, especially smell, are on overdrive right now. It’s so weird.”
Sighing, I sit up and look at my friend. “How did it end with the two of them?”
“I don’t know. I left.”
“To give them space?”
“Nope. Because I pointed out to Finn that what Branch was saying made sense and he needed to give the two of you someroom to figure it out. And Finn, being the dumbass he can be, got an attitude. So I left.”
Grinning as I imagine her laying into my brother, I laugh. “I bet that was something to see.”
“I’m always something to see. Anyway, enough of the bromance chronicles. Tell me about what happened in Linton with Branch.”
I go into a quick version of the important details, not wanting to get into it. It feels too intimate to share with anyone, even my best friend.
Poppy watches me tell the story and, in a very un-Pop like way, doesn’t rush me. She sits in her chair, her arms at her sides, and lets me talk for a good ten minutes.
When I’m finished, she leans on the counter. “Sounds like a good time.”
“It wasn’t bad. We ended up getting along and working a few things out,” I admit. “And I kind of hate that it wasn’t a mess.”
“Why would you hate that?”
I shrug. “I appreciate that we can get along, but it hurts to be in this situation. It’s like the more good memories, the more it stings.”
“Maybe it will develop into something,” she offers. “He was pretty clear to Finn that he wants to be there for you and the baby.”
“I know he will. I believe that. But . . . damn it. Why couldn’t I be having a baby with someone that I could build something with for me too?”
“You never know.”
“No, I do know,” I say, scooting off the stool and feeling my heart drop right with my feet. “He made it clear he wants to be there for the baby and for me as its mother. Done. He even went so far as to tell me what the road was like and how many girls areat their disposal and how that’s not fair to the women who marry the players in their league.”
She stands and leans against the cabinet. “That tells me he’s aware.”
“Aware of what?”
“Of life. Of reality. That’s a good thing, Lay.” She laces her fingers together. “He doesn’t want to hurt you. Obviously. Wouldn’t you rather him be honest like this than just go through the motions and then ‘go through the motions’ with road bitches?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t guess,” she scoffs. “You know. This means he’s more mature than I think any of us thought. He’s pondered these things. That’s more than most guys do until it’s too late.”
“True. But you know what? We’re missing the point.”
“Which is . . .”
“Which is,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, “that I don’t even want that life. I don’t want to be with a guy I can’t trust. I don’t want to worry about what he’s doing and who he’s doing and what will be said in the rag mags. I want to be cuddled up on the sofa next to him, our baby on our laps, watching the news and eating ice cream.”
She sighs. “Can you imagine him with a baby? God, my ovaries.”
“He was standing in the kitchen last night, pouring us a glass of milk. All I could think about was how sexy he would look making a bottle, you know? Then it occurred to me I’d probably never see that.” I rest my forehead on the cool counter. “This is so confusing.”
Her hand finds the back of my head. “You just relax and take care of my little goddaughter. I’m going to get us some sandwiches and we are going to eat and watch television and forget about boys.”
“This is why I love ya, Poppy.”
“I know.”
