Page 58 of Bar Down, Baby

“Had to try.”

She chuckles. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“It’ll be okay,” she says. “You need to talk to her.”

“Thanks, Dee.”

CHAPTER22

DEREK

I never knewI could feel like such a piece of shit about something. And that’s coming from a man who seems to make a habit of impregnating women and causing severe medical situations.

I also never knew I could be so anxious about something. But I couldn’t wait until morning and Megan deserves so much more than to have her sperm donor yell at her while she’s pregnant and stressed and everything else.

God, what if I stressed her out more than she could take? She’s fifteen weeks—not thirty. Miscarriages happen. Sometimes it’s just stress that triggers them. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Send a check every month and spare her and my kid the trouble of having to deal with me?

But that thought makes me want to throw up. And even if the baby wasn’t in the picture, I think I’d still be standing here, at ten-thirty at night, knocking on her door.

A light flickers on inside, and when the door finally opens, it’s Ainsley who stands in the doorway. She closes it slightly and crosses her arms, eyes glaring.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize,” I say, holding up the shopping bag I brought.

“You don’t need to apologize to me.” But she doesn’t move, doesn’t invite me in.

“I do owe you an apology,” I say. I let out a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have acted like that in your house. I shouldn’t have spoken to your friend that way. You’re basically her family here. And if I can’t be here for her, I’m glad you are. I want to be able to talk to you, and I want you to trust me. Hell, I need you to trust me.

“So, I’m sorry.”

She stares at me, her arms now hanging at her sides.

“That was pretty good.” She purses her lips to the right as if considering whether I’m all talk.

“I meant it.”

“I want to believe you,” she says, clearly uncomfortable with having to make this decision.

“Will you ask Megan if I can speak with her? If she says no, I’ll go.”

She exhales hard and then steps back into the house.

“Stay here.”

Then she’s gone.

I stay on the porch where I spent my afternoon, standing under the single bulb light fixture that seems to be original to the house. Gnats and moths flutter around it, and somewhere in the distance, I hear a car backfire. Otherwise, the neighborhood is surprisingly quiet for being in the middle of the city. The other houses around this one have their porch lights glowing, casting the feeling of safety on the block, even in the dark. Now that I’m calmer, I can see that this would be a good place to raise a family. I wonder if our child will learn to ride her bike on this street. Or walk down these sidewalks to go to his preschool?

The door opens behind me and Ainsley is there again.

“Come on, sport,” she says. She follows me to the back hallway where I knock softly on Megan’s door.

“Come in,” Megan says quietly.

I look at Ainsley, who points two fingers at her eyes and then at me. I understand the threat and push into Megan’s room.

Megan is sitting on her bed, a stack of pillows behind her. Her bare feet look dirty as they hang off the long side of the double bed. A library book lies face down in her lap. She looks tired, but otherwise, okay.

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