Page 15 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

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Sunday morning sunlight drifted through the cracks in Luke’s curtains as his eyes fluttered open. He watched the dust float in the rays as he shook clear dreams about vacuuming and bottles of pine-scented Dettol.

He yawned, wondering why he’d thought about cleaning when ...

Fuck.

Willow.

Baby.

Sleeping in the room across from him.

And wow, wasn’t the thought of that like a slap across the face. Better than any alarm clock. His heart thundered in his chest, and any trace of sleep disappeared. Not that he’d had much. He’d fallen asleep with ideas playing mental Jenga in his head. Some settling into place, some jarringly awkward and painful.

Yes, he was oddly relieved to learn his sperm functioned. Odd, because no, he wasn’t ready for kids.

Yes, there was pride that Willow had felt she could come to him, and no, there was no way they could live together for the next year. He’d only just got the place back to himself after his sister had moved out.

Yes, he was fucking furious at the very idea that her family might push her into an abortion.

Because.

A fucking baby.

Yet, there was no way on God’s green earth he was cut out to be a father.

He tossed back the covers of the bed and walked to the bathroom, rubbing his temples where a low-grade headache throbbed. Hangovers needed sleep. Juice. Perhaps a wank. Normally, he slept naked, but for propriety’s sake, he’d pulled on joggers, which he promptly dropped to the floor. Luke turned the spray on ice-cold and stepped under it, his breath catching as he gasped beneath the chill.

And, yes, the thought of a child growing up without a dad, like he had after his firefighter father had died in a warehouse blaze, made his chest ache. But no, he wasn’t sure he was even remotely a good fit for Willow’s child.

His child.

And it wasn’t like he’d done a stellar job of looking out for his sister after his dad had passed away and their mum went to live in Brighton with his dad’s best friend. No, fatherhood was not one of his key skills.

Just as he’d turned the heat up and soaped his body, the bathroom door slammed open, and Willow sank to her knees in front of the toilet before throwing up in the bowl. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice small.

Quickly, he rinsed before turning the shower off. “You okay?”

A part of him wondered about the oddity of showering while someone was puking, but given him getting naked was part of the reason they were in this mess, he figured it was a non-issue. Bit too late for either of them to worry about what she might think of his dick. That ship had sailed.

He reached for his towel and wrapped it around his waist.

She fixed the waistband of her cream silk pyjama bottoms. “Kinda used to it. It’s supposed to get better any day. Or so the books say. Do you have any arrowroot cookies?”

“Pretty certain I don’t, but if you tell me what they are, I’ll get dry and go buy the closest thing to them from the shop. Or make you some toast? That’ll help.” At least, he thought it would because he wasn’t a fucking pregnancy almanac.

Willow looked up at him, her skin sallow, and he felt sorry for her. He’d been hungover enough to puke occasionally. Never fun. “That would be good, thanks.”

Luke stepped out of the bathroom and retrieved clean bath and hand towels. “Here,” he said, handing them to her.

Once dressed, he stepped into the living room, and saw the space through Willow’s eyes.

It was a fucking tip.

Now the cleaning dream made sense.

Remembering how the smell had made her feel sick the day before, he threw the windows open wide before grabbing a couple of large, heavy-duty black bin liners from the cupboard.

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