Page 1 of Waiting for Her

Prologue

Addison

I’m done. I’m not ready to be a father, and I won’t be trapped in that life. Don’t contact me again.

Shit.

I can’t say I’m surprised this text came tonight. I figured it was coming since Brendan decided to stop taking my calls, coming to appointments, or being interested in anything to do with the baby for months. But I was holding out the hope that he would get his act together and do this with me.

I guess I was wrong.

Did I want to spend the rest of my life with a guy that didn’t know how to work a washing machine or refill the toilet paper roll? No, but I did want my future child to have a father, and by the looks of that text, my wish is crumbling at my feet.

“I’ll be back,” I say to the table of people that are now looking at me with pity etched on their faces.

“Everything okay?” Drew asks, that brotherly instinct strong but I fake a smile, trying to get away from the table before the tears fall because I know they are coming.

Before I leave the table, Max, one of my brother’s friends, catches my wrist and stops me from leaving.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and hushed but still, all eyes are on me as I twist my hand out of his grip and leave without saying a word.

Being in love with your brother’s best friend is one thing. Being in love with him while carrying another man’s baby is something completely different. I knew Brendan wasn’t my endgame when I started dating him. He was younger, full of life and I wanted to feel something besides loneliness for once in my life. I knew once I decided to keep the baby that I would give up my fantasy of Max and me finding each other, and until today I was okay with it. I was okay because I would have the family I always wanted and my little nugget would be loved no matter what. But in the back of my head, I knew that all I wanted was Max. It’s always been Max.

And now that dream is shattered with my little nugget growing so fast inside me. What man would want to spend time with a single mom who can’t even hold on to the father of her child?

“Addi? You okay?” Max asks, coming to sit beside me on the front porch swing.

I came out here to be alone, trying to process what my eyes had just read. The second I saw Brendan’s name, I knew what was coming and knew I needed to be away from all the testosterone that would pile on top of me once they found out what was happening. When I say nothing, Max eyes my stomach, that sadness I can’t quite pinpoint enters his gaze and for the millionth time over the last seven months, I wonder if I should ask him what that look means. But every time I open my mouth to do just that, I chicken out, wanting to stay in this everlasting limbo where I hold the hope that he feels the same about me as I do about him.

“Addison?” Max repeats, my head snapping in his direction, and I can’t stop the tears from falling. “Shit, what happened? Who do I need to beat up?”

A laugh shudders out of my tears and I lean against his shoulder, holding out my phone and showing the text.

“That piece of shit. I knew he didn’t deserve you. Fucking scum of the earth.”

I can’t help as the sobs rack my body, the reality of doing all of this alone crashing over my head.

I’m not ready for this.

“What am I going to do? I can’t do this alone,” I whisper, my hands sliding over my stomach, both excited and now dreading my due date.

“You won’t do this alone,” Max says with conviction, sitting up and taking my face in his hands and making sure my eyes meet his before he says the next part. “I’ll help you.”

“What?” I say through a furrowed brow.

Max just smiles as if he just came up with the best plan ever.

“I’ll move in with you, you need someone there with you and I can be that person.” Before I can even say anything, he’s up and heading back inside the house, while I’m sitting here wondering how I got in this position.

The next few months are going to be interesting.

Addison

At first, I think I’m dreaming of the fact that someone is pounding on my front door before the sun has even come up, yet when I hear that god-awful sound reverberating through my small house, I silently curse whoever is outside. I try to pray to whatever god is listening, hoping by some miracle that whoever is out there will go away and finally allow me to get some sleep.

Being seven months pregnant and living alone is not something I prepared myself for going into this motherhood business. I expected help. I expected someone here to tell me that everything will be okay, that the morning sickness will eventually go away (even though it hasn’t), and that I don’t look like a whale on legs. Yet I lie here in my empty bed, surrounded by memories of the life I thought I was going to have.

The pounding does not cease. It continues as I groan, picking up my phone and rolling my eyes at the god-awful time that flashes back at me. I roll to my side, struggling to get to my feet thanks to my belly, which seems to grow with every passing second. I know I should get the door, I know whoever is on the other side most likely will not go away until I answer but the baby is playing havoc with my bladder and if I don’t empty it soon, there will be hell to pay.

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