Tucker takes a step back and shakes his head. “Sloane. I’m not— I would never ask you to change anything.”
"Then what are you saying?" I challenge. "Because from where I'm standing, you're already making plans and decisions. 'I'll come to the doctor with you.' 'I want to be involved.' What about what I want?"
Tucker opens his mouth, then closes it. Takes a breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. What do you want?"
The question catches me off guard. Josh never asked what I wanted. He told me what made sense, what was logical, what we should do.
"I want to finish school," I say quietly. "I want to build a career in public health. I want to be the kind of person my grandmother would be proud of." My hand moves unconsciously to the sun pendant at my throat. "And I want to raise this baby without losing myself in the process."
"Okay." Tucker nods slowly. "Then that's what we'll do."
"We?"
"You said you don't want to lose yourself. I get that. But Sloane, I grew up in a family where everyone supported each other. My dad left pro hockey to stay home with my brothers and me when my mom ran for judge. This doesn't have to be you sacrificing everything while I keep living my life."
“Your dad retired to be … a dad?” I hadn't known that. Hadn't known anything meaningful about Tucker's family.
"Yeah.” Tucker laughs. “Family is everything to him.” Tucker's expression softens. "I'm not saying I know exactly how this will work. But I'm saying it doesn't have to be like it was when you were growing up. Your grandmother working two jobs,doing everything alone. We have resources. We can figure this out."
The we keeps throwing me. Josh always said we, too, but it usually meant I should do whatever he'd already decided while he kept emotional distance.
"You can't be an active parent when you're on the road twenty weeks a year," I point out, and I watch his face fall.
He sinks onto that fancy couch—the one that's clearly designed for looking at rather than sitting on—and drops his head into his hands. For a long moment, he's silent.
"You're right," he says finally, his voice muffled. "I don't have an answer for that."
The admission surprises me. Josh would have had a dozen answers, a dozen ways to explain why it would all work out, why I was worrying for nothing.
"I just need you to be realistic," I say, more gently now. "I appreciate that you want to be involved. But I can't build my life around your schedule. I can't be the one who adjusts everything while you keep doing exactly what you've always done."
"I hear you.” He looks up at me, and there's something raw in his expression. "But I'm not asking you to adjust everything. I'm asking you to let me try. To let me figure out how to be a father even with the travel, even with the complications. Other guys on the team do it. It's not impossible."
"It's not impossible for them because they have wives who handle everything while they're gone," I counter. "I'm not going to be that person, Tucker. I'm not going to be the one who gives up everything while you get to keep being T-Stag the Party Animal."
He flinches at the nickname, and I know I pressed a nerve. "I don't want to be that guy anymore."
I snort. “Sure. Because we met under such wholesome circumstances.”
He emits a low growl and stares at his expensive sneakers. “Sloane. This is all coming at me really fast. But I want you to know I will change. I will absolutely become the man who deserves to be this baby’s father.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. I want tobelieve him. Want to believe this isn't just panic talking, that he really means it.
But I've been here before. I've believed promises that sounded beautiful in the moment and turned to ash in reality.
"I need time," I say. "To process this. To figure out what I'm going to do."
"Okay." He stands, keeping his distance like he's afraid of spooking me. "But Sloane? I meant what I said. I want to be involved. I want to be at doctor's appointments, I want to help with whatever you need. I know I have to earn your trust. I know I've given you every reason not to believe me. But I'm asking you to give me a chance to prove I'm different than you think I am."
I'm too tired to argue anymore. Too overwhelmed by everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours.
"I'll text you when I make the appointment," I say. It's not a promise, exactly, but it's something.
"Thank you." The relief on his face is almost painful to witness.
I head for the door, and he doesn't try to stop me. Doesn't ask me to stay, doesn't make any more promises he might not be able to keep. He just watches me go with those blue eyes that have haunted my dreams, and I can't tell if the expression on his face is hope or fear.
The drive home is a blur. I keep expecting to feel something—panic, joy, terror, excitement—but I'm just numb. I told Tucker. He knows. And now I have to figure out what comes next.
