Never for me.
“A toast.” I held up my soda. “To terrible men giving us the strength to live extraordinary lives.”
Lori clinked her glass to mine. “I’ll toast to that, but I’m pretty sure Beau is not a terrible man.”
I pursed my lips.
That was what I was afraid of.
Lori was driving me home. She’d suggested driving because she was now the default sober driver and wanted to give me the opportunity to drink at dinner.
Though I enjoyed the night with Lori and the champagne with the other women, neither was going to be a regular occurrence for me. Even without the hangover, I was still haunted by the hold alcohol had over Waylon and my mother. I was still waiting for it to sink its talons into me and drag me down to their level.
That, and I didn’t need to repeat the situation of crawling on all fours in front of Beau, being so clouded by champagne I could’ve kissed him.
I didn’t need him to muddy the waters between us more by acting like he cared about me. And it was just plain unprofessional to be hungover while looking after Clara.
“Are you sure that there isn’t anything with you and Beau?” Lori asked during the drive. “Because that would be a pretty cute love story.”
I barked out a laugh. It was funny, describing Beau Shaw ascuteand referring to our situation as a love story.
“I’m sure,” I told her. “I may be somewhat attracted to him, and maybe even like him, but we’re not suited.” It was the first time I’d admitted out loud that I liked him. It felt nice to say it to someone who understood how messy things could get. And it also made me extremely sad. Because we were not suited. Not in the ways that mattered.
Lori gave me a sideways glance, opening her mouth to say something. But then there was a crash, a crunch of metal, and not much else.
It was my first car crash.
I didn’t love it.
There was a lot of chaos. Flashing lights. Paramedics. Luckily, nothing dramatic like us being pulled out of the car. We weren’t speeding, nor was the person who ran the stop sign and crashed into us.
I had a minor cut on my head, which was being treated by paramedics. Lori seemed shaken but unharmed. I was worried more about her than me, since she was pregnant, so I’d been arguing with the paramedics to focus on her.
Then a police cruiser turned up, and a handsome man folded out of it, eyes on Lori. She had her back to him, speaking to the EMT.
“I’m, uh, not sure if this is going to change anything, but I’m pregnant.”
She uttered this just as the officer made his way to us. Or to her.
He froze for a split second, eyes wide on Lori. “You’re fucking pregnant?” he rumbled.
Lori let out a small gasp, whirling to face the police officer.
“Finn.” When his name flew past her lips, I remembered her speaking about him. About the man she had a crush on but didn’t want her.
This did not look like a man who didn’t want her. Not even a little bit.
“You’re fuckingpregnant?” he repeated, this time louder.
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the opportunity to speak. He looked to the paramedic. “She needs to be in the hospital. Right fucking now.”
“Finn—” Lori tried to speak.
He held up his hand to silence her.
Normally, that was something that would immediately put me off a man, but it was plain to see his concern, his fear, his longing for Lori, painted all over his face.
“She seems to be in good shape,” the paramedic said. “But?—”
