Tucker might like to play the nice guy in college, but I know who he is behind closed doors—a selfish prick who can’t see past his college degree or the end of his small dick.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you?” he chokes out.
Pulling on my bra, I shrug a single shoulder.
This was exactly the closure I needed from him and everything I’d expected, even if it wasn’t what I’d hoped for my child. Because they are my child, not Tucker’s. He lost that right around thirty seconds ago.
“Yeah, thank you for showing me exactly who I thought you were. Thank you for confirming that my move to Brooklyn was precisely the right call.” I pick up my phone, bringing the microphone to my lips. “And thank you for saving my tears. Because I won’t be crying a single fucking one over a guy who failed to keep it in his pants for his pregnant girlfriend.”
With trembling fingers, I hit End on the call and immediately navigate to Dad’s contact, adrenaline surging through me as I move into my bedroom and begin getting dressed, propping my cell between my ear and shoulder.
“Bill.” Dad’s voice sounds breathless, and I pause, slowly sinking down on the bed.
“What’s the matter?”
He draws in another breath, this one sounding pained.
My adrenaline spikes again.
“I’ve broken my leg pretty badly.”
That’s when I tune in to the commotion going on around him, voices asking my dad to stay calm.
“What? How?”
He grunts down the phone. “My van tire had a blowout on the way home and I hit a tree. Thankfully no one else is hurt but my leg is … yeah, it’s not good.”
I leap to my feet and tear down the stairs, frantically searchingfor Mom’s car keys. She didn’t drive to the airport, and I’m on her insurance.
“Where are you? I’ll be right there,” I confirm, eyes darting around as I continue searching.
Dad’s voice is steady and firm. “No, Bill. You need to get to the hospital. Mom’s flight got delayed again due to a thunderstorm, but she’ll meet me as soon as she arrives in Brooklyn.”
“I can’t just leave you,” I plead.
“You can, and you will, Billie.”
“I can’t find Mom’s car keys. I’ll have to take an Uber.”
“Hang on a second.” More voices, and another—much louder—groan leaves Dad. “They’re putting me in the ambulance now. God, Christ, this fucking hurts.”
I’m tempted to crack a joke about how it’s nothing compared to childbirth, but think better of it.
In two weeks, I’ll be the one screaming in agony.
“Emmett is going to give you a ride to the hospital. He just got done with morning skate and has taken a detour from the gym.”
I shoot through to the living area and peer through the blinds just as Emmett’s Aston Martin rolls up to the curb.
“Your best friend is going to take me to the hospital?” I ask, trying to ignore the subtle shimmer of butterflies as they bounce around in my stomach.
That man is undeniably hot, and I look like a freaking horror show, hair everywhere and no makeup.
“He’s the only person available that I trust.”
“Sir, we need you to end the call now, so we can administer pain relief.”
