“It’s fine.”
“If you need anything, let me know. Snacks, coffee drinks, whatever. I’ll get it for you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ll be working, Quinn.”
“I can take breaks too,” I insist, giving her a pointed look. This is my baby too, and not only am I needed to take care of said child, but my son or daughter’s mama too.
My child.
Holy shit, I’m going to be a dad.
“I’ll be fine, Quinn. Nothing for you to worry about,” she tries to assure me.
“I’ll always worry,” I mumble, mostly to myself.
I refuse to let history repeat itself.
“I should head out,” she says, standing up from the stool.
Reaching out, I place my hand against her forearm. Her skin is soft and warm, her eyes dilating just a bit from the touch. “If you need anything—anything—you call me. Or text me. Doesn’t matter what time or for what reason.” I stroke down her arm and thread my fingers through hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. “We’re in this together.”
She swallows hard and gives me a wooden nod. I can tell she’s scared. Not of me, but of the unknown. Charli has always been someone to take the bull by the horns. She doesn’t let anything stop her or create fear in her mind, but this, this is an entirely different entity. She’s as much out of her element as I am, and with that comes some nervousness. What stands before her is something brand-new, and yes, something very scary.
We’re going to be parents.
This may be completely unplanned, but this baby is already so loved it makes my chest ache.
I rub the spot over my heart that suddenly throbs a bit. It’s foreign and completely unexpected.
She doesn’t say anything, just slowly makes her way to the door. “Thanks, Quinn.”
“For what?”
She snorts. “For everything? For not freaking out about this, for not making accusations or demands, for being…supportive, I guess? All of the above.”
“I’m not gonna say I’m not freaking out a bit on the inside, but only because this was unplanned and a bit of a shock to the system, and I’d never blame you, Charli. I know you didn’t do this on purpose, nor did I. This is something that just happened, and now we’ll deal with it.”
She reaches for the door handle, ready to step outside. “I’ll be in touch after I call the doctor’s office first of the week.”
“Or sooner, if you need something,” I reiterate, hoping she leans on me as much as she requires.
Lifting her hand, she waves before slipping out of my garage and leaving me alone with my thoughts. And damn, are there a lot of them. Like a dozen ping-pong balls, they’re all bouncing around at the same time, leaving me a little overwhelmed and confused.
What I’m not confused about is this baby.
I’m all in, ready to be the parent this baby deserves. I won’t be anything but that. My history might be a part of me, and it definitely shaped me into the man I am today, but it won’t define me as a parent. We can call it a what not to do for parenting, if you will. My child will never wonder if he or she is loved, never be left to fend for themselves, never listen to his parents fight and argue twenty-four seven.
He or she will have the life they deserve.
You can count on that.
My phone chimes with a text, breaking through the music piping in my earbuds early Monday morning. The sun is just startingto peek over the horizon, and it’s my favorite time to run. Cool, crisp air and still all around me, the day fresh and new.
My mind is anything but settled, however. Ever since Charli stopped by and laid a bomb at my feet Saturday night, I’ve barely slept. Worry and doubt have crept in, and I can’t help but feel like I’m not going to be the man I need to be. For Charli. For our baby.
I slow my pace to a fast walk and pull my phone from my pocket. I don’t receive a lot of texts at this time of morning, so I need to see what’s going on. My heartbeat kicks up even more when I see Charli’s name on the screen.
Charli
