But she’d never asked again.
Bo sat quietly for a moment, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs. His eyes shone, and his grin produced, not only The Dimple, but the seldom-seen Cousin-of-The-Dimple in Bo’s other cheek. “We’re fathers. I can’t wait to bring him home. We have so much to do!”
Lucky would kill or die to keep Bo this happy.
Bo kissed him, deeply, thoroughly, and passionately enough to render Lucky a little stupid by the time he withdrew. “I love you, Lucky. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Whatever the fallout, they’d face the storm together—like always. Yeah, they’d tell Bo’s aunt, Lucky’s parents, Char… “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Bo’s smile fell.
One problem solved, but another stared them in the face.
A big problem.
Huge, even.
“What the hell are we going to tell Charlotte?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Same ugly orange couch, same woman with the ultimate poker face.
“I’ve done some shit in my day. Things I’m not proud of. Things I regret.” The woman didn’t get paid enough to know the full story of Lucky’s past. Even with her psychology degree she’d have a hell of a time avoiding bad dreams if he confessed all.
“Mr. Harrison, there’s not one person alive who doesn’t have moments they’d like to do over. You’ve got to forgive yourself.” She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve never really talked about yourself before. Why now?”
Lucky examined his fingernails. Any excuse not to look at her. He drew in a deep breath and braced for laughter. “I’m about to become a father.”
Dr. Libby glanced up from her tablet computer. “Really? How wonderful. When is the baby due?”
“He’s already here.”
“Oh, you’re adopting then. A very noble decision.” That she didn’t ask about a wife or girlfriend said she’d been paying attention when Lucky talked about Bo.
Which he did—a lot.
Even after plenty of practice opening up to Bo and Walter, fear still sank in sharp claws at the thought of admitting weakness. “I’m worried I’m not good enough. That all the shit I’ve done is going to come back when I least expect it to bite me in the ass.”
There, he’d voiced his deepest, darkest fear.
“If we let our fears rule us, no one would ever accomplish anything. What are you really trying to say?” Why did Dr. Libby stay so damned calm? Couldn’t she yell for once?
Like a Lucklighter?
Or confirm his doubts. Which he’d expected. “You’ve been talking to me for over a year now. Do you think I’m fit to be a father?”
Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “Are you asking me to provide the courts with a professional recommendation?”
“No.” Lucky rested his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers. Later he’d consider why he used one of Walter’s go-to poses. “You’ve heard me talk about my life and shit.” Not all of it, but enough. “Do you think I’d make a good father after all that?”
“What do you think a good father is?”
Damned fine question. At one time he’d simply recite his father’s qualities. Now? “He loves his kids. Is there for them. Puts them before himself.” Way before. At the moment Lucky scored about tenth place on his “most important people in my life” scale.
“Is he perfect?” Dr. Libby prodded.
His father, apologizing for spending too much time on work and not enough on his kids. Or his mother’s heartfelt make-up hugs after she’d lost her temper and yelled—even though he’d deserved her wrath. “Nobody’s perfect.” Especially not Lucky. His own parents made some mistakes along the way, but they always tried to fix what they messed up with their kids, even though they hadn’t spoken to him for a few years. Bo got crap for a father. Lucky had to be better than him, right?
