Page 32 of Baby, It’s Hot Inside

"No kidding. The exact opposite reaction a woman needs or deserves when she tells you she's pregnant."

I rake my fingers through my hair. "I know. I don't mean the normal I-just-found-out-I’m-going-to-be-a-father-freak-out, I mean I had an actual panic attack."

Her eyes warm and her face softens with sympathy. "I thought you hadn't had one in months."

"I haven't. Not since I left.” I rub the back of my neck. “Yesterday's wasn't even as bad as I thought it was going to be, but the minute it started I had to get out of there because I didn't want to hurt her or scare her." The truth was once I left the room and then my parent’s house, all I wanted was to see Annie. To hold her and tell her it would all be okay. That we’d figure it out together. But some of the panic attacks I’d had before my discharge had been bad. A couple of times I’d lashed out at people if they tried to touch me. The thought of hurting Annie made me sick.

"Kris, you should have said something."

"Why? So she can have even more to deal with than being unexpectedly pregnant?” I scrub a hand down my face, wishing I could rub away my memory of Annie’s expression as I fled the room. “She doesn't need my sorry ass with my baggage. Fuck, Ginger, I don't even have a job yet. I still live with our parents. I'm a loser."

She points that glue gun at me again. "Do not ever say that again. There is nothing about you that makes you a loser. You fought for our country and you might not have scars that people can see, but you paid a price over there. It's a gift that you're able to stay with mom and dad until you figure out the next step. There's no rush. And none of that makes you a loser."

"She's totally right." Brock says this as he sets down a plate of what looks like miniature tacos. He returns a minute later with bowls of guacamole and salsa.

"What's with the tiny food?" I ask.

Brock nods to Ginger. "Your sister."

"They're just so cute." She makes a squealing noise. "I love tiny tacos. I don't know why. Thankfully my sweetheart indulges my strangeness."

Brock kisses her on top of the head and then walks back to the island where he grabs a few more items before returning with them.

"Babe, can we maybe put the wreath-making up while we eat? I don't want to get guac on your pretty stuff."

"Oh right." Ginger stands and gathers her craft supplies and swiftly moves them to the window seat.

"You know I might have a lead for you on a job, if you're interested," Brock says. He fills a plate with miniature Mexican food and passes it to Ginger, then does the same and hands it to me.

"What kind of job? Because I know exactly shit about art."

Brock laughs. "No, not that. But I hired a security company a couple of months ago to handle an event at the gallery. Evidently they’re made primarily of ex-military guys. They're pretty cool. And the office is in Corpus, so not too far."

The knot that has been tight in my gut loosens a bit. I couldn’t imagine working in a normal office, with civilians who had never served. But security work with ex-military guys sounded doable. "Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks, man."

We all eat in silence for a while and I have to admit that small or not, the food tastes amazing.

"Okay, pretend with me for a minute," Ginger says. "Let's say you have a job that you like that you're good at. You get good benefits, have a decent salary. You're able to move out of the parental unit's abode. If all of that was just right, where would that leave you and Annie? Do you want to be with her?"

I release a sigh because I know the truth. I'm damaged goods. "Even with all of that, I won't be good enough for her. She's amazing. Smart and beautiful and she's done this incredible thing with her photography and design." I rub a hand down my face. "I want to be a part of her life, of course, a part of the baby's life. But she deserves better than anything I could ever offer her."

"That's what love is though, man," Brock says. "You think I'm good enough for your sister? I'm not. I know that. And I'll spend every day for the rest of our lives doing my damnedest to deserve her. I'll never reach it, but I'll never stop trying. That's love."

Ginger grabs Brock's face and kisses him. "I love you and you totally deserve me."

"We'll have to disagree on that one, babe."

"I know you haven't been with Annie. It's not like y'all dated. But you know her. We all hung out. We did things together," Ginger says. "You and her used to gang up on me in those water gun fights in the back yard, don't think I've forgotten any of that. You took her to prom when that loser Vince Simmons bailed on her. Y'all have always had a connection. I don't know why I didn't see it until yesterday."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I just mean that y'all aren't starting at zero. You have a foundation to your relationship. You’re friends. You need to talk to her. Apologize for how you reacted yesterday, but explain it to her. She needs to know about the panic attacks."

"I care about her. A lot." I more than cared about her, but I wasn't sure yet how to label it. I'd been thinking a lot over the last month about all the things we'd shared growing up. Ginger was right, we weren't starting at zero. I'd once considered Annie one of my closest friends. We'd lost touch when I joined the Marines. But I'd thought of her time and again when I was over there.

"Then just tell her that," Brock says. "You don't have to make any promises if you don't feel comfortable doing that. But just so you know I told your sister I loved her after one date."

Ginger's smile lights up the room. "That you did. After embarrassing yourself with that Santa-suit lip-sync."