Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(91)

As soon as I’m out of sight of my friends, I tip half my margarita into the soil at the base of the fern. I’ll hold the glass until the rest of it melts, and nobody will notice.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I hope tequila doesn’t kill designer house plants.

My little secret is getting harder to hide. I’m mildly nauseous all the time, although I don’t actually vomit. Except for one time at work. And Eric was on a call the whole time and didn’t notice my quick departure from the room. He can’t understand why I gave up coffee, though. And sushi.

“Wow, you guzzled that. Was it tasty?”

I practically leap three inches into the air and spin around.

Tank’s gaze goes from my glass right down to the small puddle of frozen margarita melting into the potted plant’s soil. Then his chin snaps upward and his gaze collides with mine. “Bess, what—”

“I just…” Have no convenient way to finish this sentence. And I can practically see it all clicking into place behind his eyes.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “No way. Are you—” He swallows hard. He doesn’t want to say it out loud.

It’s scary to say it out loud. And this is why I’ve become a nutter who poisons potted plants. “Yes,” I choke out. “I’m sorry.”

“Holy…” He takes a deep breath. “I thought I was crazy.”

I give my head a violent shake. “You’re not. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know what to do.”

“How far?” he asks, reaching out to take my hand in his.

My fingers close around his, and I immediately feel more centered. “Ten weeks.”

He looks around for a second, as if trying to figure out if someone is pranking him. Like he just can’t grab onto the reality. Still holding my hand, he sits down hard on the window seat. “Ten. Ten weeks? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I’m so sorry,” I echo just as Roberto wakes up from the sudden motion.

He picks up his little head and yowls.

With shaking hands, I reach down and unclip the sides of the carrier, lifting his warm body out, and cuddling him to my shoulder. “Tank, I didn’t know what to say. Keeping it a secret felt wrong. But telling you seemed mean, too. Because I didn’t want you to get excited for nothing.”

“Wow, okay.” He reaches an arm around my body and leans his head against my hip. “You feel okay?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Mostly. Well, I feel like barfing pretty often, but it doesn’t actually happen. I’m exhausted all the time. But—God—I’m just whining right now. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“This is a shock.” He takes a deep breath. “How did it happen?”

“Um, the usual way?” I pat Roberto’s small back. “I did such a good job forgetting about the whole thing that I guess I forgot about the whole thing. And then I didn’t pull out the condoms on the right days. Tank, I’m sorry.”

He raises his finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and squeezes.

“I hope you can forgive me. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry to stress you out.”

He shakes his head. When his hand falls away, I have the shock of a lifetime. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Come here.” He pats the bench next to him.

I sit. It’s never a hardship to do what Tank asks of me.

He wraps both arms carefully around me and the baby. “I love you. I would rather have dealt with this together, Bessie. I’m not as fragile as that. We’re not as fragile as that.”

“But it would kill me to disappoint you,” I say quietly.

“You can’t, Bess.” His voice is raw. “Not with this. So long as we’re together, I have everything I need.”

Anton Bayer’s head peeps around the big potted plant. “Oh noes! Are you guys okay? How much did Tank lose at poker, anyway?”

Tank laughs, swiping at his eyes. “I’m not losing at anything.”

“What’s happening?” My brother comes to stand beside Anton. “Is something wrong?”

“Not a thing!” I say, sniffling. “I’m just…pregnant.”

“Holy shit. But I thought…” My brother laughs. “Never mind what I thought. Here’s to more redheads!” He raises his beer as a toast.

“Maybe,” I hedge. “It’s early.”

“Does anyone else know about this?” Tank asks.

“No way. Just the doctor. If I couldn’t tell you, I wasn’t telling anyone.”

“Tell us what?” Becca asks, moving Dave out of her way so she can see me. “Wait. Did you dump out the margarita I made you?”

“I’m sorry,” I say because apparently I’m apologizing to everyone today. “I’m off alcohol until late July. Hopefully.”

Becca gives a little shriek.

“Late July,” Tank says slowly. “Oh my God. Wow. I’ll be on vacation.”

“Right after you win the cup!” Becca says with a smile. “A girl can dream. Would this be an awkward time to tell you that I’m due in June?”

“You’re kidding!” Anton shouts. “It’s gonna be baby city around here.”