Crashed(book three)(92)

I find my voice. “Geez … you’re really hitting with the hard questions tonight. I thought tonight was supposed to be thinking about absof*ckinglutely nothing? I thought there was a Haddie-ism in here somewhere?” And it’s not like I haven’t asked myself these questions, but hearing her say them makes it all seem so real.

Because sometimes baggage can be a powerful thing and love just isn’t enough to overcome it.

“I’m getting there,” she says, pushing my drink toward me. “But this is important because my bestie is hurting so take a drink and answer the question.”

I take a sip and can’t fight my resigned smile. “It’s not if the baby’s his that’s the problem … it’s his reaction that scares me.” And for the first time, I’m actually admitting aloud what I fear the most. “What if he is the father and he can’t handle it? How can I love a man that can’t love his own child regardless of who the mother is? Writing a check to buy her off and acting as if a child doesn’t exist? What if that’s the option he chooses? How could I spend the night in the bed of a man who writes his own child off and then go to work in a houseful of boys who had the very same thing happened to them? What kind of hypocrite would that make me?”

And there. It’s out there. My biggest fear, I’m in love with a man that will walk away from his own child. That I’ll have to walk away from the man I love because he can’t face his own demons, can’t accept the fact that he can be the man his child would need him to be. Compromising choices, preferences, and wants to be in a relationship are one thing, compromising who you are—the things ingrained in you, your beliefs, and your morals—are non-negotiable.

I sigh and just shake my head. “What happens then, Haddie? What if that’s the choice he makes?”

“Well...” she reaches out and squeezes my hand “...there are no answers yet so it’s a moot point right now. Secondly, you have to give him the benefit of the doubt … he was shocked, upset, pissed off the other day when she blindsided him … but he’s a good person. Look how he is with the boys.”

“I know, but you weren’t there. You didn’t see how he reacted when—”

“You know what I say?” she says, cutting me off and raising the two shots of tequila that have been sitting untouched on the bar in front of us. I look at her, trying to figure out why all of a sudden she wants to toast mid-heart to heart talk, but I raise my shot glass. “I say, never look down on a man unless he’s between your legs.”

I choke on the simple breath of air I’m drawing in. I should be used to her by now, I really should, but she continually surprises me and makes me love her that much more. When I stop laughing I look up at her. “One for luck …”

“And one for courage,” she finishes as we toss the alcohol back.

I welcome the burn, welcome the here and now with my best friend, and when I wrap my head around what the hell she’s just said, I look over at her out of the corner of my eye. “Unless he’s between your legs, huh? Is that an old family adage? One passed down from generation to generation?”

“Yep,” she says, twisting her lips, fighting the smile I know that’s coming. “Never disturb a man when he’s eating at the Y.”

“Haddie,” I laugh. “Seriously?”

“I can keep going all night long, sister!” She clinks her glass with mine again, my cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. “And here’s another one. When your best friend is sad? It’s your job to get her shitfaced and go dancing.”