“You want a beer?”
Becca shook her head and sighed. “We should talk.”
“Words every man wants to hear,” I muttered. Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting. She twisted her fingers silently.
“Babe, you can just tell me,” I finally said, feeling something dark unwind deep inside. Had her mom been in touch? I knew Becca had mixed feelings about that bitch, but I didn’t. Sure, she’d stopped Teeny from killing Becca in the end. Of course, the only reason she’d needed to protect her was because she’d set her up in the first place.
I hoped she was dead. That’d be best for everyone.
“So, we’ve never really talked about the future,” Becca said slowly. “Sometimes I wonder . . . Where do you see us going, Puck?”
I frowned at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean do you see us together long term?”
“You’re my old lady,” I replied, taking a long pull of my beer. “What else is there?”
“We’ve got something good started here,” she said, her words careful. “And you know I love you. But I don’t want to trap you.”
“Not trapped, Becca.”
She stared at me, her gaze steady, hands folded on the table.
“I’m pregnant.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m pregnant,” she repeated and I realized her fingers were squeezing each other so tight they’d turned white. Fair enough. Something squeezed pretty damned tight in my chest, too.
“How did that happen?”
Becca stiffened.
“We forgot the condom a couple times, remember?” Her tone was hostile. Shit.
“So you’re really pregnant?”
“Yeah, I’m pregnant,” she replied, eyes narrowing. “If you’re going to run, tell me now. I won’t turn into my mom. I’m going to raise this kid right, and I won’t be counting on some man to save our asses.”
I frowned.
“I’m not some man, I’m the kid’s father. And why the hell do you think I’d run off?”
“Because a family is a lot of work—it’ll change everything.”
The words hung heavy between us and suddenly I realized this was actually happening. I was going to be a father! A thousand thoughts exploded through my head, moving too fast for me to catch them all. We’d need a bigger place—not right away, but I wasn’t going to raise a kid in an apartment overlooking Main Street. He might fall out the window.
Christ. Kids fell all the time. Ran off. Got kidnapped and murdered and . . . Fuck.
Better not be a girl. I couldn’t handle a girl.
“That why you’re finishing up school faster than you planned?” I asked Becca.
She nodded, biting her lip.
“I might not ever make it back if I don’t finish now.”
“Makes sense . . .” Shit. How could she work and finish school? That’s when it hit me—a baby meant Becca would finally have to let me help her. ’Bout fuckin’ time. I’d humored her on the whole “I’m an independent woman who pays her own way” thing so far, but no more. There were three of us now.
Three of us. Wow.
“Okay, so we need to pick an apartment,” I told her, mind racing. “I don’t care which one, but I don’t see any reason to pay more than one rent bill. That’ll save money, so you can quit at the Moose, finish up school . . .”
“Does that mean we’re staying together?”
The words threw me off. I studied her face, full of nervous tension. Great. After all we’d been through, my girl still thought I’d dump her for getting pregnant.
“Jesus, Becca,” I growled. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”
“I love you,” she said, eyes welling with sudden tears. Shit. More crying . . . Holy fuck, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. That explained a hell of a lot. Becca was like a faucet since we’d gotten back. “But I’m still getting to know you. We’ve never even talked about kids. Do you even like kids?”
“I’m your old man, Becs. That means we’re in this together. And yeah, I like kids.”
“We still can’t even buy groceries together without fighting,” she whispered. “I mean, I know we’re getting better at it, but I’m only twenty-one years old, Puck. We’ve only been dating for two months. How the hell are we supposed to be parents together?”
I considered the question, then shook my head.
“We just do, babe.”
“But—”
“No,” I said, standing and pulling her away from the table. She came into my arms and I held her tight. Was her stomach bigger already? I reached down between us, cupping it. My kid was in there. I wondered what he looked like. Or was it a she?
Fuck. You better be a boy, you little shit.
“Becca, I promise . . .” I swallowed. “I promise I’ll take care of you and the baby. We’ll get through this.”
“All right.”
I put my face in her hair. Did she smell different? More . . . pregnant somehow? I couldn’t decide.
“Puck?”
“Yeah, Becs?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little scared. I love you.”
I bit back a nervous laugh, because I was a little scared, too. Then I pictured a little baby wearing Becca’s face, imagined her feeding it . . . My woman feeding my kid. Damn. How did that make me feel? Love seemed like such a pathetic word to describe something this intense.