The difference—when contrasting Guy’s party at The Sneaky Saguaro and Jim’s party here at his house—boils right down to the age differences. Guy is twenty years old. Jim is broaching thirty-three.
Tacker and Nora make their way over to where I stand in the corner of Jim’s living room. He and his wife separated a few months ago—just as the playoffs were gearing up. I don’t pretend to know anything about the cause, but Jim has been struggling to find his footing as a single dad sharing custody of his daughter, Lucy, with his estranged wife.
Tacker hands me a beer.
“Thanks,” I reply, noting Nora’s not drinking anything. I tease her, saying, “You the DD tonight?”
“Um…” she hems, her face flushing as she looks to Tacker in a panic.
Tacker just stares at her.
“What’s going on?” I ask, thinking their vibes are very weird tonight.
Then it hits me… Nora’s not drinking. Not that she’s a big drinker, but she’ll usually have a beer when we’re all out like this.
“Holy shit,” I drawl. “You’re…”
“Not announcing it to the world,” Tacker growls in a low voice, cutting me off.
“Pregnant?” I whisper.
Nora steps in closer, her eyes bright with excitement. “We just took the test this morning. I mean… we can’t be any more than six weeks, so we’re not saying anything to anyone yet.”
I make a mock motion of zipping my lips, then throw the pretend key over my shoulder. “Scout’s honor. But would it be weird if I hugged you right now? Would that give it away?”
Nora smirks. “Yes. People would find that incredibly odd.”
“Fist bump then,” I exclaim, holding my fist out to her. When she taps hers against mine, I spread my hand, wiggling my fingers and murmuring. “Blow it up.”
Tacker snorts, muttering. “You two are beyond weird.”
I can’t fucking contain myself. Putting my arm around Tacker’s shoulders, I pull him in for a tight side-hug—people thinking it’s weird be damned. “I’m so fucking happy for you, dude. I’m going to be an uncle.”
“More like a godfather,” Tacker replies.
“Really?” I exclaim, my eyes going wide. “That’s a huge responsibility. I’m here to tell you that I’m ready for it.”
Tacker mutters something like, “Shut the fuck up,” but I’m distracted by the buzz of my phone. Ever since Clarke gave me the brush-off five days ago, I’ve been hawking my messages in the vain hope she’ll reach out.
So far, I’ve been disappointed each time.
My notification is for an email. When I tap on the icon, I’m jolted with a surprise I sort of expected, but it’s still slightly shocking when I see it.
An email from Tripp Horschen.
His message is short and simple, but it gives me exactly what I asked for.
Attached is a copy of my bank statement and the receipt from the literacy charity showing my donation.
Now fuck off.
Chuckling, I tap on the JPG images, feeling some of the weight slide off my shoulders at the clear evidence this asshole is $200,000 poorer while a good charity’s coffers have risen.
Turning my phone toward Tacker and Nora, I tell them, “Tripp came through. Donation has been made.”
Tacker taps his beer bottle against mine, and we all take a moment to soak in the fact I successfully blackmailed that asshole as a means of punishment to salve my anger. I’m probably going to hell for this, and yet… I don’t feel bad in the slightest.
I start to tuck my phone back in my pocket when it buzzes again.
This time, I have a text and as I glance at it, a bolt of what feels like lightning rockets through my body as I realize it’s from Clarke.
Two simple words. I’m sorry.
She could have given me a million words—I would have accepted any—yet she offered the two that made everything right in my world in one fell swoop. Here I had been convinced we were irrevocably over with, yet she has opened the door to a future with that apology.
Still, I can’t help but play a little hard to get. For what?
Before she can reply, I give Tacker and Nora an apologetic smile. “I’ll be back.”
Moving through the crowd, I make my way from the living room, through the kitchen, and into a mudroom that is thankfully quiet and without people. I lean against the wall, waiting for her reply.
It doesn’t come soon enough, but when it does, it has me laughing.
For being stupid.
God, she’s adorable. And while I really want to ask if she’s at her house so I can rush over to see her, I continue the little game.
How so?
Her reply is simple, but manages to boil down to simplest terms everything that went wrong.
For blaming you for something you had no control over.
If she were here right now, I’d take her in my arms and say I understand her fears and I’m just glad she’s talking to me again. As long as we’re talking, we can fix anything.