: Chapter 31

“Whatever you did, we’ll fix it.” Andrew slid onto the stool next to me.

I raised my hand to order another drink, though I’d already had one too many, and shook my head. “I don’t think even you can get me out of this mess.”

“Well, you got me out of bed at three in the morning. So why don’t you clue me in on what we’re talking about and let me be the judge of that.”

I deadpanned at my friend. “I told Sloane I loved her earlier tonight.”

“So? How the hell does that equate to…” He dug his cell from his pocket and swiped to open, reading the text I’d sent him an hour ago. “‘I fucked up. I royally fucked up.’ Does that mean you don’t love her? Did it come out during sex? I’ve done that before. Some orgasms affect our brain, man.”

I sucked back the rest of my whiskey. “No, we were on the dance floor at a wedding, and I love her. I love her more than anything I’ve ever loved.”

“More than that ratty purple bear you carried around until you were like seven and I know you still have somewhere, even though you deny it?”

I sighed. “Way more than Mr. Bongo.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I fell in love.”

“So? It’s not a deadly virus. It won’t kill you.”

“It almost did last time.”

“When were you ever in love?”

“I loved my high school girlfriend and my mother—both of whom died. And then there’s Whitney.”

“You never loved Whitney.”

“I loved our baby.”

Andrew smiled sadly. “I know you did, man. But this is different.”

“No, it’s not.” I met his eyes. “Sloane’s pregnant.”

My friend’s shoulders slumped. “Oh fuck.”

The bartender walked over. I ordered a refill, and Andrew ordered a vodka seltzer. Neither of us said a word until we had our drinks and were a few sips in.

Eventually, it was Andrew who spoke. “What did you say when she told you?”

“Nothing. I took off like a fucking coward. Last night was another wedding. I left her standing on the damn dance floor. Didn’t even say goodbye to the bride or groom.”

“Dick move, but okay. You’ll apologize. Grovel. Do you think she loves you back?”

“She said she did.”

“Then she’ll forgive you. Look at me—I did something much worse to Camille, and she’s giving me another chance. You acted like an idiot. Sloane will get over it.” He smirked. “She should probably get used to it if she’s going to be around a while.”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

“You gotta trust someone again sometime, Wilder.”

I sucked back my drink. It burned going down. I’d never liked liquor much. “Who says?”

“Well, I suppose you don’t. But then you stand to lose the woman you love and your child. I guess you have to make a decision. What’s scarier—the thought of taking a chance and maybe being let down again, or the thought of losing Sloane and the baby?”