AndI was embarrassed.
Traceystraightened her back and looked from Brendan to me, and said, “Well, the thingis, I don't know what I see for you, Brendan. But Kenny, you have anunexpectedly difficult road ahead of you. What seems to be hard right now willonly get harder, and whatever seems easy won’t be very soon. But I promise, youwill be okay. Hold onto that.”
Startled,I narrowed my eyes with skepticism. “What do you mean?”
“Wait,”Brendan interjected. “Why can't you see anything about me?”
Traceyignored him, keeping her focus intently on me. “I mean, things will get roughbefore they get better, but you won’t be alone. And I promise, it's allgonnawork out.”
Closingmy eyes and shaking my head, so acutely aware of a little flutter in mystomach, I said, “I don't—”
“Ican't say anything else,” she cut me off gently.
“Can't,or won't?”
Iopened my eyes at the sound of Goose's gruff tone. He stared at his girlfriendwith a steely, concerned glare, and his affection for me suddenly felt so aliveand real. Brendan couldn't care less about what she was saying, and only caredthat she had nothing to say about him, but Goose was alarmed, defensive, and soobviously hurt.
Traceydropped her gaze to the table and silencefellheavyover our party. I couldn't say what was on the minds of my friends andboyfriend, but I knew I had so many questions. What did she mean? What wasn'tshe saying? Was the baby going to be okay? I wanted answers but I also knew Iwould never ask, because what would I do with the information? WhatcouldI do? Would it even change a damn thing to know?
Weate our dinner in a discomfort that made me wish I had never suggested the doubledate in the first place. Goose made feeble attempts at conversation, whileBrendan kept his nose to his phone, and I wished I could go back to the rush ofhappiness I had felt when we learned I was carrying a boy.
Whenwe were finished and had exited the restaurant as a group, Brendan walked offto hail a cab while Tracey rushed off to meet the producers of her show with aquick wave goodbye.
Then,it was just Goose and me.
“Iguess I should go wait with—”
“I'msorry about that in there,” Goose interrupted me, keeping his voice low.
Ishrugged, pretending it hadn't bothered me when it was obvious it had. “It'sfine—”
“No.It's not,” he interrupted gently. “She means well, but she doesn't know when tokeep her mouth shut sometimes. The last thing you need is to have somethingelse to worry about, and she should've realized that. So,” he shrugged hisbroad shoulders, “I'm sorry.”
Iforced a pained smile and brushed a hand against the cold winter wind. “Don'tworry about it. I mean, maybe she's wrong.”
Gooselooked doubtful, but still, he nodded. “Maybe. But hey, even if she's notwrong, and you have some shit coming your way, I just want you to know I'm notgoing anywhere, okay?”
Ashe spoke, his gaze wasn't on me, but directed over my shoulder, towardsomething—someone—else, and when I turned my head totakea look, I found him glaring at Brendan. My skin prickled beneath mysweatshirt, as I watched my boyfriend grow more and more angry with the task ofgetting us a taxi, and I wondered if Goose knew something I didn’t.
Ormaybe it was that I refused to acknowledge what was right in front of my face.
Chapter Sixteen
I hadnever been more exhausted in my life.
Everyarticle I had read on Doctor Google told me that, during the second trimester,I would experience a burst of energy. That I could expect an inability to sleepand the desire to constantly move, move, move. But not me. There wasn't enoughsleep in the world that could satisfy my insatiable craving, and my work wassuffering for it.
Isat in front of my laptop, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. I hadpaused mid-sentence fifteen minutes ago and hadn't written a single word since.And I was frustrated.
Afterthe release of my last book, I felt I didn't have the luxury of waiting beforewriting the next. I didn't have time to mull it over or focus on myself and thepregnancy. I needed to write and plan the next release, to ensure I kept myregular flow of royalties coming in. However, the mental barriers I was nowfaced with were worse than any writers’ block I'd ever dealt with in my life.
Igroaned and pushed my fingers into my hair. “This is stupid,” I muttered,quickly running through the last few lines I'd written.
Thatwasn't just my inner critic talking, either. It really was stupid. I was tryingtoo hard and forcing a storyline that just wasn't working. It was too cliché,too predictable, and that wasn't me. So, I sighed and deleted the little bit ofwriting that I'd accomplished that day.
RealizingI wasn't going to get any work done while in my current mindset, I decided totake a shower instead. It was a quick one—I still couldn't handle the heat forlong—but it was refreshing, and by the time I finished, I felt just a littlelighter.
Brendancame in carrying a bag of Chinese for lunch. I stood up from my chair to offerhim a kiss, only to be turned down with a gentle hand to my shoulder, holdingme back.
