If they’d come clean with me, there’s no way I’d have gotten on that damn plane to Hawaii.
I’d have been angry and broken-hearted, yes. I’d have lost my shit and bailed, not caring about how it looked or how much money Clay had spent.
It would have hurt like hell. There might have even been a scene.
But in the end, the truth would have hurt less.
JT knows me better than anyone, even Viv.
He knows exactly what I’ve been through and just how important the truth is to me.
So why did he lie?
I’m pacing our tiny kitchen and even though I’m moving slower than a snail these days, Mickey’s watching me like a hawk.
“Do you need more water?” he asks. Mickey appointed himself the Chancellor of Hydration after he found out I was pregnant.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I say, holding up my still-full cup. What I need to know is where the hell my boyfriend went and why he lied about being at the rink when he clearly wasn’t.
I’d just woken up and wandered into the kitchen looking for JT, but I found his note instead. Immediately, I knew something was off. He never leaves notes. He always texts. And he didn’t say when he’d be back which is totally out of character for him. The closer I get to my due date, the more he hovers. Sure, he goes to class and to practice, but when he’s gone, Theo and Viv are always around. I spotted Van and Josie the other day and did a double take because they don’t live here. They told me they were taking a walk. Yeah. Uh-huh.
The truth is that JT’s got eyes on me all the time and Idon’t even mind it. If anything, I think it’s kind of sweet. He’s worried about the Nugget and me and he feels safer knowing somebody’s close by.
“That’s all you’ve drunk? I’ve been here for forty-seven minutes and you’ve taken, what? Three sips? My sweet little niece is gonna come out parched.” He shakes his head as he fishes around in his backpack. I have no idea what he’s looking for, but then again, this is Mickey. It wouldn’t surprise me if he pulled out a giant water bottle and handed it to me. I also wouldn’t be shocked if he had a bunch of snacks stashed in there.
A minute later, he triumphantly holds up a marker before making a line on my cup. “There. You have to drink to that line before you do anything else.”
“Mickey, I’m—” my protest dies as he twitches his finger in front of my face.
“Nope. You can’t even talk. Your job is to drink. And make a human.”
I sigh. And then I drink. I’m not thirsty, and I’ve done a pretty good job of staying hydrated today, but Mickey takes his role as uncle very seriously, so I comply. Besides, it’s sweet the way he takes care of us—JT, Nugget, and me. I wonder if the rest of the guys notice all the ways he takes care of them, too. Yeah, he’s nuts. And unpredictable. And sometimes hard to follow, but he has the biggest heart of anyone I know.
Girls around campus don’t take Brannon Mikalski too seriously. They see him like a trophy, I think. They all want to get with him to see if the rumors are true. He joins in, of course, because that’s just who he is. He laughs it all off and leans in to all the hype because it’s easier that way. It’s his way of protecting himself, and I get that on every level. But someday, some lucky girl is going to stick around and find out just what a sweetheart Mickey is. And my sappy heart can’t wait for it. I want Mickey to be as blissfully in love as JT and I are.
You know, when I don’t want to rip his heart out and shove it down his throat for making me worry.
“Take a sip, Maggie. You have that murderous look in your eye.”
“And water is the cure for bloodlust?”
Mickey shoots me a look of disbelief. “Uh, yeah. Water is the cure for everything. Or at least the first step. Also, please don’t murder your husband until after the Frozen Four. I mean, don’t ever murder him. But if you really have to, can it wait a couple days?”
“I guess,” I relent, taking a sip of water. “But only because my back hurts and my ankles are swollen, and murdering JT would take energy I just don’t have right now.”
Mickey nods, like I’m making perfect sense. “That’s fair. Plus, it’s probably not good for your blood pressure, either. I’d say wait until Mickayla arrives, but somebody’s gotta change her diapers. You might as well let him live, but make him take the worst parenting jobs.”
“I like it,” I say, taking another sip. “Like, permanent diaper duty?”
Mickey shakes his head. “That’s already been decided. You’re making a freaking human, Maggie. And you have to give birth. All he had to do was come. So, yeah. He’s on mandatory diaper duty for sure.”
See? This is why I love Mickey.
“You make a good point. Go on, what’s next?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” he says, unwrapping a protein bar and taking a bite. I have no idea where it came from —our pantry, his back pocket, who knows? “He definitely gets the gross stuff, like diapers and the snot sucker. And laundry, because you know, some of her shit’s gonna have actual shit on it. But I think in addition to the literally shitty jobs, you also make him do the less overtly shitty ones. Like carpool. That’s gotta suck. And anything with bodily fluids. That’s all on him. You’ve done enough, I’vegot it. This is genius. He’s in charge of shopping. Back to school, prom dress, you name it. If little Mickayla needs it, Daddy’s gotta take her. I went prom dress shopping with my sister, Birdie, back in high school and it sucked hairy dogballs.” He polishes it off another protein bar and uses a spatula like hockey stick to shoot the wrappers into the trash.
“He scores!” I cheer, laughing, until I hear footsteps outside the door and the familiar jingle of keys in the lock.
