"You don't have to find out," Dad said. "Love you, kiddo. Now get some rest and face the fuckery in the morning."
Mom whacked him on the arm. "Sebastian Badd, do not refer to a human life as fuckery."
"I mean the situation as a whole, Dru."
I sighed. "I'm too tired and drained for you guys' shenanigans. I'm also too tired to get up. I'll chill here for a minute and then go to bed."
"You need anything, son, you know where to find us," Dad said, getting to his feet.
“I will," I said. "Thanks. Love you."
Mom got up too and preceded Dad toward their room. I heard Mom shriek a laugh—Dad goosing her butt. I stuck my fingers in my ears to block out the sounds of them cackling and whispering to each other on the way to their bedroom. It's a double-edged sword, growing up with parents who are still as hot for each other after twenty years as when they got together. On one hand, you never doubt their love for each other because you see it every day. But on the other hand, you see it every day. They grab each other, make out in the kitchen, make jokes about having just had sex just to gross us kids out, or disappear into their room for half an hour and come back out grinning like fools.
I want that for myself. I always have.
But how do I get there from here?
I pondered the situation on the couch for a while, but got nowhere, and then my eyes started to droop, so I went to my room and collapsed in bed.
I dreamed of Rune.
Chapter Fourteen
Rune
Lindsey followed me into my parents' house in the Hollywood Hills. It was Saturday afternoon, two days after finding out I was pregnant. I'd called Duncan that night, alone. I knew Lindsey's feelings on the subject: I was an idiot for pushing away a man who seemed to be one of the very few truly decent ones left in this world. I just…there was no way forward. There was no point. We'd had our fun, and it was over. Sure, there was chemistry. Sure, there'd been a moment or two where I'd considered the notion of more with him. But reality had other plans.
For example, me being a single mom.
Nausea roiled my guts at that thought.
I heard my parents' voices in the kitchen and headed in there. They were finishing breakfast at the island, Mom scraping the last yogurt out of a container while Dad polished off his bacon.
Dad saw me. "Hey, kiddo! Not a word about the bacon. It's that turkey bullshit."
Dad had high cholesterol, and the doctor had recommended he reduce his bacon intake from absurd to merely inadvisable.
I held up my hands. "I wasn’t going to." I leaned into his side and hugged him with one arm, kissing his cheek. “Good to see you, Dad. Missed you."
He rubbed his beard against my cheek, as he'd done my whole life, eliciting a squeal from me as it always did. "Missed you too, Sweet-Pea." He searched my face and must have seen the heaviness somewhere in my features. "Uh-oh. This ain’t just a social call."
Mom tossed her spoon into the sink and threw away the yogurt cup, and then pulled me into a hug. "Hi, baby-girl."
Mom and Dad were polar opposites, physically and in just about every other way. Dad was massive, six-foot-six and built like a tank even in his late fifties, with arms the size of my legs and thighs bigger than my waist. He had buzzed salt-and-pepper hair—I'd gotten my thick black hair from him—and a long, bushy salt-and-pepper beard. He was rough but sweet, bluntly honest to a fault, and brutally sarcastic, especially with those he loved. Mom, on the other hand, was tiny. Barely over five feet, trim and slender—although despite her diminutive build, she had a pretty decently sized peach, which she'd given me, along with the piercing blue eyes and a penchant for being violently independent. She was soft-spoken, but don't let that fool you; she could pop off with a spicy attitude that even my brawny, Strongman-winning, BJJ-black belt dad was scared of. She just did it in a sweet, quiet voice that she never, ever raised, even when she was tearing you a new asshole. Being their child, I'd been…a handful…as a kid, and had been on the receiving end of her tongue-lashings quite frequently.
I wasn't afraid of their reactions—they loved me and would never push me away. But what child wants to deliver this news to their parents?
Not I, said the cat.
Mom and Dad both greeted Lindsey with hugs and kisses—Lindsey was basically family at this point. Her own parents were long divorced and lived several states away from each other, meaning she was alone in LA.
"So," Dad said. "Why the long face?"
I glared at him. "I'm in no mood for horse jokes, Dad," I muttered.
"I wasn't gonna make one, but thanks for galloping to conclusions."
I groaned. "You're the worst."
