“Of course I’m going to be there for you,” I reply. I feel like a world-class jerk. Now she thinks I expected her to keep this to herself and deal with it alone, which is something I would never do. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. This is a lot to get my mind around.” I glance at her. How long has she known? She’s pretty set on her decision. Was it an easy one for her to make? “If you need time to think about your options…our options. If you’re worried about me not supporting you and the baby, you’re wrong.”
“I know you’d support me, but I can’t…” She breaks off, not meeting my eyes. But she doesn’t have to say any more; her body language is telling me everything. “I still love him, Cade. I know I’ve put you in a horrible position, and I’d do anything to take back that night, but nothing changes the fact that I still love him.”
Would I take back that night? If I’m honest with myself, I know the answer is I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have done it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not glad it happened. None of it matters, though, because I’m not him. As much as I’d do anything for her, I can’t make her be in love with me. She’s always been Noah’s.
Not even carrying my child is going to change that.
**
Throwing my bag down on the floor just inside the door of my apartment, I text my mother to cancel my attendance at our weekly dinner. I can’t deal with her tonight. My father never attends, and Noah has never been invited. It’s something we’ve done, just the two of us, for as long as I can remember. As if she’s trying to make up for my father.
Regardless, I can’t sit there tonight and pretend that everything is okay when nothing is as it should be. I check the time, knowing I’m running out of time to lay my bet for the next race. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I slump down on the couch and reach for my laptop. If I didn’t owe cash to nearly everyone in my betting circle, I’d be down at the track, pretending to myself that I don’t have a problem. It’s just a hobby. I can stop anytime I want to. It’s no different to playing basketball or going fishing with a few mates. When I’m surrounded by others I can almost convince myself of that.
There’s something so shameful about gambling in private. It strips away all of the arguments and exposes me for who I am. So here I am, alone with my form guide and the fear that my life is slipping away from me, hoping like hell that my luck is about to change. Because it has to eventually, right?
The worst thing is, I know it won’t. I know this week’s sure thing is probably going to lose just like last week’s did. I spend hours with the form guide in my hands, convinced that if I study it hard enough I can’t possibly lose. The funny thing is that if I spent half as much time on my degree, the biggest thing on my mind right now would be deciding at which hospital I wanted to do my residency.
It wasn’t always like this. What started out as a way to escape some of the pressure I felt from my father had taken over my life. Now I live and breathe racing. Every moment is a moment closer to that next bet, and the thought of stopping is almost unbearable.
My phone rings. I glance at it, expecting it to be my mother, but it’s not. It’s Chris, my best friend. Chris and I have been friends for years. I’m closer to the guy than I am to my actual family—probably because I know he’ll have my back no matter what, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s a load of fun to be around.
“Dude, get your ass down to Pearson’s Bar, pronto. This place is swarming with chicks. I’m talking hot ones. Chicks in tiny skirts who are drunk off their tits and trying to bang anything that moves. I’m pretty sure even you could pick up.”
I chuckle, silently thanking him for his perfectly timed call. “On a Monday? And aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“Yes and I am. This is what happens when your new boss decides to buy his employees’ respect. Lunchtime clock offs and a shitload of free drinks.” The noise in the background is deafening. “Have I told you I love my job? Fuck medicine, man. The offer still stands. I can hook you up here.”
“Yeah, I can’t think of anything worse than…” I pause. “Hell, what is it that you actually do?”
“Whatever they fucking want me to,” he laughs. “The amount I get paid, I’d lick the sweat off my boss’s balls if he asked me to.”
“And thank you so much for that mental image,” I groan, laughing in spite of myself. I sit back and rub my head. Maybe going out for a few drinks isn’t the worst idea in the world. Anything to stop the thoughts from ticking over in my head. “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“And that’s why I love you, man.”
Still laughing, I end the call and quickly change my shirt before messing up my hair in an attempt to style it.
I grab my keys and wallet and head for the door. I’m just about to leave when I hesitate and glance back at the TV. One little bet won’t hurt. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m back at my laptop spending the last three hundred dollars I have to my name. Since no bookie will touch me at the moment, I’ve been slowly dipping into the money my father gave me to cover next semester’s course fees. Three grand gone in the space of a week.
If only my father could see me now.
Chapter Three
Erin
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mel laughs. She looks up from her iPad, her dark eyes sparkling. “Listen to this wanker. ‘Choose me and I’ll make sure your final moments are unforgettable. In case I’m not being clear, what I mean is that I will fuck you senseless.’” She lets out a shriek and drops the iPad, a look of horror on her pretty face. “God, he even sent penis picks. Do people have no shame? You’re a dying girl.”
“No way.” Nora lunges for the tablet, examining the evidence closely. “Is there a zoom on this thing?” she jokes.
Mel, Nora, and I have been friends since high school. We’re so different that I have no idea how we became friends, but somehow we click
ed. Our friendship was like some cliché teen movie: the adventures of the nerd, the beauty, and the sports freak. Ten years later, we’re still good friends. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and we are at my place going over the possible candidates for my trip. Both Mel and Nora were supportive when I told them, promising to help me find the perfect person to take with me.
“Be nice, girls,” I chastise, a smirk on my lips. “I’m sure—” I scan the email, “—Devon is a lovely man.”
“Sure, about as lovely as the dude who’s sewing you a jacket made out of cat skin,” Calli grumbles, taking another sip of her wine. I raise my eyebrows at her and she shrugs. “What? I’m being nice.”
“Hey, cat suit guy was Phillip, wasn’t he?” chimes in Nora, scanning her list.