Holding Her Hand (The Reed Brothers 9)

“He knocked me up,” she says over a sniffle. “I was going to tell him tonight, and I went to his apartment early, and I found him in bed with one of the girls he works with.”

“Oh, Wren,” I say, covering my mouth.

“He knocked me up. I’m pregnant.” She covers her belly with her hand. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her, although I have no idea what the hell we’ll do. “We’ll figure it out,” I say again, trying to convince myself as much as I’m trying to convince her. “I promise, we’ll figure it out.”

She falls into my arms and starts to sob.

My phone goes off in my pocket and she steps back from me, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “You should answer that.”

I pull my phone out.

Ryan: Everything okay?

Me: Not really.

Ryan: Want me to come back over?

Me: I want you to come back over more than anything, but it’s probably not the best time for Wren. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.

Ryan: Can I see you tomorrow?

Me (heart thudding with joy): Maybe. You forgot your cap.

Ryan: I didn’t forget it.

A grin steals across my face.

Me: Good. Check with me tomorrow and you can see what kind of sticky situations I get it into.

Ryan: Are you talking dirty to me?

Me (laughter bubbling): Maybe

Ryan: I am a happy man. Talk to you tomorrow.

Me: Good night.

Wren blows a big, snotty tissue full of boogers and says, “Was that Ryan?”

I nod and shove my phone back in my pocket.

“Are you glowing?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” I rush to say.

She puts her hands on her hips. “I got knocked up, cheated on, and you’re fucking glowing. You have to be kidding me.” But she’s grinning, so I know she doesn’t mean any harm. “Wait,” she suddenly says. “Where are your

gloves?”

“I took them off,” I say quietly. Then tears start to sting my eyes and I blink them back as fast as I can.

“Oh, Lark,” she says, and she pulls me in to her. “I knew one day you would meet a man who made you feel safe enough to take them off. I just didn’t think it would a deaf tattoo artist who looks like he could shit nails and then eat them for breakfast. I expected you to fall for a guy in a sport coat and loafers, not a hoodie and flip flops.”

“I took the gloves off,” I whisper as if amazed, and I bury my face in her shoulder.

“I am so proud of you,” she tells me softly. She sets me back and plucks a tissue from the box on the counter, and then presses it into my hand. “Look at us. We’re a mess. You’re upset because you’re starting something new. And I’m a mess because I’m ending something.”