Chapter 19
Tuck
Pen stares at the dozen spiral notebook pages taped to the wall and narrows her brown eyes.
“Nope. That doesn’t hold up. Sure, kids might increase stress. But they bring unconditional love too, which boosts natural endorphins. Those points cancel each other out.”
I cross my arms. “Depends on the kid. You might get an angelic, sweet one or a real little devil-child. Then what?”
“So, not only am I incapable of raising a kid, but I’m also destined to birth Satan’s spawn? Fantastic, Tuck. Thanks.”
“Again—never said ‘ incapable’ . Just pointing out facts.”
She gestures toward my notes. “Facts? This is every worst-case scenario that could befall a pregnant woman. I get that it’s not a walk in the park. That doesn’t matter, Tuck. I want a child.”
“Oh yeah?” I tap the Sharpie against my palm. “And what about the planet? Global warming? Rainforests?”
She blinks. “What?”
“You’re always preaching sustainability: your business mission, riding a bicycle, cutting back on flights to reduce carbon emissions. What about the fact that there are already eight billion people on this planet? Isn’t bringing another one into the mix kind of…hypocritical?”
Her mouth tightens. “Right. Well, how about this—” She takes a breath. “My mom died at fifty-five. That’s one less human using resources. So I’m in credit.”
I let out a low whistle. “Damn. Forgot how ruthless you are in a debate.”
She shrugs. “Besides, I might not conceive. Maybe I’ll adopt. Safe Haven works with reputable agencies for surrendered babies. Maybe that’s what I want to do.”
I pull out the chair from her desk and sink into it.
“Seriously, Pen? Despite everything it takes? Housing, food, clothes, doctor’s visits, daycare, school. It’s car seats, strollers, sleepless nights, and figuring out who picks them up when they’re sick. It’s not just about you. It’s about whether your life is built for this.”
She picks at a fingernail, avoiding my eyes.
“Your job, your finances, your support system. Who’s in your corner when it gets hard? Because it will get hard. And who will you turn to then? You can’t just figure it out after the fact.”
She stays silent.
I sigh. “So, despite all this, you still want a baby?”
Pen wraps her arms around her knees and nods. “I still want a baby.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Right. So we’re back where we started. The baby isn’t up for debate. Just the how—as in who’s involved.”
“I guess so.”
I stubbornly point at my notes on the wall. “Then let’s revisit the scenario. The resources—”
“I can read, Tuck. I get your points, okay?”
“Then tally the points, Pen!” I jump up, streaking a line under the “Against” column. “What does this all add up to? You need help. And I want to help.”
She groans. “Do you know what time it is?”
I ignore that. I’m too focused on getting these factors into her head.
“Time to get real. Admit that if you’re doing this, you need support. Your whole life will change, Pen. For Christ’s sake, let me in.”
“I thought I was the inebriated one. Are you sure you didn’t have too many of Keith’s margarita specials?” She yawns, pulling the covers up. “You and me, Tuck. Chalk and cheese. Polar opposites. Earth and air…fire and water? I don’t know…neeeed sleeeep.”
I walk to the desk and put the Sharpie down.
She’s right. What hope did I have of convincing her tonight?
Bad plan. I might have just fucked it all up.
Then another thought occurs to me.
“Listen, Pen. This is a major deal. One that needs evidence gathered and proper arguments established. I need some time.”
She frowns. “Time for what?”
“The funeral’s Tuesday. And you planned to stay a couple of days longer, right? To finalize the will, meet with real estate people?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Let’s extend our stay. I can put back some meetings. One week from tomorrow, okay? Give me that week.”
She shakes her head, confused. “A week for what?”
I take a breath. “To show you I can step up, Pen.”
She rubs her forehead. “Wait. Are you saying you want a week to convince me you should father my child?”
I nod. “That’s what I’m saying.”
She stares at me for a long moment.
“Fine. Take a week, Tuck. Go your hardest. Now, come to bed.” She sighs. “Let’s get some sleep.”
I pace the floor, thinking.
“Tuck.” She groans. “C’mon. It’s practically dawn.”
She stretches out, pulling the covers over her face.
And a slow smile spreads across my face.
I haven’t lost. Not yet. I have time to plan this out. Time to convince her.
Secure in that knowledge, I let the weariness kick in and squeeze into the narrow bed beside her. And when I wake, with sunlight spilling through the curtains and Pen curled into my chest, it almost feels like I’ve already won.
But there’s no room for complacency. I need to stay on my game.
I map the day out, and even though it doesn’t exactly go to plan, I carry out each activity to my utmost ability:
10:00 AM: Fresh juice, coffee, and fruit toast in bed. Pen pouts—she wanted pancakes. I remind her we’re having lunch at Brady’s parents’ in a couple of hours. Then, she spots the box of condoms. Pout vanishes. Toast goes cold.
10:30 AM: Repeat previous activity.
11:00 AM: Shower. Together. A very prolonged shower.
11:40 AM: Give a friendly reminder—we have lunch plans.
11:50 AM: Another friendly reminder.
12:00 PM: A more urgent reminder. We need to leave in fifteen minutes.
12:20 PM: Gain momentum.
12:25 PM: Nope. Wardrobe change.
“Don’t fuss, Tuck,” Mom says, adding yet another delay as she idly rearranges her potted patio plants. “Nora said ‘one-ish’. They won’t care if we’re a little late.”
Pen finally appears, sexy as hell in blue jeans and a bright yellow asymmetrical top that makes her eyes glow gold.
We load into the car, though I catch the brief hesitation before Pen gets in the back. But Mom’s a solid driver, and soon, she seems to settle.
Then Dad raises the ladder incident from last night, which somehow spirals into me getting roped into clearing the gutters on both houses. So much for good deeds being rewarded.
We arrive at Brady’s parents’ farm to the kind of warm greeting that makes it impossible to feel like a guest. Nora and Harvey are the best—genuine, welcoming, the type of people who pull you into hugs and make sure your plate is always full. They smother Pen in extra affection, offering condolences and support.
Meanwhile, I spot my chance to talk to Brady, who’s busy manning the grill.
Halfway into my beer, I drop Pen’s baby bombshell.
“What?” He jolts. “That’s fantastic!”
“ No —it’s not fucking fantastic!” I hiss. “She hasn’t thought this through at all.”
Brady frowns as he monitors the sizzling steaks. “What’s there to think about? Having a kid is awesome.”
I follow his gaze to Finn, who is completely wrapped up in conversation with a dark-haired girl.
“Looks like he’s solved his girlfriend issues?” I observe.
“Yeah.” Brady grins. “He and Molly spend a lot of time out here with Mom and Dad—riding, helping with all the rescue animals.” He pauses, tongs midair. “You know Violet, the event manager out at Monarch Mansion?”
“She’s overseeing Mia and Mason’s wedding, right?” I nod.
“Yeah, she’s Molly’s mom. Hopefully she’ll get away from work to join us for lunch.”
“Great.” I take another mouthful of beer. “So…back to the whole father thing. I mean, it was a shock for you, right? The secret baby you never knew about until—what’s Finn, now? Fifteen?”
Brady nods. “Yeah. And honestly? It’s going amazing. Only one regret.”
“Oh, yeah?” I push. “What’s that?”
“That I wasn’t there at the beginning. I missed so much. But then again, I probably wasn’t in a good place back then.” He grimaces. “You know what I was like…I would’ve messed everything up.”
I sure do. When Brady hit the big time as a celebrity chef, he had a knack for making headlines, for all the wrong reasons. But no need to dig into that history now. He’s settled into a whole new lifestyle.
“I’ve actually never seen you so relaxed and…” I pause, taking in his wide grin. “Content.”
“I’m super-fucking-content, Tuck!” He spreads his arms, tongs in one hand, beer in the other. “The business is going great guns. Viv and I even made a ten-year plan. I’ve never been so focused.”
He turns back to flip the steaks. “I wake up feeling so fucking grateful that I got a second chance with Viv, with Finn. It changes you, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s like your heart cracks open, makes space for all this love you didn’t know you were capable of. But it’s terrifying too.” He shakes his head. “Like you want to protect them so much it hurts. Everything else just…shrinks in importance.”
I mull that over as Brady calls out for Finn, who reluctantly extracts himself from his girlfriend.
“So, seriously, Tuck, I don’t get why you’re not down with Pen wanting a baby,” Brady ponders.
“I’m not not down for it—” I try to explain, watching Finn amble over, looking so much like his dad it’s hard to fathom. “I’m just not down with her doing it alone. How do I convince her to let someone step in and help?”
Brady pauses, tongs hovering midair, his bright blue eyes scanning my face more intensely than an MRI. Then, his expression shifts.
“Wait a minute.” He waves the tongs in a slow, accusatory circle around my face. “You want in—don’t you? Shit. Are you for real? You want to do it together?”
“Fuck, Brady, can you not broadcast this?” I hurriedly wave him down. “It’s all low-key, alright? I’m just trying to get her to consider it.”
Brady’s eyes are so wide, I can see the tiny capillaries in the whites.
“Hey, Dad, what’d you need?” Finn cuts in, impatient.
Brady lifts a tray like he just remembered what he’s doing. “Uh—take this in, rest it in the oven, yeah?” His eyes flick back to me, still in shock. “Oh, and Finn, grab more oil while you’re at it.”
“Got it.” Finn snags the tray one-handed. “By the way, any music requests? I’m hitting up Gramps to play—” He scans the phone glued in his other hand. “The Violent Femmes, heard of them?”
Brady recoils like he’s been sucker punched again , then quickly nudges my arm, a silent bid to shut up .
“Hmm, maybe rings a bell.” He feigns nonchalance.
Finn disappears inside, and Brady slaps his palm to his forehead.
“Geezus. Thank god Dad’s finally educating these kids on music. Finn always thinks he’s found someone obscure, then he pulls out that .” He snorts. “Dad’s gonna lose it. I think he has every album they ever made.”
I laugh, finally relaxing now that we’ve moved on.
Nope.
“Have you told Mason?” Brady’s back grilling me with more intensity than the steaks.
I blink. “Told Mason what? There’s nothing to tell! And you can’t say anything.”
He tilts his head. “We always suspected there was more between you and Pen than you let on,” he muses. “But a baby together—”
“Brady, swear to me you’ll keep this to yourself, okay? It’s all conjecture right now. We haven’t nailed anything down.”
Brady smirks. “Sounds like you’ve been nailing something down, Tuck. You sly prick. Fuck , wait till Mason finds out—”
“Brady, I’m serious! You cannot say anything.”
Brady’s hand lands on my shoulder, his grip firm. “Tell you what. How about I don’t say anything—”
“Exactly.”
“And you actually spill on what the hell is going on between you two? Because Pen’s going through a lot , and you…” His grip tightens. “Well, you don’t have a perfect track record when it comes to a woman’s feelings. I need details, Tuck.”
I exhale, about to argue. Because fuck me, as if Brady has a right to talk considering his dire track record with women.
Except I can’t, because as soon as I glance up, I get an eyeful of Pen’s sexy hips as she heads toward us.
“Fine!” I instantly agree to Brady’s terms. “I’ll tell you everything — if you keep your damn mouth shut right now. Deal?”
Brady takes his sweet time considering it, stretching the silence as Pen steps closer, a curious smile planted on her face.
“Everything?” he bargains. “Truth, whole truth, nothing but?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything—”
Thunk.
A gallon of cooking oil lands hard on the BBQ rack. Then, Pen slowly lifts a beer to her lips, her gaze flicking between us as she savors a sip.
She angles her head. “Wanna tell me what you’re talking about, boys?”