Chapter 21
Tuck
“Monday afternoon—at a bar. I feel like I’m back in college.” I grab a seat, taking in Battalion’s firehouse-themed decor.
The repurposed station still wears its past proudly, with walls lined with firefighter memorabilia. Even a gleaming brass pole stands centrally, like a relic of action.
“Could’ve been any day of the week for me back in LA.” Brady shuffles his stool to a comfortable distance from the bar top.
“Thought you might’ve preferred hanging with Vivian and Finn today?” I query. “Seems you don’t get too much time away from the restaurant.”
He grins. “You mean you were hoping I’d prefer that. Nah, buddy, I’m free as a bird for a leisurely catch-up. Viv and Misha have plans. Finn’s got rowing after school.”
“Right,” I nod. “That’s probably where Pen is, then.”
“Didn’t know Pen was that into rowing,” he jokes.
I take a sip of beer. “About as much as she’s into the reproductive lives of pigs.”
Brady chuckles. “Dad has a way with words. Hope it doesn’t leave permanent trauma.”
“Are you kidding?” I prop my elbow on the bright red counter. “If it makes Pen reconsider using donor sperm to have a baby, it’s all good if you ask me.”
Brady groans. “Geezus, Tuck, shoving a catheter into a pig is hardly the same thing.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’d be surprised. From what I read, it’s not entirely different. Plus, Pen gets queasy at the sight of needles. How’s she supposed to handle being medically fertilized? And why should she resort to that anyway? Why tie up resources for people who really have no other options?”
“Because she wants a kid. On her own.” Brady cocks his head. “Anyway, let’s table that for now. I need background. The full story. Why exactly are you so against this? What’s the real deal with you and Pen?”
I take a slow pull of beer.
Brady taps the polished countertop impatiently. “C’mon, Tuck. Admit it—you’re dying to let this out. Keeping secrets from your best buddies? That’s against the code. Bad for the soul. Could even give you ulcers. Also, don’t forget you gave me your word.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Unless, of course, you treated her like shit. Then this could turn out…different.”
“Don’t get your testosterone in a tizz.” I sniff. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Brady spreads his hands. “Then let me have it. Because it’s not like I haven’t suspected there was more between you two. So…just how far back are we talking?”
He leans forward. “I’m guessing that Risky Business party. I distinctly remember it was right after you and I got new tattoos. Yours left a stain on your shirt—that mysteriously ended up on Pen’s white shirt by the end of the night.”
I shake my head.
“Before or after?” Brady presses.
“Before.”
His brows shoot up. “Oh—after our housewarming at the apartment? When Pen said she got lost on the way to the bathroom and somehow ended up crashing in your room?”
I wind my finger backward.
Brady squints. “Shit. You mean…?” He drags a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier. “ High school ?”
He stares at me. “No way. You were doing the deed that far back? How the hell did I—? How did I not—? Wait. Are you sure ?”
“Yes, Brady, I’m sure it actually happened and wasn’t just my overactive imagination.”
Brady lets out a low whistle. “That’s some next-level stealth.” His grin fades into a frown. “But why? Why all the secrecy? Why didn’t you two ever just date, out in the open? Was it some kind of thrill, sneaking around?”
I exhale. “Yeah. Maybe that was part of it. And remember, Pen wasn’t allowed to date in high school. You saw how strict her mom was, right?”
Brady waves for another round. “Oh yeah, she was terrifying.”
He sits back. “But later?” he presses. “All those years hanging out, you didn’t want to make it public?”
I drain my beer, making room for the next.
“I guess we just got used to hiding it. Thought it was all about sex, that we didn’t have much else in common.”
Brady seems to ponder that. Then the beers land, and he lifts his head.
“And a couple of corn-whiskey shots.”
“What? No—” I grimace.
“Truth serum, buddy. Submit.” He levels me with a look. “You kept this from me all these years? You owe me big.”
We do the shots. Brady orders more.
“It’s true, I guess.” He picks up the conversation. “You two don’t have shit in common.”
That riles me. “Oh yeah? Apart from growing up in Blue Mountain Lake, moving to New York together, both studying fashion, working in the same industry—”
“I mean personality-wise,” Brady cuts in. “She’s fun-loving, spontaneous, energetic, witty, super creative…”
“If you’re about to say I’m the opposite of all those things, consider this session over,” I warn, only half-joking.
“Oh, right, yeah. I’m not saying that. Just that you’re so…corporate. Always on time. Neat. Plan everything out. A ‘don’t wrinkle my suit’ kind of guy.” He chuckles.
“‘Don’t wrinkle my suit’?” I echo, confused.
“Yeah! That time in the city, when we all piled into Pen’s little beatbox car because yours broke down, remember? We were late to her first-year fashion tech exhibition featuring her work.”
I shrug as Brady gets wrapped up in his story.
“A couple of her classmates were with us, and what was her name? The redhead with the chest—” Brady holds his hands out like he’s juggling fruit.
“I don’t remember.”
“She was gonna sit on your lap, and you were all like: ‘ Don’t wrinkle my suit!’ ” Brady bursts into laughter. “This hot, racy chick, and you were worried about your goddamn suit!”
He lifts the next shot, and we down them. He taps the bar for another round.
“Don’t get me wrong—because then she sat on my lap, and the other girl hit it off with Mason. So no foul.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. It was because you and Pen were a thing at that point, wasn’t it? You were sleeping together, and you didn’t want to make her jealous!”
I silently lift my beer.
Brady lets out another low whistle. “This puts a whole new slant on everything. Whoa—should I feel, like, hurt about this? Our whole past is a lie…” He shakes his head, mock-sad.
“Shit. Look over there!” I point toward the dining area. “Did you see that?”
“What?” Brady sits up, scanning the room. “What happened? Where?”
I sip my beer, a guilty grin spreading across my face.
“Prick,” Brady mutters, fighting a smile. “That stopped working when I went on the Ritalin, remember?”
I nod. Brady’s ADHD was never a joke, though as kids, we’d mess with him, fascinated by how quickly he could get totally immersed in something new. It was useful in board games if he was dominating, when we argued over who got to be which superhero, or as a way to score the last slice of pie.
“Buddy—you were smart as hell even before then,” I say honestly. “And now? You’re a roaring success in every meaning of the word. Bet you’d love to shove that in Mrs. Maloney’s face.” I remind him of our old math teacher, who once asked if he was good at digging ditches because that was all he could aspire to.
“You know she’s still teaching?” Brady scoffs. “I thought she was old when we were in school, and she’s still there! Hope Finn gets her one year. I’d love to show up at the parent-teacher meeting and see what she has to say for herself now.”
We reminisce about the best and worst of our teachers for a while, trading stories with the nostalgia that only comes from half a dozen drinks in. Then Brady waves his arms like clearing a whiteboard.
“Nope. Back to the subject at hand!” He taps his bare arm as if hitting a watch. “You and Pen. Where are things at now? You don’t want her to have a baby. Explain!”
“I told you already. It’s fine that she wants a baby. Not fine that she’s looking at complicated options to do it. That she’s not even considering—” I sigh.
Brady slaps a hand to his forehead, eyes going wide. “I knew it! You want to father her child! And you told her this?”
I nod into my beer.
“And?”
“She suggested we’d ruin a kid by having different ideas about things. That we can’t agree on anything.”
“ Hmm .” Brady looks to the ceiling, kneading his lips.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that co-parenting is a big deal. You have to make a lot of compromises. Like I’m not supposed to say it’s okay for Finn to drive Dad’s truck around the farm. So I don’t.”
“But…let me guess.” I lift a brow. “Finn drives Keith’s truck around the farm.”
Brady holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t know! I wasn’t there when Dad needed a hand carting fence wire.”
“Got it.” I pause, brain lagging a little. “What was I saying?”
“That you and Pen would be crap parents.”
“That’s not what I—” I rub a hand over my face, trying to reset my thoughts. “Anyway, it’s come down to one week. This week. I have to convince her to give me a chance. A real chance to prove we can do this. Together. That I can be a father to her child. As in our child.”
The words catch in my throat, and I quickly reach for my beer, swallowing hard.
Brady exhales. “Holy fuck.”
“Yep.”
He squints at me, a little blearily. “So…how? Like, what’s your plan? How are you gonna convince her?”
I look at him. “Well, Brady. I guess that’s why I’m here talking to you .”
“Shit.” He slowly reels back.
“Yeah.”
Then he lifts his arm. “We’re gonna need more drinks.”