Chapter 30
Jack
Thirty Five Weeks
"Oh my God he does exist," Tyler gasps dramatically when I walk out of my office.
His shift hadn't started when I got here this morning, and I've been locked in my office all day, trying to get ahead on paperback before Little One is born.
I hadn't really thought about it, but I assume I'll take at least a week or two off to help out while Abby settles into a routine with a newborn.
"We were on a shift together three days ago, idiot," I say, throwing my empty water bottle at him. "Of course I exist."
"Yeah, but you used to be here twenty four seven," he counters. "You barely left the property, lurking upstairs like our own little hunchback."
"If you call, uh, living in my apartment 'lurking,'" I say, taking the chair across from him and propping my feet on the coffee table.
"Speaking of," he says. "Can I have your apartment now that you're shacking up with Abby?"
"We're not 'shacking up,' you dick," I snap. "She's my best friend, and I've been helping her through her pregnancy. In case you forgot, her husband died."
"Whoa," he says loudly. "I'm just kidding, man. I know it's not like that."
"She's already worried what people might be thinking about her," I say angrily. "The last thing she needs is someone making offhand shitty comments about how she's chosen to get through this."
"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I didn't mean anything by it. I think what you're doing is great, Jack. Seriously. I'm not judging at all."
I let out a weary sigh, running my fingers through my hair.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you," I reply. "I'm just…protective of her, I guess."
"Makes sense," he nods. "You're a good man, Captain."
"I'm not your Captain," I say, rolling my eyes. "You've got to cut that out."
"You will be eventually," he shrugs. "I'm just getting ahead of the game."
"Anyway," he continues, swiftly steering away from the tense moment.
"Me and Garrett are on duty tonight, but come out with us tomorrow.
Bring Friday Beers back, just for one night.
Don't tell anyone I said this, but we miss you dude.
And between you and me," he says, dropping his voice low.
"I'm sick as hell of being the one to babysit Garrett.
Please relieve me of that duty for one night. "
"I can't," I say automatically. "I'm watching the reunion special with Abby and building the rest of the nursery furniture."
"Y'all and your fucking reality TV," he scoffs. "You know it's all fake, right?"
"You cannot make these people up," I argue. "No one could write a script as good as season two of Vanderpump Rules."
"I don't even know what that is," he says, looking disgusted. "But c'mon, can't it wait until Saturday? Come out with us, have a few beers, act like you're young and single for once."
What a weird concept. I haven't felt young in a long time.
And you don't exactly feel single, either.
Now is not the time to try and analyze that thought, so I shove it to the back of my mind and try my best to look apologetic.
"Sorry, dude," I say, and I genuinely am. Friday Beers used to be one of the things I looked forward to most. Now, it feels like the last thing I want to do. "Rain check."
"Sure," he says with a knowing look. "Rain check."
We both know that's not happening.
***
"I always feel better myself after these things," Abby says through a mouthful of popcorn while two indistinguishable blonde women scream at each other on the screen. "Even at my worst, at least I'm not behaving like that."
"I don't know," I joke. "I've seen how you act when your fries are taking too long. You could hold your own on a Bravo show, no doubt."
She throws popcorn at my head, the kernels bouncing off my skull and into the blankets.
"Hey, don't get butter in my bed," I cry in outrage. "That's not what I want to smell while I'm falling asleep."
"You know where the clean sheets are," she says dismissively. "You know this house better than I do at this point."
"That's because I do the laundry," I point out.
"It's not my fault you run through your clothes faster than I do," she protests. "And it makes sense to throw the sheets in with your stuff, you have a smaller load of laundry than I do."
"That's because you wait until you don't have a single piece of clothing left to do laundry," I say. "If you did it more frequently, you wouldn't have so much. And I still think it's insane that you wash sheets and clothes together at the same time."
"Whatever," she grumbles. "I hate doing laundry."
"It's okay," I laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn back at her. "I know. I don't mind doing it."
The reunion ends with one of the blondes in tears and the other storming off the stage. Abby switches the channel over to a re-run of Friends, turning the volume down until it's just ambient background noise.
"This is so much better than the bar," I groan, standing up and stretching, checking the bed meticulously for any remaining popcorn crumbs.
"Was that an option?" she laughs. "I don't know how I'd do sitting on a barstool when I'm as big as a house."
"No," I say, grinning at that mental image. "Garrett and Tyler wanted me to come out tonight."
"Right," she says slowly. "Friday Beers. When's the last time you went to one of those?"
"I don't know," I shrug., "Probably seven or eight months ago?"
"You don't have to stay here every night, you know," she says, a strange look on her face. "I know you have a real bed at your apartment. I hate that you're wasting rent money on a place you basically never go to. You should at least make some of that money count."
"You know I barely pay rent, it's a perk of the job," I point out. "Is this your way of telling me I've overstayed my welcome?" I ask, my heart jumping to my throat.
Does she not want me here anymore?
"No, of course not," she says quickly. "I love having you here. I just feel bad."
"For what?" I ask, taken aback by the sudden mood shift.
"I feel like I've hijacked your life," she says, her expression morphing into a deep frown. "You don't do anything but go to work and take care of me. I'm sure this can't be what you imagined. You've gone from a bachelor pad to being fully domesticated. And it's not even your house."
"Bachelor pad is a stretch," I say, growing more concerned with every word coming out of her mouth. "You know I've never been big into partying."
"What about dating?" she asks, avoiding eye contact. "Can't exactly bring a girl home to a couch bed in a house with a pregnant widow."
"What girl would I be bringing home exactly?" I laugh.
"I don't know," she shrugs. "You could meet a girl at a bar, fall in love, be happy."
"Hey," I say softly, kneeling in front of where she sits on the edge of the bed. "Do I seem like I'm unhappy?"
"No," she admits. "Not yet, anyway."
"Not ever, Abby. There are only two girls on my mind right now," I say reassuringly, briefly resting a hand on her bump.
"And there's no way I'm leaving them for a shitty apartment and a hypothetical girl at a hypothetical bar.
You didn't hijack my life, you made it better. You don't need to worry about me."
"You're right," she says, forcing a small smile. "I think I'm just emotional from being so enormous and exhausted all the time. Maybe it's some bizarre version of nesting. I don't want you to go, I promise." In a much quieter voice, she adds, "That's the last thing I want."
"I'm not going anywhere," I say, running the backs of my fingers gently across her cheek. "This place feels more like home than that apartment ever did."
Her face twists into a tortured expression and she opens her mouth like she's going to argue, but she closes it again and stays quiet for a nerve-wracking amount of time.
"What's going on in that head of yours, pretty girl?" I murmur, lifting her chin until her eyes meet mine. I search her beautiful, but troubled green eyes for any hint of what might be causing her so much worry.
"Just thinking," she says, blinking rapidly and schooling her face back into something unconvincingly cheerful. "Thank you for helping build the rest of the furniture today. I really don't know what I'd do without you."
"Anytime," I say, silently battling to calm my nerves.
"You'd be just fine without me, Abs. You're incredible.
If anyone could do this on their own, it's you.
But you don't need to worry about that, because you're not on your own.
Not while I'm around. And I plan on being around for a very long time. "
Her lips purse slightly, looking like she wants to, but doesn't quite believe me.
That's okay, I tell myself. She doesn't have to believe me right now. I'll just keep showing up until she does.
"You really are my best friend, you know that right?" she asks, still looking troubled.
"And you're mine, pretty girl," I say, smiling brightly at her. She finally gives me a genuine smile and the knot in my stomach loosens slightly. With so much unknown ahead of her, it makes sense that she needs a little reassurance of something sure, something constant.
I'm not anything you need to worry about, pretty girl. I'm a lifetime guarantee.