“Good idea, I’ll race you.”
I get the idea Bridget is clearing the house so we can chat about something important. I hope she’s not going to bring up counseling again like she did after the concert, because talking to a stranger about my personal life is really not something I want to do right now.
“Don’t forget your—”
“Helmets,” Simon and Brendan say together and laugh.
We enter the kitchen, and Bridget starts getting the fixings for the pancakes. She sets the ingredients on the table and reaches for a bowl.
“Here, let me help you,” I offer.
She hands me the wet ingredients, and I get to work mixing them up. Bridget chews furiously on her lip, and I know she’s mulling over what she wants to talk to me about. When she turns to make a pot of coffee, I notice she reaches for the decaf.
“We don’t have to drink that anymore.” My tone is light even as my heart squeezes in my chest. Bridget gave up “real” coffee in a show of solidarity. It’s one of the reasons why I love her so much. She’s always all in with her friendship.
“Actually, we do.”
I blink in confusion, and then she presses her hand on her belly. I’m off my chair and hugging my friend in a matter of seconds when her meaning sinks in. “You’re pregnant? That’s fantastic. Bridge, I’m so happy for you.”
She extracts herself from my crushing hug and holds my hands. “Hayles, I’m so sorry.”
“What? Why are you sorry? I’m really happy for you.”
“Because…” She bites her lip again. “The timing is really shitty. I’ve been doing fertility injections and—”
“Wait…you went through fertility treatment? Bridge, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because things were really bad with you and Ethan, and I didn’t want to tell you we were trying for a baby when you were going through so much. Then we found out I was pregnant around the same time you were, and you were dealing with the breakup and the baby… I’m sorry.”
I sit at the breakfast nook and look at my hands. God, I’ve been the absolute worst friend. Here Bridget had been going through all this intense stuff on her own, and I was too absorbed in my own crap to be there for her. “Bridge, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should be the one saying sorry. I’ve been so self-absorbed; I wasn’t there for you.”
Bridget comes over and kneels down in front of me. “Hayley, you’ve been going through a lot. That’s not being self-absorbed. You’re allowed to take time out for yourself every now and again. You don’t always have to be so hard on yourself.”
I don’t want to argue with her, so I change the subject. “Tell me everything. How far along are you? You said you found out the same time as me, right? That makes you about seven weeks?” I swallow down the tears and hope to hell my friend doesn’t see them. Because I am happy for her. I just can’t help thinking that if everything had gone according to plan, our babies would have grown up together.
“Yeah, seven weeks.” She squeezes my hand and stands. There are tears in her own eyes.
“You are not going to make me cry, Bridget Valentine. I am done with crying.”
She wipes her tears, then holds up her hands in surrender. “No more crying, got it. So, do you want to hear my other news?” She looks like she is struggling between being excited and guilty.
I don’t want her to feel guilty. She should be excited about all her news. “Of course I do. Tell me everything.”
“We’re having twins!”
I leap off the chair and throw my arms around her neck. “Oh my God, that’s the best news ever! I bet Simon is thrilled. And Brendan, what does he say about all this?”
Bridget takes mugs down to make our coffee. “We were going to tell him the day after your concert when we picked him up from his grandma’s house. The day after…”
I don’t want her to be sad when she’s just shared such amazing news, so I give her another hug. “If it’s not an intrusion, can I be here when you tell him? I’d love to see his face.”
Bridget beams at me. “Of course, you’re family, Hayley. Family never intrudes. Want to help me spell it out on his pancakes?”
I grin back. “I’ll get the blueberries.”
Chapter 3
Kade
“Gentlemen, please take a seat.” Benji—Benjamin Pike, the label’s talking head—gestures to the couch situated in the middle of his corner office of Valcan Records. The room reeks of his misplaced ego and a false sense of entitlement that he gets from fucking over his clients. Crystal chandeliers and expensive oxblood leather couches scream “money” in the natural light let in by the floor-to-ceiling windows that span two-thirds of the office. Framed platinum records line the walls, trophies that feed his ego and reiterate his fucked-up idea that he was the one who brought the talent to fame. Not the artist’s own blood, sweat, and tears.
I take a seat and throw my arm across the top of the couch, feigning a casualness I don’t feel. I had to cancel my plans to see Pops today so Benji could have his pissing contest, and I’m not amused. Josh sits next to me, placing his feet on the coffee table that matches the other furnishings and fixes a “fuck-you” smirk on his face. Keller and Jeff stand behind us, both with bored expressions on their faces. Keller’s arms are folded across his wide chest, his stormy blue eyes fixed straight ahead. It’s clear none of us want to be here.
Benji sits on the other couch, in front of us, unbuttoning the jacket of his tailored navy suit and glaring at Josh. “Do you mind? That’s African blackwood.”
Josh
