Page 28 of End Game

“I wasn’t referring to either, actually,” he chuckles. “I was referring to your sense of humor.”

Searching for a comeback, I find nothing.

“That’s a lie. I think it was your ass first, then the sense of humor,” he cracks.

“Branch, shut up,” I say, not able to hide a laugh of my own.

“You know what I’m really sorry for?” he asks, undeterred. “I’m sorry for acting like a bitch.”

There’s no chance I have a response for that, and I’m not sure he expects one. Over our plates of sausage and eggs that are growing colder by the minute, the chill that settled between us since I told him I was pregnant begins to warm.

“I can’t blame you if you want me to hit the road and just send child support payments, Layla.

I don’t know how to be a dad or even be responsible for myself sometimes.

I just keep seeing you hating me down the line and this situation turning ugly.

” His eyes darken, his lips forming a thin line.

“Listening to you cry last night made me feel like a complete and utter piece of shit.”

My breathing halts, my body unable to process functions necessary for life and Branch’s words at the same time. A bubble swells in my stomach, the one that usually predicates tears or a nervous giggle or some other reaction to whatever stimuli is in front of me.

“Branch, you aren’t a piece of shit,” I gulp, relieved that I actually believe that.

“I am. I was. And for that , I’m sorry. You deserve better than what I’ve been.”

“You’re right,” I say, my voice low. “I do deserve better than what you’ve been. I have all of these monumental things to think about and I was scared to even tell you and then you said the things you did and . . . that’s hard to forget.”

He hangs his head.

“I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do, but I do hate that you reacted the way you did and made me feel like this was some big plot to take over your life or something.”

“Layla—”

“But,” I say, cutting him off, “I know this is a shock. It’s nothing you wanted, especially from me, a girl you slept with once. I can’t blame you for not being excited or even neutral about it and maybe I’m wrong and should apologize for putting expectations on you.”

His head shakes back-and-forth as he lifts his chin. “For what it matters, I didn’t want this. But it’s not fair to say I didn’t want this especially with you . I just didn’t have this on my five-year plan. Hell, maybe not my ten-year.”

“I didn’t either.”

I pick up my fork and push the eggs around my plate.

“I play professional ball, Layla. Nothing in my life is predictable or even solid. My contract could get traded and I could be on a plane across the country on a whim. That’s part of the reason why I haven’t wanted to start a family or settle down.

Why would I? Why would I just add another thing on my plate that I can’t control? ”

“I understand,” I whisper.

He tugs at his hair, clearly stressed and that stresses me.

“It’s more than that,” he groans. “I see this eat people up and spit them out. My instincts scream to keep you far, far away from this madness.”

“I can take care of myself, Branch.”

“This isn’t casual fucking anymore,” he points out. “You can’t just decide you can’t take it and walk. You’re tied to me now. You’ve just bought into this world that you shouldn’t be in and now I’m responsible for it.”

We sit across from each other, the air in the room heavy. My shoulders sag with the weight of his words. He looks at me after a long while, studying my face. The somberness drifts from his eyes and is replaced with the tenderness that makes me weak.

“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “if this was going to happen, I’m happy it was with you. At least we kind of like each other, right?”

“Yeah, my ass and my sense of humor,” I deadpan. “I’m sorry to say both of those are going to get worse as the days go on.”

“That shouldn’t be something I laugh at . . .” His voice trails off, replaced by a chuckle.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re right. You shouldn’t. Because you know what they say?”

“No, what do they say?”

“The daddy’s gain weight too.”

It’s like a fireman’s hose douses us with bone-chilling cold water. All levity is gone, whatever easiness we’ve managed to sneak into this conversation is out the window.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he says, more to himself than anything. “That sounds so . . . Wow.” Blowing out a breath, he leans back in his chair. “This is kind of terrifying.”

“I don’t expect anything from you. I want you to know that.”

“That makes me feel like a complete loser.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” I say, sitting back in my own chair. “I don’t mean I don’t need anything from you . . .”

He lifts a brow. “What do you want from me?”

Glancing around the room—at anything but him—I try to form a response. It’s such a loaded question, one that I can’t seem to take the bullets out of.

In a perfect world, I’d want so much from Branch. I’d dream of those things. This world is so far from perfect that I can’t even go out on that limb. The entire tree might break.

“What do you want from me, Layla?”

“I don’t need anything from you,” I say, forcing a swallow.

“That’s fine. But what do you want ?”

Confused as to why he just won’t let this go, my emotions build higher and higher and I shove my plate away. “I can’t want anything from you.”

He pushes back from the table and licks his lips. Taking a deep breath, he blows it out slowly. “What can I do to make this easier for you? What’s my job, my role? Give me directions and be clear so I don’t fuck it up.”

“Be nice,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “That’s the main thing.”

“I can be nice, but as far as the rest . . . I’m not gonna lie—it feels like I was forced into a game with no playbook.”

“I think that’s pretty normal,” I laugh. “If not, I’m as screwed as you.”

My hand falls on my belly, a new habit of mine, and Branch’s gaze follows the movement. When he looks back at my face, his expression is totally different.

“Come on,” he says, standing.

“Where to?”

“You told me to be nice and you also told me you wanted a ham and cheese.”

“But I made breakfast.”

“And now it’s cold because some asshole had to spend fifteen minutes rambling apologies.” With his bottom lip between his teeth, he carefully extends a hand. “Let’s go get you a sandwich.”