I PULL MY car into the driveway and kill the ignition. The last few hours have given me time to consider how to approach this subject and how to try to mend the fence that might just be irreparably broken.
A sprinkler kicks on as I make my way up the walkway, and I make a dash to the porch before getting doused. With a deep breath, I push the doorbell.
The little pop, pop, pop of the sprinkler head as it mists the entire yard frays my nerves. As footsteps become apparent on the other side of the dark wood decked out with a stained glass window, I steel myself.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Finn glares at me from the other side of the threshold.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Didn’t I tell you if you showed up here I’d call the police?”
“No,” I correct him. “You told me if you showed up to my house that I should call the police. You said nothing about me coming here.”
“Go home.”
“Finn, who is it?” Poppy appears at his side, her arm going to his bicep. She looks at me with a much warmer level of acceptance than her boyfriend. “Hey, Branch.”
“Hi, Pop.”
Finn isn’t amused by her cordiality or my willingness to act comfortable on his porch after being ordered to leave. His knuckles turn white as he grips the door and starts to swing it shut.
“Oh, is this how it is?” I ask, knowing I’m playing with fire. “You just write everyone off because you don’t like our choices. Good call, Finn.”
The door shoves away and he stands in the middle of the doorway. Poppy shifts to see around him.
“You want to know how it is?” he asks carefully. “This is how it is: you are not my friend. You have no idea what loyalty is or the respect that goes with a friendship. You took your little motto of doing whatever you damn well please and elbowed your way into my personal space. My sister’s fucking womb, you asshole.”
He takes a step back and narrows his eyes.
“If anyone in this world knows me, it’s you,” I tell him. “You’ve been at my side for the good, bad, and even the ugly ones.”
He almost smiles. Almost.
“But because you know me, you should know this: I fuck up. I make mistakes that are sometimes bigger than anyone thought possible. It’s my trademark. But so is my ability to make good on promises.”
“What are you getting at?”
“What I’m saying is I’ll take responsibility for that.”
“Um, I think Layla was more than gung-ho,” Poppy chimes in, a move that gets her a glare from Finn too. She just shrugs.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, looking at her. “I am Finn’s friend. I’m the one that should’ve seen the boundary and not crossed it. But I didn’t and that’s on me. I want you to know,” I say, my gaze crossing back to Finn, “that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure I’m there for her.”
“What?” he snorts. “What’s that even mean?”
“I’ll let her take the lead and tell me what she needs and then make sure I do that. I don’t know what else to do.”
“I think that’s a great plan,” Poppy admits.
“You think that’s a great plan?” Finn snorts, looking down at her. “That Layla gets to figure it all out while he sits back with a checkbook? That she has to go through a pregnancy and have a baby she’s responsible for twenty-four seven while he’s out fucking a whore in every city on our schedule?”
Poppy raises a brow, a hand going to her hip. “I think I don’t like the tone you’re using with me.”
“Oh, you wanna fight now?” he asks her.
“No, I don’t wanna fight with you, but I sure as hell am not going to be talked to like I’m an idiot. I have faith that Lay and Branch can figure this out between themselves.”
“So you’re taking his side?”
“No. I’m taking Layla’s side.” Poppy strides through the living room and grabs her purse. She shoves her way past us and heads to her car. “You both need to have a little faith in our girl. And until you,” she says, glaring at Finn, “can get your head out of your ass, don’t come for mine.”
Her tires squeal as she takes off down the road. When I turn back to Finn, he’s still looking at the street.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I came over here to apologize. You’re a great guy, a good friend, and a hell of a brother. I don’t want to get between the two of you.”
“You already did that.”
“I’m trying to fix that. I’m trying to make things better for her. I can’t do that and not be a part of her life, not talk to her at all. Don’t you see the position you’re putting me in?”
“Nah, you put yourself in this position,” he says, grabbing the door. “Go home, Branch. We’re done here.”
The door shuts, the Legends flag on the door bouncing, as I turn and head back to my car.
“SO YOU AREN’T even knocking now?” I laugh as Poppy waltzes into my kitchen unannounced.
“I have a key. Why knock?” She sets her purse on a barstool then heads to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. “You can’t drink this anymore, so you don’t mind if do, right?”
“Sure . . .” I watch her remove the cork and lift the bottle straight to her lips. “Bad day?”
There’s no rush as she takes a few long, lingering drinks of the white wine. All I get as an answer is a slight nod of her head as she chugs the alcohol.
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” I giggle.
Making a face and wiping her lips with the pretty kitchen towel on the stove—the one not meant for actual use—she sighs. “Finn and Branch just had a standoff.”
“Oh, God,” I groan. “What happened?”
“I was at Finn’s, sitting on his pool table while he . . . never mind,” she blushes. “And the doorbell rang. So he . . . stops doing what he was doing and goes to answer it. It was Branch.”
She sets the bottle down and burps.
“Poppy. Really?”
“Don’t judge.”
“I withhold the right to bring this back up later,” I say, arching a brow. “But I’m too curious about what happened.”
“Right, so, Branch is at the door looking as suave as usual. Seriously, girl. Whew!”
I look at the ceiling and pray for patience.
“Anyway, he’s standing there, doing his best to ignore Finn’s hatefulness and Finn is just letting him know what a fuck-up he is.”
My head tips back farther.
“Finn’s going on and on, telling Branch to leave, that he doesn’t know anything about friendship while Branch is letting him have his say but telling him he’s going to prove that he’s a good guy and just made a mistake.”
“So I’m just a mistake now,” I say, feeling my spirits sink.
“See,” she says, climbing onto a stool beside me, “I don’t think that’s what he meant. I think he meant sort of messing with you under Finn’s nose was a mistake, but not that he was all that sorry for actually, you know, messing with you.”
I rest my head against her shoulder and she leans her head on mine. We sit in the quiet for a minute.
“I think you spilled wine on your shirt,” I say without bothering to look.
“I did, but just a drop.”
“My senses, especially smell, are on overdrive right now. It’s so weird.”
Sighing, I sit up and look at my friend. “How did it end with the two of them?”
“I don’t know. I left.”
“To give them space?”
“Nope. Because I pointed out to Finn that what Branch was saying made sense and he needed to give the two of you some room to figure it out. And Finn, being the dumbass he can be, got an attitude. So I left.”
Grinning as I imagine her laying into my brother, I laugh. “I bet that was something to see.”
“I’m always something to see. Anyway, enough of the bromance chronicles. Tell me about what happened in Linton with Branch.”
I go into a quick version of the important details, not wanting to get into it. It feels too intimate to share with anyone, even my best friend.
Poppy watches me tell the story and, in a very un-Pop like way, doesn’t rush me. She sits in her chair, her arms at her sides, and lets me talk for a good ten minutes.
When I’m finished, she leans on the counter. “Sounds like a good time.”
“It wasn’t bad. We ended up getting along and working a few things out,” I admit. “And I kind of hate that it wasn’t a mess.”
“Why would you hate that?”
I shrug. “I appreciate that we can get along, but it hurts to be in this situation. It’s like the more good memories, the more it stings.”
“Maybe it will develop into something,” she offers. “He was pretty clear to Finn that he wants to be there for you and the baby.”
“I know he will. I believe that. But . . . damn it. Why couldn’t I be having a baby with someone that I could build something with for me too?”
“You never know.”
“No, I do know,” I say, scooting off the stool and feeling my heart drop right with my feet. “He made it clear he wants to be there for the baby and for me as its mother. Done. He even went so far as to tell me what the road was like and how many girls are at their disposal and how that’s not fair to the women who marry the players in their league.”
She stands and leans against the cabinet. “That tells me he’s aware.”
“Aware of what?”
“Of life. Of reality. That’s a good thing, Lay.” She laces her fingers together. “He doesn’t want to hurt you. Obviously. Wouldn’t you rather him be honest like this than just go through the motions and then ‘go through the motions’ with road bitches?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t guess,” she scoffs. “You know. This means he’s more mature than I think any of us thought. He’s pondered these things. That’s more than most guys do until it’s too late.”
“True. But you know what? We’re missing the point.”
“Which is . . .”
“Which is,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, “that I don’t even want that life. I don’t want to be with a guy I can’t trust. I don’t want to worry about what he’s doing and who he’s doing and what will be said in the rag mags. I want to be cuddled up on the sofa next to him, our baby on our laps, watching the news and eating ice cream.”
She sighs. “Can you imagine him with a baby? God, my ovaries.”
“He was standing in the kitchen last night, pouring us a glass of milk. All I could think about was how sexy he would look making a bottle, you know? Then it occurred to me I’d probably never see that.” I rest my forehead on the cool counter. “This is so confusing.”
Her hand finds the back of my head. “You just relax and take care of my little goddaughter. I’m going to get us some sandwiches and we are going to eat and watch television and forget about boys.”
“This is why I love ya, Poppy.”
“I know.”