Buck sits at the edge of the bed. “Told who about what baby?”
Sleep beckons. My eyes drift shut.
His voice gets closer to my ear. “Told who? What baby, Lou?”
I let out the breath it seems I’ve been holding for five years.
“Wake up. Lou?”
TWENTY-TWO
Lou rolls over. Her face pinches as though she smells something bad. I push the hair out of her face, my chest tightening for the fiftieth time in the last seven hours I’ve watched her sleep.
Surely she’s not pregnant. Is she pregnant?
No. She wouldn’t get drunk like that if she were pregnant. Would she? No. No. Of course not.
I pull out my phone to quiet the voice screaming show me the money, my manager’s ringtone.
“Yeah, Bob?”
“Two things. First, Razor Wire called. They want to set up a conference call.”
“Razor Wire Entertainment. Tell me they aren’t canceling the production. Because that would be just about how life is going right now.”
“No, they want to talk dates.”
“Good. Just text me and tell me when. What else?”
“The other thing is that you’re killing me, Wylder. Fucking killing me.”
“You’ll live. The fifteen percent you get off my paychecks tells me you’ll live.”
“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t say I was quitting, I said you’re killing my ass.”
“What is it now?”
“Well, do a Marine and a campfire mean anything to you?”
Ah shit. “Yeah. Yeah. Pay them off. I don’t care. I’ve got other shrimp to boil right now.”
“It’s only the one. And I’ve already taken care of it; you just have to write the fucking check. But it’s costing you.”
“Well, it was two on one. Seems like those fuckers would be a bit ashamed of the fact that they couldn’t kick my ass, considering they’re supposed to be trained to kill and shit.”
“All some people care about is a pay day, Buck. Don’t you get it? You’re a meal ticket now. You have to stop using your fists to solve shit.”
“Whatever it is, just send me an email with the details. I’ll make sure it’s paid. I told you, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got fucking Arianne telling me she’s pregnant—speaking of which, how do I make her have a paternity test? She’s got to be fucking lying. There’s no way.”
Lou stirs at my side.
“I gotta go, Bob. Just take care of this shit, will you? Oh, and make sure there’s some kind of gag clause in there, no need for the world to find out about this.”
I couldn’t give a shit who knows, but I don’t want Lou finding out her Marine buddy’s a douche, looking for a payday after he jumped in the middle of a fight.
I end the call.
Lou smacks me hard on my chest. “Get out.”
“Hey. How’re you feeling this morning?”
She sits up, glaring at me. “I said get the fuck out, Buck.”
I stand and cross my arms. “No. We have to talk about last night.”
She shakes her head, rubbing her temples. “Fuck last night. A bear tore into my brain last night; at least, that’s what it feels like. I’m not talking about anything. And I don’t want you here—so get the fuck out.”
“You said something. I need to know what you meant.”
She looks up, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t remember most of last night. Looks like you might’ve gotten your ass kicked. Did I do that?”
“No. Your Marine buddies and I had a disagreement about who was putting you to bed.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’re here, so I guess y’all got it settled.”
“That’s not what I want to talk about.”
She holds up her finger to stop me. “Just wait. I have to go scour out my mouth.”
I sit and wait for her to get back from taking care of her morning stuff. My fingers drum on my pant leg. My muscles tense.
She comes back, falling face-down across the bed, her hands covering the back of her head. “Whatever it is you want to talk about, can it wait until this jackhammer in my head lets up?”
I lean toward her, running my hand over her shoulders. “Lou, are you pregnant?”
She does a push-up, her eyes wide. “What? No! Why’d you ask that?”
“Because you said something last night about a baby. Telling him about a baby? Were you pregnant?”
She flops back to her stomach, her face buried in the blankets, her voice muffled. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“You got pregnant? When? With who?”
Her shoulders heave with a sigh.
“Lou, c’mon.”
“It’s none of your business, Buck.”