Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(10)
“Yeah, I know. I’m kind of at a loss what to think. It’s great, but . . . it’s sad.”
“I think it’ll be a blessing.” Tasha handed Savannah her drink and the two of them moved to one of the little bistro tables. “All a part of the healing process.”
“Definitely. I just can’t help but think about the baby never knowing Tommy.”
“Life goes on, right?”
“Yeah.” She took a long drink of tea, feeling a wash of exhaustion. Hell, it was too early for this. She had an entire day to get through, most of it on her feet. Maybe another coffee would have been a better idea.
“And you’ll make sure the baby does know Tommy. How far along is she?”
“My best guess is a couple of months or so. Maybe a little more. I made her promise to call her doctor.” Savannah dropped her head to her hands. “God. I can’t imagine being in her shoes right now, going through all of this without him.” To have the remnants of grief to get through while her belly grew ever bigger with Tommy’s child . . .
“Poor thing. At least she still has you guys.”
“We’re a terrible substitute.”
“Makes you want to find that guy who did this to them and punch him in the throat, doesn’t it?”
Savannah toyed with her tea bottle, feeling a tremble in her stomach. She didn’t know what it meant, whether she was about to start crying, start screaming, or throw her bottle across the room and run out. As usual, she didn’t do a damn thing. Not even Tasha knew that Mike had shown up at Tommy’s funeral, looking crushed and desperate and guilt-ridden. It would probably be even worse for him now, knowing he hadn’t only taken away a brother, a son, a husband—he’d taken away a father who would never get to hold his child.
Some part of her wanted him to know. Wanted him to feel as bad as she did, as Rowan did, as that baby would growing up with stories and pictures but no daddy to tuck him or her in at night.
That would be impossible, though. He would never, could never feel this level of pain.
If you need anything, anything, even if it’s only to call me in the middle of the night and cuss me out, I want you to call me. Please.
Right now, in the light of day surrounded by friends, doing such a thing was unthinkable. Late tonight, lonely and alone in the dark with nothing but should-have-beens roiling through her head, she might feel differently. “Maybe we should go out tonight,” she told Tasha, noticing her friend’s surprise at the abrupt change of subject.
“Sure, we could do that. Are you really feeling up to it, though?”
Caught. “I don’t know. It has to be better than staying home. Thinking.” Or calling near total strangers to rail at them about how unfair it all was.
Tasha nodded, studying her a little too closely. Then her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall and she shot up from her chair. “Gotta go, girl. We’ll make plans later, okay?”
“Sure thing.” Savannah headed to her next appointment feeling a little better. She would go out, she would have a few drinks, dance a little. Hell, maybe find a hot stranger to take her mind even further off things. It had been far too long in that department. Her love life had been lacking long before disaster struck six weeks ago, but since then, finding a man had been completely off her radar. She could trip over one and not even realize he was there.
The emotional phone call from her mother came at lunch. Regina was at once overjoyed, shocked, and completely confused about the whole thing . . . which mirrored Savannah’s thoughts perfectly. It was all too much to take. But Rowan had made good on her promise to call her doctor, and her first appointment was next week. Savannah couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Rowan, because the girl’s body wasn’t going to be her own for the next several months—it was going to be Regina’s to rule and micromanage for the duration of this pregnancy. She was already talking about the baby shower and names. Rowan would be the one needing a drink when this was all over. Savannah needed one immediately after hanging up the phone.
Tonight, she thought, and found herself looking forward to the prospect more and more as the day wore on. Tonight it was going down.
“You lucky motherf*cker.” Mike flipped his cards across the table and took a long pull on his beer as his brother Damien grinned and took Mike’s chips with a sweep of his arm.
“Luck has little to do with it,” Damien said.
“It’s that shit-house luck like Mom always used to say. Yeah, well, I’m done playing with you.”
“Quitter.”
Mike flipped off Damien and looked around the highly illegal poker room his brother ran in the second story of the Houston nightclub he owned, Players. Several high-stakes games were going on around them—thank God Damien was Mike’s brother and their play was strictly for fun, or for Damien to show off. Mike had lost count of all the tournaments and world championships the little shit had won. His skill was supernatural. Or else he had ESP.
“You never did tell me what brings you out tonight,” Damien said, surveying the play going on around them. A thick pall of smoke hung over the room and the bass from downstairs thudded relentlessly. Much more of that and Mike’s head would be throbbing along with the beat. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. I haven’t seen you drink in even longer.”