Just as I’m about to pull away from her apartment, my phone rings. Fuck yes. I pull it out of the pocket of my shorts just as I cut the engine, but it’s not Tessa calling me. It’s a number I don’t recognize.

“Yeah?” I answer, pissed off that I’m starting up my truck again.

“Hi, I’m trying to reach Luke Evans. This is Dr. Cohen calling from St. Joseph’s Hospital.”

My tires screech as I quickly peel away from the apartment building and out onto the main road. “What is it? Is he being an asshole or something?”

“Sir, we need you to come down. If not tonight, then first thing in the morning. Your father is being admitted.”

My hand wraps tighter around the wheel as I glance at the time on the dash. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

I toss my phone onto the empty seat next to me as I drive in the direction of my house. He can wait; whatever it is they need me for, I’m done for tonight.

I’m fucking done.

A knock on the door startles me awake, sending the empty Ben & Jerry’s and my spoon that was shamelessly still in my grasp crashing to the floor. I sit up as my eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring in through the window, giving them a moment to focus before I reach for the container and tilt it toward me, not surprised in the least that there isn’t any trace of Brownie Batter remaining. When heartache calls for ice cream, I go at it hard, and last night was no exception. At this point, I’m practically a walking advertisement for the kings of dessert. The number of times I’ve made late-night trips to the freezer section of the local market over the past year has to be in the hundreds by now. But it’s how I cope with this shit. I’m not new to this game, nor am I unfamiliar with the dull ache that settles over me at the very thought of Luke, making even breathing seem somewhat painful.

Another knock has me standing from the couch, placing the evidence of my misery on the coffee table before I step up to the door.

“Who is it?” I ask, holding on to the top lock, not turning it even the slightest until I know for sure it isn’t whom I really can’t handle right now. It shouldn’t be him. It’s Monday morning, and he should be at work, but after not letting him in last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried for a quickie before he started patrolling, and that shit isn’t happening.

Not if he stays out of my apartment anyway. I can’t be held responsible for what would happen if I let him in, so I won’t.

“It’s me.”

I turn all the locks at the sound of Mia’s voice, and she wraps me up in a hug as soon as I swing the door open.

“God, I want to kill that asshole. They don’t send pregnant women to jail, do they?”

“Probably. Which asshole are you referring to?” I ask, stepping aside after ending our hug to allow her to enter.

She looks over at me, flattening a hand over the stretched tank top that covers her belly. “The Internet guy. Who else is being an asshole?” Before I can answer, I watch as she glances around the room, her mouth falling open as she fixates her gaze on the coffee table. She walks over to it and peers down at the empty container. “Uh-oh. Late night binge eating?”

I nod when she looks over at me.

“Yikes. Did something happen after I talked to you last night?”

I slam the door shut. “Yeah, Luke happened.” Her eyebrows rise as I walk over to the couch, falling on it with a heavy sigh. I lean my head back onto the cushion to look up at her. “He came over about an hour after I talked to you. But I didn’t let him in.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“You didn’t let him in?”

I shake my head.

She drops her gaze to my lap. “Well, I’m very proud of you.”

“Did you just direct that to my vagina?”

A small smile teases the corner of her mouth before she points a finger at the subject in question. “Yes, because I know how much she loves Luke, and I’m sure that wasn’t easy to ignore.”

I pull my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on top as I stare blankly in front of me. “No, it wasn’t. But I did. I wouldn’t let him in unless he answered five of my questions, and he only made it through round one. He still won’t tell me who Sara is.”

“Is that the other name he has tattooed?”

“It’s the only name he has tattooed. I have an initial, and I don’t care if he doesn’t put a lot of thought into what he gets permanently etched onto his skin. She’s someone to him, and I want to know who she is.” I drop my head so my forehead is now resting on my knees. “I’m tired of only getting pieces of Luke. I want all of him or nothing.”

Just hearing that ultimatum out loud makes my stomach twist into a tight coil, because I know exactly how he’ll take that challenge. You get what you get with Luke, and if he were willing to give me more, he would’ve given it to me already.

Mia’s footsteps trail away from me, and I lift my head up, turning it as she disappears down the hallway. “Where are you going?” When she doesn’t answer, I push off the couch and follow the noise coming from my bedroom.

She’s opening the bottom drawer of my dresser, struggling to bend over with the huge bump protruding from her. I watch as she pulls out some workout clothes and tosses them onto the bed.

I step further into the room. “Um, Mia, you know I love you and everything, but our days of swapping clothes are behind us until you pop that thing out.”

She lifts her head and grimaces. “Thing? He’s your nephew.”

“Well, he’s preventing you from squeezing into this top, that’s for damn sure.” I hold up the tank she threw onto the bed, pulling the taut material between my hands. “Not happening, sister.”

“It’s for you, dumbass.” She grabs it out of my hands only to shove it against my chest. “Get changed. You’re coming with me to yoga.”

“Ha!”

“Why is that so funny?” she asks, pulling the elastic tie off her wrist and securing her long brown hair up into a pony.

I toss the shirt onto the bed. “Because I’m not crashing a pregnant yoga party. Being around a bunch of knocked-up, spouse-happy women is just going to annoy me further.”

“There’s only, like, two or three pregnant women in the whole class, including me, and trust me—” she pauses, picking up the shirt and tossing it at my face, “—you’re gonna thank me for this invite.”

“Why?” I ask, as she turns and exits the room with a smile on her face. “Is there going to be hard liquor there? Or maybe a life-sized cut-out of Luke I can throat punch?”

“Shut up and get dressed. You’re going!” she yells from somewhere in my apartment.

“Since when did you become so bossy?”

I hear a muffled, mouthful response, followed by a chip bag ruffling as I look down at the tank top in my hand.

What are my options? Stay here, pout, and eventually get some transcribing done, or be with my best friend, twist my body into positions that usually require a man, and hopefully get my mind off all things Luke related. Mia knows how to distract me, and she definitely has my interest piqued with the whole you’re going to be thanking me later comment. So, I begin stripping, settling on option two, and hoping for at least thirty minutes of relief from the thoughts filling my head.