The Asshole Heir: Winter Harbor Heroes, #2

By Ember Leigh and Whitley Cox

Mending fences with my brothers as I uncover family secrets is easy compared to winning back the woman carrying my baby…

Carson

 

Six months ago she ghosted me.

She stopped taking my calls and didn't even answer her damn door.

Now, with my world upside down and my arm in a cast, where do I find her, but Winter Harbor, seven months pregnant with my baby.

Despite her keeping this secret from me, I want her. I've always wanted her. And even though I was dead-set on never having kids, given my own garbage dad, seeing Amaya pregnant and knowing that the baby is mine changes everything. I'm ready to right my father's wrongs and be there for my kid.

I want the family life, and I want it with Amaya.

But she's not convinced. And for good reason. Now I just have to prove to her that taking a chance on love–and building a family with a man who's ruined more romances than started them–is a risk worth taking.

 

***This is the second book of the Winter Harbor series which features a quirky small town, secrets galore, and three estranged brothers who find the key to healing comes from the women who steal their hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ember Leigh
• Release date: Feb 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223276098

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

CARSON

Need more screws, I muttered to myself as I set my power screwdriver on the deck, sat back on my heels, and wiped the sweat from my brow.

I also need to get screwed.

Fuck, when was the last time I got laid?

I gave that thought the ol’ heave-ho before it had a chance to take root in my brain. Because when I thought too hard about the last time I got laid, or who the last person I got laid by was, the heat from my fury was enough to burn my cheeks.

And it was already hot as fucking balls outside here in Winter Harbor in late June, so I didn’t need to get any hotter.

Grab me another paint roller while you’re in town, Callum called from inside, Hope Creek Manor, the rundown mansion we’d inherited from our father. The door was open and he was busy painting the foyer while I struggled with my one good arm—the left was in a blue cast from a fall several weeks ago—to finish fixing the deck railings.

And see if they have a big wheelbarrow, Colton hollered, his head poking out from the nearby dilapidated greenhouse where he’d been pulling overgrown weeds and making friends with ladybugs. The one I found in here is rusted through.

I muffled my frustrated grumble. I wasn’t my brothers’ damn errand boy. And why couldn’t they go get the stuff? They each had two working arms.

Because you’re the contractor. You’re the one with a carpentry ticket and either one of them would inevitably get the wrong kind of screws forcing you to go back and get the right ones, anyway. Also, you’re trying to mend fences with your brothers, not stir up more shit.

Right.

I was all about trying to be a better person. Learn from my mistakes and not let my past transgressions or our family’s past transgressions torpedo my future.

At least that was the mantra I was attempting to live by.

Baby steps, of course.

I was also trying to curb my asshole tendencies and get a handle on my short-fuse. It’d never served me well, and if I wanted to mend fences that would withstand the family mystery we were struggling to unfold, I needed to be on my best behavior. I was trying to be Carson two-point-oh. A better version of myself, and if there was ever a better place to reinvent yourself, it was in a new town that hated your family for reasons nobody would explain to you, right?

Wrong, but that’s where I was, anyway. Trying to reinvent myself, upgrade myself, become a real brother to my brothers and figure out what I wanted out of life, all while working on my temper.

Callum hadn’t punched me in months, so I’d say I was making progress.

Get beer, too, Colton said.

And ice cream, Callum added.

I’m only going to the fucking hardware store. I’m not making fifty stops. Ugh. What was going to be a twenty-minute trip into town and back for screws was turning into a full day of grocery shopping.

They’re all beside each other in the strip mall—that we own, Colton retorted. Pull your panties out of your ass crack.

Fuck, it was hot out. And when it was hot, my mood took a turn.

Upgrade. You are upgrading, and that means tempering your temper. Buy yourself a fucking ice cream cone to cool off and stop bitching.

I’ll see what I can do, I said, rolling my eyes.

I grabbed my keys from where they rested next to my empty can of ginger ale on the deck railing, pocketed my phone, and headed down the porch steps. The middle one creaked beneath my weight.

I’d need to fix that at some point, even though Callum told me not to touch it as he said the creak was quaint.

My older brother was naïve.

A creak meant something was loose or worn or rotten.

It needed to be upgraded. Like me.

I opened the door to my Dodge Ram extended cab and slid in behind the steering wheel. Even for a white vehicle, it was hotter than Satan’s balls. I put the key in the ignition, turned it on, and immediately rolled down the windows—and cursed myself for not buying air conditioning.

Because Winter Harbor—my new place of residence until April 23rd of next year when we inherited everything my father had left for us—was a tiny-ass coastal town in Oregon. Nothing was more than a ten-minute drive and that included the hardware store.

I was there before my left nut stopped sticking to my thigh.

There were loads of angled parking spots, so I picked one beneath a big ginkgo tree in full bloom that would hopefully shade my truck so it wasn’t the depths-of-hell-hot inside when I returned.

For summer in a tourist hotspot, the sidewalks were surprisingly empty and all the storefront doors were closed.

I paid this unusualness no mind since I hadn’t lived in the town long enough to truly know its character, and I headed for Pete’s Hardware and Garden. I heaved on the door, but it didn’t budge.

What the fuck?

I tried again.

It still didn’t move.

Cupping my palms around my eyes, I peered through the glass door into a dark and empty hardware store.

This didn’t make any fucking— Oh shit.

Goddamn quirky-ass little town!

Everything was closed on Tuesdays.

Why Tuesdays? I don’t fucking know. But this wasn’t the first time we’d needed something on a Tuesday and driven into town only to have to turn around and do without until the following day.

I’d never lived anywhere in my entire life where a place was open every other day of the week, but closed on a Tuesday.

I pulled out my phone and double-checked the date. Sure enough, it was mother-fucking Tuesday and every single store in the entire strip mall was closed today.

The only places that would be open were the bank, the hospital, and Ned’s Necessities, a puny corner store hovel on the other side of town where Ned the geriatric owner defied the town laws and stayed open on Tuesdays, jacking up his prices, and selling weird canned meats on his dusty shelves.

No way was I driving all the way over to Ned’s Necessities for ice cream, beer, paint rollers, or screws. Not that I figured he carried the latter two.

Fuck! I growled, spinning on my heel to head back to my truck and kicking a dented metal bucket that was under a rain spout and sending it rattling down the sidewalk toward the florist.

Go get the fucking bucket, you hot-headed asshole.

Grumbling, I did as my conscience told me to and stalked down the empty cobblestones toward the bucket, muttering curses that would have earned me so many smacks from the nuns at boarding school.

Well, motherfucking, cock sucking, gaping asshole, pig testicle licking, cockroach eating, shit sniffers. In your face, Sister Glenda. Can’t beat my palm red now, can you?

With purpose and anger in my stride, I made my way back toward the downspout with the bucket, but I wasn’t even two steps from the hardware store when strolling toward me with her pale, slender arm linked with the arm of a tall, decent-looking man was the woman who ghosted me over six months ago.

The woman who broke my heart.

No.

Destroyed it.

Shattered it. And then, for good measure, crushed those tiny fragments into dust beneath the heel of her boot.

Amaya Peterson.

My heart lurched against my ribcage as I came to an abrupt halt and everything inside of me went ice cold. What the fuck are you doing here? I blurted.

C-Carson, she stammered, stopping directly in front of me. Well, not directly in front of me, seeing as she had a pretty significant baby bump under a long gray dress consuming a large portion of the space between us.

My gaze locked on the human in her belly.

What are you doing in Winter Harbor? she asked, her voice just as soft and breathy as it’d always been.

Normally, I didn’t like women with that kind of voice. It struck me as ditzy. But when Amaya spoke, it did nothing but make me hard.

My eyes were still glued to her stomach, but the gentle throat clear of the man who was obviously her baby-daddy and the man she’d jumped into bed with probably seconds after ghosting me—quite possibly before—had me lifting my head.

"What am I doing in Winter Harbor? What are you doing in Winter Harbor?" I repeated. My heart was thumping so loudly I felt like I was yelling in order to hear over it.

The delicate line of her throat bobbed and her gaze bounced from the man beside her, then back to me. "I … we’re here helping my aunt who lives in Winter Harbor. She fell and broke her hip, and since I just finished school and am between jobs, and Stanton works freelance, we offered to help her for the rest of the summer. What about you?"

What about you? What the hell was with the small talk? Fuck this noise. Amaya didn’t deserve to know a damn thing about me, including why I was here, in Winter Harbor or in front of Pete’s. She deserved nothing from me. Not even the door held open for her.

My eyes were back on her stomach.

Well, and her tits. She’d always had great tits, and now they were even bigger. Her long, dark red hair fell in chunky waves over her shoulders, the ends landing right where her nipples would be. Fuck, I’d loved sucking on those nipples.

She loved it when I sucked on them, too.

The man she’d called Stanton cleared his throat again.

Dammit.

Lifting my gaze once more to Amaya’s, even though it was seriously painful to look at her glittering green eyes, I pushed through and opened my mouth. I’m staying here, I said through gritted teeth. It was taking every ounce of energy I had not to say something super snide and mean. Accuse her of cheating. My nails dug half-moons into my palms as I struggled to take deep breaths.

Her brows bunched. Since when?

Since a while ago.

You’re not in Portland anymore?

I shook my head. Not if I’m here.

When she stopped returning my calls and messages, she lost the privilege of knowing more about me. And now that she’d so very clearly moved on, like hell was I going to waste any more of my time pining over her, let alone standing here talking to her.

What happened to your arm? She pointed to my cast.

Pretty obvious that I broke it, I said in typical asshole fashion. Apparently, my upgrade was a complete failure where Amaya was concerned. Hooking my thumb over my shoulder at my truck, I turned. Gotta go. I was unable to continue looking at her. She was fucking gorgeous, and pregnancy had only enhanced her beauty. I couldn’t keep torturing myself like this. I’d never felt about a woman the way I had about Amaya. Hell, the way I still did about Amaya.

Even after she ghosted me. And had probably cheated, too. Given the size of her belly—unless there were twins in there. But either way, I needed to get fucking gone and take my pain and anger out on something productive. Like trying to open that motherfucking hobbit door on the side of the house. Maybe a few rounds with a sledgehammer would convince the fucker to finally open.

I showed her my back.

I-it was nice seeing you.

I could not say the same.

Where in Winter Harbor are you living?

I turned back to face her, her expression earnest and curious. She blinked those long, thick lashes and one hand fell to the top of her swollen belly.

My own belly formed a tight knot and an agony so fucking fierce I thought I might collapse on the street throbbed in my chest. Why do you care? As much as everything inside me hurt, I grabbed onto those dark red ribbons of frustration that were twisting through me and wrapped them around myself like a protective mantle. It was easier to despise her than it was to remind myself of what I thought we had, what I’d thought we could be, and let the grief of it consume me entirely.

Pain filled her eyes and her bottom lip wobbled.

Her baby-daddy took her hand and made to pull her away. Come on, Amaya, let’s go.

I know you hate me, she said, her words coming out like the croak of a chain-smoking frog.

Can’t hate what you don’t care about, I said, the pain in my chest intensifying.

Well, that was a big ol’ fucking lie.

Not only did I care about this woman, but I’m also pretty sure I was still fucking in love with her. Which was why her ghosting me and now showing up on the arm of another man and carrying his baby gutted me like a rusty knife. Sepsis or tetanus would be a welcomed alternative to this feeling of complete and total heartache.

A tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly and nodded. And then, now clutching instead of merely holding her baby-daddy’s arm, she turned and left me.

I barely made it to my truck before my legs gave out and a ringing formed in my ears.

Amaya Peterson was in Winter Harbor and she was pregnant.

What other sick fucking surprises did the universe have in store for me?

CHAPTER TWO

AMAYA

Well, that was super awkward. Stanton’s voice at my side reminded me that I’d been walking on glass knees for half of a block, without even seeing where I was going.

I blinked, finally drawing the deep breath that I’d been denying myself.

Care to explain? my cousin pressed.

We halted at the empty curb of the next block. I glanced behind us, down the straight sidewalk, the only imperfections the occasional burst of grass through the cracks. The brick downtown buildings betrayed a sense of calm that Winter Harbor no longer had. At least not for me.

Not now that Carson was my neighbor here.

Uhhhh. I palmed my almost seven months pregnant belly, looking down at the bump. How was I supposed to neatly wrap up my fling-turned-something-more that had started on the Huukup app? I’d never intended to actually click with my one-night stand, much less start sorta-dating him.

Of course, looking for something casual didn’t prevent his baby from sprouting inside me. And seeing Carson Winters again after so long apart only reminded me that I’d felt way more for him than I counted on.

Come on, spill it, Stanton encouraged, wiping the back of his hand across the perspiration on his brow. It’s too hot out here for this much suspense. You and Mr. Angry Hottie clearly have a history, and I need to know it. Who is he?

I sighed. Might as well leap in headfirst. I stared up at my tall, lean cousin, who was carefully cleaning his trendy circular glasses while watching me with an expression that said, I’m waiting, bitch.

He’s the father of my baby.

Stanton exaggeratedly stopped cleaning his glasses to gape at me for way longer than was necessary. But that was Stanton. Extra as hell and the perfect companion for everything from strolling a dead downtown Winter Harbor to reviving our ailing Aunt Maribel, who’d broken her hip a few weeks ago.

Shut up, he said.

It’s true. I checked over my shoulder again, just in case Carson had returned and blast me one last time with the truth of how little I mattered to him.

The street remained empty. But who knew if there were ears listening in elsewhere? Winter Harbor was new to me. I was a Portland girl, born and raised, and only knew Winter Harbor as a quaint but sleepy tourist trap from the infrequent visits to Aunt Maribel throughout my childhood.

I just hoped that all the shuttered windows on a Tuesday afternoon meant my secret could be safe with Stanton and the streets for a little longer.

"Okay, so why aren’t you still with him? Stanton demanded, his hazel eyes growing wide. Do you know how hard it is to find pure construction bulk like him in my dating apps? Girl, you do not walk away from man-meat like that."

I laughed in spite of the situation. I hadn’t just walked away from Carson—I’d ghosted him. Something I still felt shitty about to this day.

We met on a hookup app, not a find-your-soulmate app, I said in a low voice as we started walking again, this time heading for the bay. You know me. I’m never looking for long-term. We hit it off really well. To the point where … I kind of thought things would work out. But the more I got to know him, I realized everything was perfect except for one tiny … well … enormous area of his life.

His dick, Stanton offered. I shot him a look, which softened my cousin. Okay, I’m sorry. What was it?

He’s estranged from all of his blood relatives. He hates his family, especially his absentee father, I concluded.

Stanton sighed softly. Because he knew about my own struggles with family. It was the one area I felt I had to control moving forward.

I didn’t want to fall in love with someone so emotionally stunted, I added, as though I needed to defend my decision. "I didn’t want to fall for anyone."

I get it, Stanton said. There are plenty of emotionally stunted people out there, orphaned and otherwise. But still—did you find out the specifics of his home life?

I found out enough. I rubbed my belly as the sparkling Hope Bay came into view over the small hill ahead. The more green than blue water shimmered like an oasis in the heat. Sweat trickled down between my newly-large breasts. Every day when I woke up, the twins were a little bigger than the day before.

And honestly, after what I’ve gone through with my parents, especially my dad … I had to swallow before I could continue. I wasn’t flinging myself headfirst into that quicksand.

But you’re in the quicksand already, Stanton pointed out, linking his arm through mine once again. We were comically mismatched heights—he the towering bean pole, and me the pregnant woman of a completely average height. As teens, he’d even gone as far as ordering business cards to hand out to people when they started commenting on his height—the backs of which said: The weather is fine up here and No, I do not play basketball. He’s your baby daddy.

Another terse sigh escaped me. That hadn’t been the plan, of course, when I cut things off with Carson. And thanks to my irregular periods, I didn’t find out I was pregnant until two months after I broke things off. But apparently, his anti-family sperm were tenacious little beasts. Or maybe they were just ironic assholes—eager to continue a family line that their donor didn’t even believe in.

Wait, Stanton said suddenly. Are you going to tell him?

About the baby?

No, about Aunt Maribel’s broken hip, Stanton said with an exaggerated eye roll. "Of course, the baby! Because clearly, you haven’t. That man shot daggers at me like I was the one responsible for your bump. And I have nothing to do with baby bumps as a rule."

I snorted. Or women in general.

Well, Stanton said, knocking his hip against mine, "not like that. But that’s neither here nor there. Now answer me."

Instead, I pulled my phone from my purse so I could check the time. We’d planned on strolling around downtown after a late lunch but only while Aunt Maribel slept. But we’d been strolling for too long. She might be awake by now. We should get back. I bet Maribel’s up.

Stanton pursed his lips and wiped the sheen of sweat from his tanned temples. We’d both been treating this Maribel-recuperation mission in Winter Harbor like personal getaways, even though Maribel insisted on paying us for our help. For Stanton, it was a break from his fast-paced advertising life in Portland, which meant he laid out in Maribel’s backyard almost every day. For me, it was my last respite before my life changed forever.

Not just with a baby, but with the big-girl job I’d been chasing for years.

You’re so obvious when you avoid touchy topics, Stanton muttered as we veered toward Maribel’s street.

She lived only three blocks from downtown. But then again, nothing was truly far away in Winter Harbor.

I’m not avoiding it, I insisted. But I was. I was avoiding it hard.

Stanton wasn’t wrong. I sucked when it came to touchy topics. Which was why I ghosted Carson instead of having the hard conversation. But now that I’d seen his rugged handsomeness up close and personal again, I was reminded of all the ways we’d been an incredible match—both between the sheets and in the most mundane, regular daily outings.

I’d never second-guessed myself as much as I did in the months after breaking it off with him. But once the pregnancy test confirmed my weird symptoms, the stakes became higher than ever.

If I didn’t want to give my heart to an estranged, callous, self-declared orphan, that was one thing. But with a child in the picture, how could I justify setting them up for rejection? Carson had told me in some of our earliest dates that he was planning a vasectomy because he didn’t believe in becoming a father.

How could I tell a man like that that he had his DNA floating around somewhere?

It’s because you’re a millennial, Stanton said in that judgmental yet off-handed way that both infuriated and amused me. He was the brother I never had growing up.

So are you, I shot back.

Yeah, but I’m a millennial with interpersonal skills, he said haughtily. Then, after thinking it over, he added, Actually, I’m a millennial who’s burnt out on the gay hookup apps, and I wish we could just go back to sending letters to each other’s doorsteps.

Horse and carriage days, maybe?

"Not that outrageous. I still need my delivery apps, okay?"

I smiled. Staying long-term in Winter Harbor had been an adjustment for both of us, fully conditioned to all the creature comforts of big city life. Little Winter Harbor only featured one delivery app, whereas we were used to a wide array of options, available at any time of the day, any day of the week.

But not here. And especially not on Tuesdays.

We walked in pleasant silence for another block, both of us getting lost in the pretty greenery that lined the streets along our way. One empty lot was undeveloped, but far from abandoned. A community gardening project had sprung up, and raised beds burst with orange and yellow sunflowers stretching toward the sky. Cicadas hummed all around us as we passed a tree-lined patch of road, and up ahead, the secret drive that led to Maribel’s turreted house came into view.

So you never answered me, Stanton said again, wrenching me from the pleasant dreaminess of my surroundings.

About what?

His excessive groan made me laugh, so I gave in.

Fine, I said. "Yes, I was planning on telling him. Someday. But I wanted to wait until I had a handle on things. Once I start the stupid job—" I paused, wishing I could backpedal. The big-girl job was not stupid. It was necessary and would become the cornerstone of my life. After all, I’d only earned my bachelor’s in accounting two months ago in May, when my baby bump was showing just enough to make me look bloated beneath my graduation gown. I’d avoided the trappings of an adult life for long enough, having drifted from bartending jobs and administrative secretary positions to full-time college student living off financial aid.

At twenty-six with a baby on the way, I needed a plan. I needed a stable profession. I needed health insurance, for God’s sake.

And the work that provided those things should not be called stupid. At least, it was part of the bargain I’d made with myself.

All jobs are stupid at some point, Stanton hurried to add.

Once I started this one and got into a routine with the baby, that’s when I figured I’d reach out and find him, I said. Like a courtesy call. Hey—you accidentally sired a child. I know you said you didn’t want one, and were already considering a vasectomy, but oops. Here it is.

Ah. A baby FYI notification.

Exactly.

You always said you planned on raising the baby yourself, Stanton said. But now that the father’s so close … why not tell him now?

Panic streaked through me. It was a terribly logical suggestion. But one that felt more impossible today than it had felt yesterday, or a week ago.

Because seeing Carson today only proved the deep truth burbling inside me. A year ago when we found each other on Huukup, I hadn’t merely connected with Carson. I had fallen for him. And hard.

But moving forward with him was a non-option. Because if I was going to bring a baby into this world, I was going to do everything right. The baby would know his or her father—but only once I found my own two feet.

I hadn’t planned it that way, I admitted. But maybe I should.

I think you have to, Stanton said, or else he might try to run me off the road sometime thinking I’m your baby daddy.

I laughed, but it faded quickly. Because even though Stanton and I had both seen the heat and anger in Carson, only I knew the truth.

I’d ghosted the hothead. Which meant there was no danger of us moving forward after a shitty maneuver like that. Exactly as I’d planned.

"Why did you break up with him? Stanton asked. The man is fine with a capital F if you ask me. Nice ass, too."

You saw how he struggled to contain his anger. Well, I’ve seen it firsthand.

Stanton’s eyes widened in horror. Did he hit—?

Oh, no! Nothing like that. But one day I overheard a phone conversation between Carson and his dad and the way he spoke to his father, the anger that dripped from every word. I mean, my dad’s no prize either, but I wouldn’t dream of speaking to him like that, no matter how much I dislike him. Carson spoke with so much hate that I realized I was essentially dating my father.

Stanton sucked in a breath through his teeth and made a face of regretful understanding. Oooh, yeah, you don’t want to do that.

Exactly. The last thing I want to do is repeat history and end up with a perpetually angry man who blames me and our child for everything, accepts no responsibility himself, and then ultimately decides to trade up for a shinier model when my tits start to sag.

Aunt Deb still has great tits, Stanton quipped.

I shot him a look.

Just saying.

"Well, Carson said he never wanted kids. And I’ve always known that I wanted kids, albeit not necessarily like this. But we play the hand we’re dealt and bluff our way through life until we win—"

Or fold.

That’s morbid.

Stanton shrugged. "So you’re just assuming because he said he doesn’t want kids, that he doesn’t want this kid? He pointed to my belly. He still deserves to know. Even if you don’t plan to get back together, he may want to at least raise the child with you."

The thought of raising the baby with Carson—a man who clearly hated me—made anxiety slither through every inch of me. I didn’t know what to do. I’d been convinced before that ghosting him was the best course of action, given how similar he was to my father and how determined I was not to end up like my mother.

But now that I’d come face to face with that sharp jawline and those icy blue eyes that had doubled as daggers, I wondered if I’d made the wrong choice.

The way my heart still raced from seeing Carson Winters was exactly the way it had raced from day one, a year ago when I first met him.

And if the almost seven months apart hadn’t wiped the slate clean when it came to that man, then maybe I was in deeper than I’d counted on.

CHAPTER THREE

CARSON

To say I’d slept like a baby would just be a painful, ironic joke. In fact, I hadn’t slept a goddamn wink last night because I was too busy thinking about the baby in Amaya’s belly. Man oh man, had she ever rebounded fast. And she hadn’t only rebounded for dick, she’d rebounded for the picturesque family life and everything.

Complete with the tall, dark, and handsome asshole she’d been strolling arm and arm with yesterday.

Did he know about me? Did he know that I’d been with Amaya literally days before he knocked her up? Or had he known all along and the two were sneaking around behind my back, laughing at my ignorance?

Were they back at her aunt’s house snuggled up in bed together, laughing at me now while his hand stroked her belly?

I rolled out of bed and rubbed my eyes with my knuckles. I could already hear Callum downstairs making breakfast. I heard his voice, followed by laughter. Who was he talking to? He and Harlow were still on the outs, which made me a little sad.

Thank God Harlow had accepted my apology yesterday for all the shitty things I’d done to her and Callum years ago. It was one heavyweight I could shrug off my shoulders. Not that there still weren’t plenty stacked to the rafters, weighing me down and causing grief. The stunning redhead and her basketball belly being the newest additions to the pile.

No need to worry about a morning stiffy either.

As hot as she was, even knocked up to the point of popping, I couldn’t get over the fact that she’d fucking ghosted me, then showed up in my new hometown, flashing her new life in my face.

I tugged my running shorts over my boxers and pulled on socks, sneakers, and a loose-fitting tank top. I greased up my nipples to avoid chaffing, since that shit was no joke. Then I headed downstairs, snatching my earbuds and phone on my way out my bedroom door.

To my surprise, Colton was also in the kitchen.

Mornin’, Callum greeted, pouring half-and-half into a mug of coffee.

What’s wrong with you? Colton asked, looking me up and down.

I could ask you the same thing. I made a display of checking a non-existent watch on my wrist. It’s before noon and you’re awake. Everything okay there, little bro?

Colton smirked at me. Everything’s fine, promise.

Good. Now why did you ask what’s wrong with me?

Colton snorted. You look a wreck.

I glanced down at myself. Weren’t men preparing to run seen by society as put-together? Why? I’m just going out for a run.

You look like you didn’t sleep a wink, Callum clarified before sipping at his coffee.

Oh. I slid past them to start making my breakfast smoothie. Yeah, I didn’t really sleep much. Couldn’t stop thinking.

What’s on your mind? Callum asked, which made me pause in front of the open fridge.

I debated not sharing this information. After all, I felt like a chump. A failure. A complete asshole and a half. But we were turning over new leaves and whatnot. Maybe it would feel good to open up.

I could only try to find out.

I ran into my ex on the street yesterday. Turns out she’s pregnant.

Callum’s and Colton’s eyes went mirror-image buggy, and they both turned to me. Colton’s yogurt and granola paused midair on his spoon.

"Actually, she ghosted me. Now she’s here with a big ol’ baby belly and her new man. It was a giant slap in the face, and I’m trying to process it all. No need for a big family group counseling session where we pass around the feelings