Page 83 of Good For Me

Her eyes dart between each of mine, like she’s trying to find something in them. “How do you know that, River?”

I shrug. “I have faith in us.”

She shakes her head, looking uncertain. “That’s a pretty big jump from where you were a week ago, you know.”

She has a point there. A week ago, I’d been absolutely sure that this was going to be a disaster. I had zero faith in my ability to get her through this and even less faith in my ability to actually be a dad.

The second part hasn’t changed that much, but I’ve been trying not to think that far ahead. I don’t even know if Jas wants to raise the baby and it’s all been too overwhelming to let myself think about what will happen when it actually gets here. It’s taken all my effort to just concentrate on getting through the past week.

But we did get through it. We got through her sharing the news, we got through the doctor’s visit. It was emotional and difficult and overwhelming as all hell, but we got through it. If we got through the first week, we can get through the next one, too. Right?

“A lot can change in a week,” I tell her, and she laughs.

“Considering the last few months, that’s an understatement, Riv.”

I bring her face, still cupped in my hands, closer so I can press a kiss to her forehead. I don’t know how to tell her that the mere fact I got her laughing so soon after she was freaking out is all the proof I need that I really can do this.

I don’t know about being a dad. Or even being a responsible adult. But giving Jasmine what she needs? That I can do.

* * *

We decideto go back over to the farmhouse. The whole family is still at the lodge, so Jas will have a quiet place to chill out for a bit. We sit in my bedroom, debating whether or not we should drive into town and find an urgent care center. Jas is still feeling nervous—and guilty—about the skating and is worried she might have hurt the baby, even though she admits that she feels completely fine. So I do a quick internet search of my own and find out that Doctor Wiezman has a message service on the weekend, so Jas can call and talk to a nurse anytime who can then get in touch with the doctor if need be.

We’re both surprised when the doctor calls her back almost immediately. At first, I worry that it might be a bad sign—does she want us to go straight to the ER? But I can hear enough of Jasmine’s response to surmise the doctor just wants to reassure her. It was clear to me at the appointment that Doctor Wiezman guessed exactly how nervous and overwhelmed Jas felt and I’m so freaking thankful that she’s going out of her way to make sure my girl isn’t worrying. I make a mental note to thank my sister again for recommending her.

Once she’s off the phone Jas looks more like herself, the panicked look from earlier faded from her eyes.

“Everything good?”

She nods, looking a little sheepish. “She even said she wouldn’t mind if I kept skating for a few weeks, so long as I feel comfortable. She’s more concerned about later, when I get giant and my center of gravity is off.”

I have a sudden flash of Jas a few months down the line, her belly round, and it’s everything I can do not to take her into my arms. I keep getting these hints of what the future could be like for us and while it’s exciting, it’s also kind of killing me. Because I have no idea if she’ll want any of it.

I push the thought away and try to concentrate on the here and now, on what she needs.

“You didn’t finish much of your breakfast,” I say, rubbing her shoulders. “You want to go back over there? Or I could make you something in the kitchen here.”

She looks at my bed, chewing her lip. “I kind of want to take a nap,” she says. “Would that be rude to your family? I’m feeling pretty worn out.”

“Not rude at all.”

She doesn’t seem completely convinced. “Though I am still pretty hungry…”

I bark out a laugh. Of course she’s thinking about food. The girl is obsessed. “Then let’s get you fed, babe. You stay here and I’ll go fix you a plate, okay?”

She blinks up at me. “Are you sure? I could just go back over there—” she lets out a little yelp when I grab her feet and swing them up onto the mattress.

“Stay here. Relax. Listen to some of that shitty dubstep music on your phone. I’ll be right back.”

She rolls her eyes, but she looks happy as she stretches out. “Thank you, River.”

As much as I intended to keep my promise to be right back, I end up in danger of breaking it. Because when I go downstairs, I find that we’re not alone in the farmhouse after all. My dad is sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up when I come down the stairs, our gazes locking, and he doesn’t have to say a word.

My dad knows.