"Is that a joke?"

I stare at Megan and feel like I'm going to be sick. Her tears pool and spill as she stares at me. There's no chance that she can act that well. Her expression is pure fear and uncertainty. There's a desperation there too and I look at her stomach, the words 'baby brother' float across my vision

"Are you dumb?!" I shoot up out of the sofa and slap a hand across my forehead. The room starts to spin and I inhale a deep breath. "How could this happen?! How did you let this happen?! You're supposed to be the smart one! I've been around the block a time or two and even I've never been pregnant!"

"I know," Megan cries, dropping her forehead onto her knees. She hugs herself tight and I watch her as I come back down from the state that I'd been in. I doubt yelling at her is going to help. I know that I need to calm down before we continue this conversation. Shock aside, this is her news. It's her pregnancy and her life that will change. I'm just the big sister.

Big as in twenty five— or six by then— years.

Oh wow.

"Is that where you were this afternoon? Kevin's place?" I question, more gentle than I had been a moment ago. She nods, her face still buried. "I'm guessing no one is thrilled about it."

She lifts her head. Her cheeks are red and glistening, her nose is bright as well. "He told me," she sniffs and wipes at her face. "That if I keep it, he wants no part of it. I mean, he doesn't want me to keep it but he said that he's letting me know now, he won't be involved. He doesn't want another child."

While I'm not surprised, I am. It's obvious that Kevin isn't paternal. He has no patience and his head is so far up his own ass that his he's just full of shit. But I thought that he might pounce on even the slightest chance to have a son. Or a chance to continue the family name. It ends with me.

"What do you want to do?" I quietly ask.

She stares at her lap, a slight quiver in her lip as she shakes her head. "I don't know, Bethany."

The room falls quiet. I don't know what to tell her. I don't even have an opinion or a preference. I mean, would I love to have a little brother? Is it weird that my dad is going to be a father again. Well, from the sounds of it, he's a sperm donor more than anything. I'm not even conflicted about how I feel. It's like, I feel nothing. Shock. I feel shock. But besides that, she could do whatever she wanted and I'd still respect her.

"I just want you to know that even if my dad isn't around, I will be," I tell her, nodding hard enough that I hope she feels how sincere I am. "But we can be friends no matter what. Just let me know when you decide. Okay?"

She doesn't say anything. But I can tell that she's grateful.

The first thing that I want to do is call Dylan and tell him about this. I want to ask him what he thinks and how he'd feel if he was me. It's been almost two weeks since we came home from New Zealand. Perhaps it's about time I reach out. We could talk. The point of our absence was so that I could get to a place where I felt like I didn't need to depend on him for everything. That our friendship could handle some boundaries. A place where I didn't feel hopelessly and desperately in love with him.

Alright, I doubt that two weeks had cured that. But still. I should reach out. We should talk at the least.

"So what should we do?" I ask Megan and begin to unbutton my coat. "We could watch a movie? Get some Chinese? Or we could sit in that amazing window seat and just. . . do nothing?"

"Actually," she exhales and looks as though she's about to start blubbering again. "I think I really need to be alone for a bit. It's nothing personal. I think I'll just get into bed and see if I can figure out what I'm going to do."

"Oh. Yeah that's cool," I fumble with the button that I'd been undoing and start fastening them again. I hope that she isn't upset with me. Like somehow being related to Kevin means that I'm too much conflict and not worth keeping close. When I'm in her state, I need someone with me. I hate being alone with tears and a hurt heart. But I guess that's where we differ.

"Uh, call me?" I offer, walking backwards towards the door after I've picked up my bag. I pause when she nods, staring out of the window while her gaze clouds over again. She looks so distraught and I'm in two minds about leaving her alone. She said that's what she wants. But it feels so wrong. "Megan, are you sure that you're alright?"

"I'm not, Bethany," her voice is thick, like her throat is half closed. "But I'll get there."

"Um," I reach for the door handle and she looks at me. "You can call me Bea."

That does it. Her lips life into a smile. It's small. But it's there and I feel so much better knowing that I made her happy even if just for a moment.

"Thanks, Bea," she says, still hugging her knees close. "I'll call. I promise."

With nowhere to go, I wander down the pavement, bag swinging from my shoulder. Being independent sure is quiet.

The winter chill becomes more harsh as the sun begins to set behind the buildings. I pull my coat tight as I go in search of food. The thought of eating alone makes me so wound up that I doubt I'll have an appetite. But that's what it's all about, right? Being brave enough to do things alone. To be comfortable alone.

I pass cafes and restaurants, there's no shortage of them but none of them hold much interest to me. I find an excuse for each one. Weird name. Too much colour. Smells strange. I'm going to starve to death if I don't get over this. As I'm passing a little burger joint with dim lighting and retro tables, I peer in the window at a table of police officers and pause.

There's Phoenix.

The universe is telling me something.

Without much— or any thought— I push the door open and weave through the tables. I'm hungrier than I thought now that I can smell mouthwatering beef burgers and fries. It's a cute little establishment with red leather booth seats, guitar wall clocks and framed photos of Elvis.

"Bea," Phoenix looks pleasantly surprised as I stop beside his table. He looks gorgeous, as usual. His dark hair is a cute mess and of course, I can't help but notice how his shirt sleeves pull tight around his arms. "How are you?"

I ignore the curious faces staring up at me and smile, masking the total mess that I am inside. He's seen enough of that from me. I'll just pretend that I'm not missing my best friend so much that I sleep with his photo at night and drench my pillow in tears. Or that my dad's mistress is pregnant with my sibling. Or that I can't even hold down a part time job selling second hand antiques. I've caved. I'm lonely and desperate and pathetic so I'll just smile and let him think otherwise.

"I got a job," I tell him, patting my bag. "Photographer."

His lips twitch with a small smile. "That's great."

"Yeah. You wanna do something?"

I'm sort of disappointed that he's eaten. Now we can't do that together.

"Sure," he nods and stands up. "Should we grab a drink?"

Terrible idea. "Yeah that sounds good."

His dark blue pants and shirt are so fitted. I'll admit that I'm not so bothered over men in uniform but I've never seen a man who wears one this well. He throws some cash into the middle of the table and I make a slow wander towards the door while he says goodnight to his buddies. I'm quietly pleased that he didn't introduce me to all of them but I do hear one of them say something along the lines of who's the girl? When did that happen?

Good thing there's nothing to tell. Phoenix is probably just as curious as the rest of them. The last time we'd seen each other, I'd refused to accept his date offer and told him that we'd see what happens in the future. I didn't realise the future meant a week later. Never mind. There's no harm in going out for a drink with a tall gorgeous officer.

He catches up and pulls the door open for me. I steal a subtle peep at his arms as I pass and feel my cheeks heat up. What a set.

"So," he gestures at a cruiser parked on the road. "Where to?"

"Are we going for a ride in that?" I ask, excited.

He nods.

"Please cuff me and let me sit in the back!"

He recoils and lets out a deep laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Do me one better and cuff me on the hood. Oh come on," I plead when he looks hesitant. "For the sake of experience. It'll be fun. For me."

"You've never been arrested before?" He smiles and nods. "That's good to know. Well done."

I roll my eyes and open the back seat so that I can throw my bag inside. Carefully of course. I close the door again and rest a hand on my hip. "Yes I know. It's shocking considering. . .well, it's me. But anyway. What if I punch you in the face. Will you arrest me then?"

His deep rumbling laugh makes me grin. "Yeah sure. If you can land one, I'll arrest you."

I don't move for a moment, staring with sarcasm as though his confidence bores me. I'm still and stealth and then I swing and my plan goes straight to Hell as he grabs my fist, twists my arm behind my back and pushes me over the hood of his cruiser. He's gentle and it doesn't hurt but I feel a little jump in my tummy as he leans over me and speaks beside my ear.

"Alright, Miss. I'm placing you under arrest for attempting to assault an officer."

I squeal with excitement when I hear his cuffs and notice a couple walking past, watching with scandalous expressions. Phoenix can hold both of my wrists with one hand and I notice it. Ooh do I notice those big hands. He slaps the cuffs on and holds my arm as he lifts me and opens the back door of the cruiser.

"Having fun?" He asks as I slide onto the leather seat.

"Yes! You won't get in trouble for this will you?"

"Nope. Not unless you claim that I assaulted or hurt you or took advantage of the situation. However, I'll be fine," he taps his chest and I squint, barely able to see the tiniest lens ever pinned to his shirt. "Smile. You're on camera."

I give him a big cheesing grin and he laughs, closing the door.

"So what are we doing?" He asks once we're on the road. I sit in the backseat and hold my cuffed hands up at the window so that I can show people who are lingering on the sidewalk or waiting at crossings. It's safe to say that I get some odd looks.

"Getting a drink," I remind him. "I have to be out of the house until ten tonight."

"Oh," he peers at me in his rear view mirror. "How come?"

"My friend and her husband want to have sex without me listening in from the next room. Not that I'd be listening but it's not a huge apartment and I can hear them talking at night."

"Understandable then."

"Yeah. You can choose where we go to get a drink. I don't mind."

He chooses a bar called the bar room on 60th. It's got a lot of large round bulbs providing artificial lighting. Black and white checkered tile floor, rustic brick walls and red velvet curtains. The bar stools are full but there are a few tables and chairs free, so we order a drink and sit down. My wrists are a little red from the cuffs which had started to be uncomfortable after fifteen minutes. I didn't complain though. I'd asked him to put them on. It was worth it.

If he notices the curious stares from the other patrons, he pretends not to. I wonder if I should have suggested that he go home and change out of his uniform before we came here. But I'm sure he can think for himself, and if he wanted to do that, he would have. And then another thought occurs to me.

"Were you working this afternoon?" I sip on a strong coke and vanilla galliano and watch as he chuckles with amusement.

"No. I just love this uniform so much that I wear it all the time."

I roll my eyes. "I meant, are you on a break or can you just come and go as you please?"

"I was done for the evening."

"Oh cool. I wonder what the food is like here. I might get a burger or garlic bread."

Instead of ordering something that might have lined my stomach and soaked up alcohol, I ordered four more cocktails— strong ones— over half n hour. The bar was busier now. The diner rush at peak. It was loud and crowded and I'm sure that I'm not helping with the volume but I feel like Phoenix can't hear me unless I'm almost shouting.

"So," I stir a straw through my drink. "Why a cop? Apart from looking like pure sex in that uniform."

Yep. I've had too much alcohol.

He laughs and runs a hand across his clean shaven jaw. I decide that he'd suit a bit of stubble. Mhmm. Love me a bit of stubble.

"I love protecting people. It's not about enforcing law or waving a gun around and making a big show of being the man in charge. I just love the fact that if I'm needed, I can be there. I can make a difference. Or I can try."

"Aww," I giggle and slurp the rest of my drink back. A waitress passes and I flag her down, gesturing at the cup. She doesn't seem thrilled that I've done that for the fifth time instead of getting up and ordering a drink like a normal person. I suppose it is a little bit mannerless. But it's loud and I'm not wasting time fighting for attention.

"How about you?" Phoenix questions, cradling his second beer. "Photography. I'm admiring of creative professions. I can barely make my apartment look like someone cares."

"Well, it sort of chose me. It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment that I realised how much I loved it. But it would have been in high school. Dad wouldn't let me do it at college though. I had to do law and there was no room for negotiation. But I dropped out after two years and he hasn't talked to me since. Plus he destroyed my camera just before I graduated. Smashed into little small pieces. He even finished the SD card. Manic, right?"

Phoenix gives me an apologetic look. One that I don't want to see because it will bring down my mood.

"I'll never treat my daughter like that."

I almost choke on my new drink and he gives me a guilt ridden grin.

"Thought I'd slide that one in there. You've been so honest with me. So. . . Yeah. I have a daughter. Her name's Gracie."

"Wow," I swallow and blink fast so that I can see straight which is becoming harder and harder. "How old is she?"

"Nine. She was born when I was seventeen."

"I'm so glad that I know this now," I burp and can't even muster up a care. "This is for sure not going further."

His brows furrow and he averts his gaze to his bottle, rubbing the condensation off with his thumb. Perhaps I shouldn't flag down the waitress for another beverage. I'm putting my foot in it.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't be," his shoulders rise with a deep breath. "It's hard to date with a child. It's not so bad if it's a one night stand or casual. But I can't seem to get further than that."

I feel awful. "I'm not step mom material," I tell him. "I'm not even girlfriend material. Or were you thinking that we'd keep this casual? Because I have to be honest, I'm not sure that I need another notch. No offence. If I'm going to date someone now, I want it to be for the long haul. But I am no example. I don't want a nine year old watching me and learning how to be a total fuck up."

"You're not a total fuck up."

"So," I deflect. "Where's Gracie tonight? Is the mom around?"

"Yep. I have Gracie over the weekend."

"What happened between you and her mom?"

He stretches, fluffing his hair as he thinks. "Uh not a major story. We were together in high school and we stuck it out for two years after Gracie was born. But we just. . . grew apart."

"Ugh. I hate that phrase."

He arches a brow and I wait for the waitress to replace my glass with a new drink. Not that I'd asked for one. When we're alone again, I lean in and shrug. "The whole 'grew apart thing'. It's bullshit. All couples grow apart at one point or another. But you fell in love once. You can do it again. You choose to work at it."

"It wasn't quite that simple—"

"How come?" I slur and wince. I need to keep it together. "What drove you apart?"

"We wanted different things," he explains and ignores a group of college aged dudes who wander past and mutter 'pig'. So rude. "She didn't want me to become a cop. I wanted to move out of Brooklyn and she didn't. She complained that I went to the gym too often. We just argued all the time about the pettiest shit. But it was the big stuff that made us realise that we weren't working."

"It's called compromise, Phoenix," I point at him. "Go to the gym three times a week instead of five. Move out of Brooklyn but not so far that she can't see whoever she wanted to stay for, as often as she wants. There's room to make things work. Those are stupid excuses."

He purses his lips. "Some people just aren't compatible, Bea. It's hard but we didn't want to hold each other back."

"You didn't have to hold each other back. But it sounds like you gave up too fast. There's a child involved. You should do whatever it takes."

"Gracie was the reason that we split up when we did. We didn't want her to see us arguing all the time."

"Was it bad? Volatile? Screaming and shouting?"

"Well, no," he admits, downing the rest of his beer before he continues. "It was that silent, don't speak to each other for days arguing. Nothing ever got resolved."

"So talk! Talk and figure it out. Communication is the blip blip button, babe. Unlock that shit and talk."

"It's been seven years, Bea. I think the time for talking is over."

"It's never too late to talk," I tell him, the sentence trailing off as thoughts of my own bullshit almost knock me over. Shit. I'm such a hypocrite. I stand up and the room spins for a minute. Just a minute. "Please give me a ride to The Hot Plate."

"What—"

"I need to go to The Hot Plate," I shout and turn around to leave. My foot catches the chair and I almost trip over but I grip the table next to me and the chair falls over, making a loud thud on the tiled floor. "Sorry. Sorry. So sorry. I need to leave."

Phoenix wraps his arm around mine and apologises to the staff as he drags me towards the exit. I've got this. One foot in front of the other. Nope. Not like that. Oh geez. Whenever my balance fails, a big strong arm keeps me upright. We near the door and the group of college guys at the bar that had been rude earlier, say it again. Pig.

"Excuse me," I rip out of Phoenix's hold and stumble at the stupid college shits that are wearing their pants around their asses. "That is rude! He is a good man and if I decided to stab you right now, he'd stop me. And protect you. Because that's his job. He'd arrest me. But I have nothing left to lose, dudes. So go ahead. Say it again mother fucker. Say it again. Nothing to lose. I'll stab you right in the throat."

The three have blurred into six but if they say pig again, I don't hear it. Because I'm pulled out of the bar by the arm and put in the back seat of the cruiser.

"I want to sit in the front this time."

"Too bad," Phoenix grumbles. "I don't trust you not to touch any buttons."

I giggle and slide across the seat as we swing around a corner.

Time becomes warped. I'm not sure how I go from the backseat to the middle of The Hot Plate restaurant. But I sneak through tables and chairs, ignoring Phoenix asking me what the hell I'm doing,  until I'm in the staff room. I think I got here undetected but I can't be sure. So I find the sound system and pick up the phone that controls the restaurant music.

It's slow and classical. Boring as fuck. I hold the phone close to my face and focus as hard as I can on the screen. Letters and words won't stop moving but I manage to find what I'm looking for. We Belong by Pat Benatar.

As I crawl over to the kitchen door and lean my cheek on the frame, I see the staff frantic and working hard to get the plates out on time. And then I see Dylan and my heart becomes frenzied. He's in his apron. His mess of brown hair is fixed with product, he's got a little stubble on his jaw and his skin has a mild sheen to it. So beautiful. So beautiful that it hurts.

Slow and careful, I stand up as the words on the surround sound begin. And then I sing along, loud and passionate, capturing the attention of whoever is close. Including Dylan. His eyes almost fall out of his head.

"Many times I tried to tell you," I sing. "Many times I cried alone!

"Always I'm surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone.

"Don't want to leave you, really.

"I've invested too much time to give you up that easy!

"To the doubts that complicate your mind."

"Bea? Wha—"

"We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder!" I shout the words and begin to sob as I walk around the kitchen. "We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under.

"Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better."

My vision is blurred, my tears are blinding and I topple.

"We belong, we belong, we belong togeth—"

The sound of ringing stirs me out of a deep, deep sleep. My limbs weigh a thousand pounds. My head hurts. My stomach is nauseous and I've got the cottonmouth curse. The ringing stops but only for a moment and then it starts again.

There's a familiar scent becoming clearer and clearer as I come to. The scent is Dylan. The sheets are his. This pillow is his. I open one tired lid and see the framed photo of us on his bedside table, beside it, is my ringing phone. I don't know what's happening or how I got here and part of me wants to know before I answer that phone call and find out who I offended last night.

Because that's no doubt whatever the phone call is about.

Dylan appears at his bedroom threshold with a glass of water and some toast. If I could remember what happened, I'd be more than willing to engage in a chat. But I'm still figuring it out. So before he can get a word in, I grab my phone and hit answer.

"Hello?"

"Bea," Katie's voice comes down the line and I sit up, head spinning and stomach churning. Because something does not sound right. "Honey, we need you to come in. With Kevin preferably. It's urgent."

"Just tell me."

There's a brief pause and I think my heart has genuinely stopped because I'm numb from head to toe. Dots dance in front of me.

"It's your momma, sweetheart. It happened last night. In her sleep."