Songbird by Sydney Logan Page B

course she’s scared. It’s not like either of us planned this. She’d been so brave in telling me, and what had I done? Insulted her and left her in tears. I’d hurt this beautiful girl who’d occupied my every waking moment for the past six weeks . . . this amazing woman who’d made it impossible for me to be even remotely attracted to anybody else. Because they weren’t her.
    Can I fix the mess I’ve made?
    Will she let me?
    Do I even know how?
    My stomach clenches with terror when I think about it. What do I know about raising a kid? I don’t even like kids. They’re loud and messy and annoying. I’m selfish and arrogant, and there’s no doubt I’ll completely screw it up. What do I know about being a father?
    “What if I don’t want to?”
    Owen frowns. “Don’t want to what?”
    “Be a dad.”
    “Dude, didn’t you hear me? You don’t get a choice. It’s not like you can say not my problem and walk away.”
    “Really? Guys do it all the time.”
    “You’d know, since you prosecute deadbeat dads all the time.”
    Shit.
    “Besides, Dev, you have other things to worry about.”
    “Such as?”
    “Our mother. Please make sure I’m around when you tell Valerie McAllister that she has a grandchild on the way and you want nothing to do with it.”
    Mom has been begging us for grandkids for years. We’d all placed bets, and I’d been happy to participate, because I was certain Owen would find himself in this predicament long before me.
    “But most importantly,” he says quietly, “there’s Callie.”
    The mere sound of her name fills me with shame.
    “What about her?”
    “You’ve broken the heart of the only girl you’ve ever really wanted.”
    I snort. “I’ve wanted lots of women, Owen.”
    “But Callie’s different, isn’t she?”
    I shrug and avoid his gaze.
    “Pregnant or not, Callie’s gotten under your skin. I saw it at the wedding. And then I watched your eyes glaze over when you saw her at the benefit.”
    I can try to deny it all I want, but Owen’s right. There’s something about Callie that’s unforgettable. She’s beautiful and smart. And the sex . . .
    Then I remember sex is the reason I’m in this mess.
    My stomach lurches.
    “Dev?”
    I quickly stand up and immediately vomit on my hardwood floor.

W hoever came up with the phrase morning sickness is a complete liar. Mine is the twenty-four hour a day kind. Thankfully, my child shares my love for banana freezer pops, because, according to my baby bible, I’m probably going to be enjoying my morning sickness throughout my entire first trimester.
    That’s what it says— enjoying .
    Pretty sure the baby bible was written by a man.
    I glance wearily at the book in my lap. The chick at the bookstore said it was the most popular book for expecting mothers, so of course that’s the one I bought. Lord knows I’m in desperate need of a baby survival guide.
    After my post-Devin breakdown—which consisted of three days of tears and numerous ice cream interventions with Lorie and Megan—I decided it was time to get a grip. I’m a thirty-year-old, professional woman. There’s absolutely no reason that I can’t raise this baby by myself and be a good mother. I certainly don’t need an asshole like Devin McAllister in the picture. All I need is . . . me. Am I scared? Of course. Do I have a clue? Not at all. But I’ll figure it out because single women raise babies every day, and they do it well.
    And now . . . I’m joining the club.
    With that in mind, I decided to attack this whole pregnancy thing with the same determination I used when studying for final exams in college.
    I crammed.
    When I’m not working—or throwing up—I’m reading baby books. If I’m not reading, I’m surfing pregnancy websites on my laptop. I’m like a woman possessed, eager for any and all information that can get me through the next eight months without any further emotional breakdowns.
    I’ve shed my last tear for