She nodded and floated away.

I only half heard this. Mostly, I was trying to make the room melt away and praying our waitress didn’t dillydally with the beers.

“Babe,” Ham called.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled in answer, my focus on smoothing my napkin in my lap.

“Cookie, baby, come back to me,” he urged gently.

My eyes went to him.

“This is our beginning. Don’t let them fuck it up.”

This was our beginning.

I reached a hand across the table to him.

Ham caught it.

“Okay,” I replied.

He gave my hand a squeeze and let me go.

“Decide what you want. We’ll get into the deep shit when we won’t have interruptions.”

I nodded, picked up my menu, and read.

The beers came. We both ordered steaks. And loaded baked potatoes, sautéed mushrooms, and appetizers.

Ham ended this session by tipping his head to his beer and stating, “These get low, don’t ask. Bring more.”

“Of course,” she muttered and took off.

I stared at him with some unease.

“Am I going to need to be drunk?” I asked.

“No. How Rachel fucked me was a long time ago and it was me she fucked,” he answered.

“I, uh… Rachel?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.

“The bitch who aborted my babies.”

My mouth went dry, my hand resting on the table twitched, and I stared.

Did he say babies? Plural?

“What?” I breathed.

“Woman’s right to choose, I’m down with that. It wasn’t that, seein’ as we were married, planning a family, worked toward it, she got pregnant, I was fuckin’ beside myself, and she hauled off and ended it without one word to me.”

My throat was moving convulsively. It took effort to get it under control and when I did, I asked, “You were married?”

“Yeah. Got hitched when we were both twenty-one. Young, but I loved her, thought she loved me. It was all good.”

“I, uh… thought you said you’d never had a roommate except, well… me,” I reminded him and his head tipped to the side.

“A wife’s not a roommate, babe. She’s a partner.”

This was true.

It was time for the tough stuff.

“Why did she… she… end the pregnancy?” I queried.

“Said she didn’t know what she wanted,” Ham answered immediately. “Said I pressured her into it. Said a baby was a big deal and she should be sure.”

This was all true, except the part where he said they’d planned and worked toward it.

“I—” I began.

“Thing is,” Ham spoke over me, “she shoulda said that before she got knocked up. And she sure as fuck shouldn’t have aborted my kid without fuckin’ talking to me.”

Yes, she sure as fuck shouldn’t have done that.

“I don’t believe this,” I whispered.

“It was twenty years ago and, still, I don’t believe it either.”

I held his eyes. I knew mine were soft and I told him, “Ham, darlin’, I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothin’ to say,” he replied. “That started years of serious sick shit, which I participated in, bein’ stupid, young, in love, addicted to her pussy, and, again, fuckin’ stupid,” he went on. “I left. She coaxed me back, promises of together forever and family. We’d get down to talkin’ about tryin’ again. She’d be all for it and then I’d find her birth control pills.”

This just got worse.

Ham wasn’t done.

“I’d confront her. She’d twist shit, convince me that I was layin’ it heavy on her. I’d back off, same shit would happen. I’d leave, she’d coax me back. Fuckin’ stupid. Whacked. Now, for a long time, it’s over.”

“Man, oh man, I… Ham, I… I’m at a loss,” I stammered.

“Yeah. Took a while for me to get old enough and smart enough to see things as they were. She was a selfish, spoiled bitch who wanted what she wanted how and when she wanted it and would do anything to get it. But the problem was, she wasn’t all-fired sure of what that was and she dragged me through that shit. Or it could be I didn’t get old enough and smart enough, just angry enough after she aborted my second baby.”

There it was. Babies. Plural.

I closed my eyes.

“Lost my fuckin’ mind, left her, divorced her ass, found I had a type,” Ham continued and I opened my eyes. “I didn’t give up. I tried. Got tangled in other relationships. Got jacked around, not as bad, but not good, by the woman after her and the woman after her. The first one took money out of my wallet without askin’, like I wouldn’t miss it, and went shoppin’ all the time, hidin’ the shit she bought from me, like I wouldn’t notice it when she eventually wore it. This was also somehow my fault because I didn’t take her anywhere nice, but more, I didn’t make enough money to do it and often.”

Yes. This just got worse.

“Ham—” I started, only for him to talk over me again.

“Bitch three pulled much the same shit as my ex-wife, promises of together and babies, but she worked out half the time. I had to pry her away from her goddamned mirror, she admired the results so much, and by the time we got down to it, again, I found her birth control pills so I knew she was jacking me. This, too, was my fault because I didn’t understand her issues with her body and how a baby would interfere with all her hard work, her body would never be the same, and she was uncertain she was prepared for that at her age. I knew she’d carried extra weight ’cause I was with her before she took it all off. And I knew she worked hard to get it off. I could understand that. Again, that’s the way she is. I get it. What I don’t get is her tellin’ me one thing and doin’ another. You don’t want a baby, say it.”

“They’d lose you if they did,” I explained carefully.

“So jackin’ me around is okay?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No,” I answered hurriedly. “I’m not excusing them. I’m just trying to explain so you understand. Losing you—especially you—is a hard thing to do, Ham. You’re a good guy.”

“Right.” He gave a curt nod. “I think I got that, babe. So exit good-guy Reece. From then on it was no promises, no expectations. Just good times and no bullshit. She starts feeding me bullshit, she doesn’t get another call.”

I pressed my lips together and Ham’s eyes dropped to them before coming back to mine.

“You always got a call,” he reminded me.

“I know.”

“So what’s with the look?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering how many women are out there, waiting for calls,” I answered hesitantly.

“None, seein’ as, when I made my decision it was you and Gnaw Bone, the only other one I had got a call explaining shit and how she wouldn’t be gettin’ future calls. She was in Taos. She was new, a good-time girl, and, babe, it might make me sound like a dick but she wasn’t gonna make the cut anyway. Outside of her, there was only Feb and she’d already moved on.”

All the air squeezed out of my lungs.

The good news was, there was only one.

The bad news was, he’d again mentioned February Owens and her “already moving on,” which made me wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t.

Would he be in Indiana with February?

“How fantastic is this? And you don’t have food! Perfect timing for us to join you!”

Ham’s eyes shot up, my head twisted around, but I already knew that English-accented voice.

Nina and Max were standing there.

Damn.

“Max, darling, isn’t this great?” Nina asked when no one said a word.

Max didn’t look like he thought it was great. His eyes were aimed Greg’s way. Then they swung his sister’s way. Then he looked down at his wife and lifted his brows.

She completely ignored him and shoved into the booth next to Ham.

“You’re Graham Reece,” she stated, pushing her hand his way.

Ham looked at her hand then at her face before he took her hand, muttering, “Reece.”

“Delighted,” she replied as he let her go and her eyes went to her husband. “Max, honey, sit down.” Before Max could do as ordered, or not, she snapped her fingers at a passing waitress and said, “We’re sitting here. Please, when you have a second, we need menus.”

I scooted over when Max slid in beside me and I tipped my head back when his arm curled around my shoulders for a squeeze as his head came down and he kissed my cheek.

“Hey, Zara,” he greeted.

“Hey, Max,” I replied.

Max let me go and extended a hand to Ham. “Reece. Holden Maxwell. Max.”

“Yeah, seen you at The Dog. Good to meet you,” Ham murmured as they did a shake and let go.

Ham looked at me.

I widened my eyes to him.

He raised his brows to me.

I pressed my lips together.

“Can I get you drinks?” our waitress asked the newcomers while handing them menus.

“Beer and keep bringin’ ’em,” Max answered on a mutter.

“Martini for me. Vodka. Up. Olive,” Nina added.

The waitress nodded and moved away.

“Duchess, I said beer and keep ’em comin’. You wanted to do this, I get to drink and you drive us home,” Max told his wife.

I didn’t know what “this” was that Nina wanted to do but I suspected it had something to do with them horning in on my special night with Ham.

And, by the way, Max’s nickname for his wife was “duchess,” this being because she had an English accent. He called her that all the time and I thought it was all kinds of cute.

“Just one,” Nina told her husband. “By the time I’m finished with dinner, I’ll be fine.”

Max looked at Ham and there was a light in his eye and his lips were twitching before he informed him, “You heard it. Now watch as she gets fuckin’ smashed and I stop at beer two.”