Egomaniac

I stood in the little room at the back of the church, staring outside. It was pouring, and the sky was a deep shade of somber grey. Fitting. It was how I felt.

Somber.

Which was probably not the most encouraging sign that I was making the right choice.

Roman opened the door. “There you are. How many people did your father invite? There have to be four hundred people filling the place. They started ushering them up to the balcony already.”

“I have no idea. I didn’t ask.” The truth was, there was very little I’d asked about regarding the wedding. I’d chalked my lack of interest up to being busy studying in law school, but lately I’d realized it was more than that. I wasn’t excited to be getting married.

Roman stood next to me and joined my staring out the window. He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a flask, offering it to me first. I took it because I needed it.

“Car is in the back if you want to bail,” he said.

I sidelong glanced at him as I sucked a double shot of whiskey out of the flask. “I couldn’t do that to her. She’s having my baby, man.”

“She’s gonna be having your baby whether she likes it or not in two months.”

“I know. But it’s the right thing to do.”

“Fuck the right thing.”

I handed the flask back to my best man with a smirk. “You know you’re in a church.”

He drank from the flask. “I’m going to hell already. What’s the difference?”

I laughed. At twenty-four, my best friend had already been politely asked to leave the NYPD. Asked was a polite way to say quit or we fire you. He wasn’t exactly an angel.

“I care about Alexa. We’ll make it work.”

“I haven’t heard the word love yet. Would you be marrying her if you hadn’t knocked her up like an idiot after only a few months of hooking up?”

I didn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought. People can have a kid and not be married. It’s not 1960 anymore, Mr. Cleaver.”

“We’ll make it work.”

Roman slapped me on the back. “Your life. But keys are in my pocket if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, man.”