I go over to the couch and plop down on it, resting my feet on the coffee table as I start to channel surf.

“Call me if you need me,” Paul says, and then he disappears into his room. Like I’d have to call him. He’s going to have his ear glued to the door until Ken leaves.

Ken sits down on the couch across the room, his ass perched on the edge. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans toward me.

“Why are you here, Ken?” I ask. He may as well tell me so we can get this uncomfortable meeting over and done with.

“Well,” he says. He stops and scratches the back of his head, running his hand up and down over and over. His discomfort makes me feel a little better about the whole situation, actually. I let him stew. “I wanted to tell you about the wedding,” he says slowly, enunciating carefully.

I pretend nonchalance, although I feel anything but. “Who’s getting married?” I ask.

He had better f**king not say him and April.

“Well, I asked April to marry me,” he blurts out, looking even worse than a moment ago. He winces like he’s afraid I’ll hit him. Hell, I still might.

“Congratulations,” I deadpan. I try not to put any feeling into my voice all because if I did, I would be yelling and screaming and crying out like a wounded bear because I feel like someone just shoved a red-hot poker in my gut.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you,” he says. “Considering the situation.” He wrings his hands together.

“Considering the fact that you f**ked my girlfriend,” I say then take the last swallow of my beer. That one might go to my head since I drank it so fast. But I really don’t care.

“S-she was h-hurting,” he stutters. “After your diagnosis and all, you know?” He looks at me like he’s waiting for confirmation. I’ll confirm that he’s an ass. A lying, cheating, no-good, lame-ass best friend. “We kind of just fell together.”

“You tripped and fell right in her pu**y, did you?” He holds up a hand and starts to stutter, but I keep on talking, as though I don’t care. “I completely understand. Happened to me a time or two. Probably the same nights it happened to you.” I snort.

“Matt,” he says. “I know I’ve told you I’m sorry before, but please know that we didn’t intend for this to happen. We never wanted to hurt you.”

I was hurt for a while, but now I’m beyond that. Pissed is a much better color on me than hurt. “How many times do you want me to congratulate you?” I ask.

He sighs. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else,” he says. “I handled things poorly, but I still have the utmost respect for you as a friend.”

“Thanks,” I bite out.

“Hey, I hear that you’re in remission,” he says. He smiles as if he’s happy for me. “I’m so glad you’re doing well.”

“Thanks,” I grunt. Apparently, I have turned into a caveman. A caveman who doesn’t give a f**k.

He gets to his feet. “Well, I should probably go.” He reaches out a hand toward me. It hangs there in the air between us until he finally gets the hint that I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-fucking-foot pole.

“When’s the wedding?” I ask as I stand up, too. I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently.

“Next weekend,” he says.

I lift my brow and snort. “That soon, huh? You must have been planning for a while.”

He starts to scratch the back of his head again. “Um…not really. Well, we were planning it, but we decided to move the date up. Um…” He looks into my eyes like he’s hoping to soften the blow. “April’s pregnant.”

My breath stutters from me. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose because I feel like I’m going to throw up. I force my eyes open and walk to the door. It’s all I can do not to put my foot in his ass and kick him through it.

“Can…um… It’s really important to April that we have your blessing.”

“You didn’t need my blessing when you f**ked her,” I say. “Why do you need it now that you knocked her up?”

“She feels terrible about the way things happened,” he says.

“Good,” I bite out. “She should.” She should hate it. She should hate herself because she fell into someone’s arms while I was getting shot full of chemo and almost f**king died.

“She’s not a bad person,” he says. “She just made a mistake. We both did.”

“A mistake happens once,” I explain, holding up one finger. “Not dozens of times.” And those are only the ones I know about. “After the first time, it’s a choice, not a mistake.”

“She just didn’t know how to deal with the situation.”

“You mean like standing by my side?” I hold up my hands like I want him to answer. But I really don’t. Not at all.

“I’d like us all to be friends again,” he says. He’s almost pleading. And it would make me laugh if it didn’t make me want to cry.

“Never gonna happen,” I say. I open the door and motion for him to walk through it. In two seconds, I’ll start to count to ten.

He brightens for a second. “Hey, Paul was telling me you’re seeing someone.”

Paul did what? “So?”

“So, I think that’s great. I’m happy for you.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes until I stare down at it, contemplating how I’m going to break each of his fingers. He jerks his hand back. “I think you should bring her to the wedding. It’ll be like old times. What do you say?”