by Naima Simone
“Yes,” she said, fear, sadness and pain clogging her throat. Pressing against her chest. She briefly closed her eyes. “Yes.”
That’s all she could say and yet, it captured everything. Just as Kenan had.
Achilles believed she was ashamed of him. That she didn’t want to tell her parents about the pregnancy because of that shame, and nothing could be further from the truth. She couldn’t be more proud to have him as the father of her baby. There was no other man she wanted but him. The embarrassment belonged to her. Because as soon as she shared the news with her parents, they would use it...twist it. She harbored no doubts about that, about who they were. So she’d longed to keep this special news—their baby—between them for just a little while longer before she had no choice. Keep it pure and just theirs.
But her parents had managed to ruin it anyway.
No. The truth opened up inside her like a lamp clicking on, chasing away the darkness. No, she couldn’t place all of this on them.
Because in the end, these were her choices, and the time had come to accept the truth and own those choices.
Yes, she’d worked all these years to establish a career she could be proud of, to provide for her family. But she also used both as a way to protect her heart from further hurt, to shield herself from rejection and the pain of being deemed unworthy, never good enough. While her parents had never said the words, while her employers had never written them on a review, the implications had always been that she’d had to work twice as hard, be twice as good... And she’d done everything to achieve a goal that would always be this dangling, golden carrot.
But Achilles... She huffed out a chuckle that ended on a soft sob.
Achilles had never asked her to be anyone but herself. He’d never asked her to decrease herself so he could be increased. He had loved her for herself—flaws and all. He’d worshipped those flaws, loved her because of them, not in spite of them. But she’d allowed her fears to prevent her from claiming him for herself even though she so desperately longed to.
Because she loved him.
God, she loved him.
And she was living in fear of rejection, of disapproval.
Of loss.
No matter the consequences of living in the light and out loud, she’d willingly face them. If that meant whisper campaigns from business colleagues, a hit to her reputation, ostracism from her family—so be it.
She was going to claim the life she wanted and finally, finally live it. And if he’d have her, she was going to claim the love of her life.
“So are we going to do this?” Kenan asked.
She startled, almost forgetting he still sat in the office with her. Glancing at him, she smiled.
“Oh, we are so doing this.”
“Good.” He clapped his hands together, rubbing them, a grin of what could be called only glee spreading across his handsome face. “Did I ever tell you how I single-handedly saved Cain and Devon’s relationship? True story.”
Seventeen
For what could possibly be the last time, Mycah climbed the front steps to her parents’ home. Enough anger flowed through her that the thought of never entering the house again was okay with her. But underneath, the love for them that she could never eradicate made her hope it wouldn’t be the final time she entered the place where she’d grown up. The last time she was with her parents.
But that would be their decision.
She used her key and let herself in, then removed it, setting it on the mantel. Odd not to have the key she’d had since she was twelve on her ring, but it was only the first of many changes in her life. Heading toward the rear of the house, she inhaled a deep breath to calm the nerves that fluttered against the walls of her stomach like a flock of migrating birds.
I can do this. I am doing this.
Because it needed to be done.
There was no going back.
She paused in the entryway to the small family room. As she’d expected, only her parents occupied the room; her father sat on the couch reading one of the murder mysteries he loved, while her mother commandeered the antique writing desk. At three o’clock, Angelique wouldn’t arrive from school for another hour or so, depending on if she had play practice. Good. Because this wasn’t a conversation her sister needed to overhear.
“Mom, Dad.” Mycah entered the room.
“Well, this is a surprise.” Her father set aside his book, smiling.
“It certainly is.” Cherise rose from her chair and crossed the room to pull her into a hug, air-kissing both her cheeks. “A good one, though.”
“Is it really?” Mycah asked. “You two should’ve expected me sooner or later.”
“I don’t know what you mean, honey.” Her mother waved a hand, retracing her steps to lower to the couch next to Laurence. “Why don’t you sit down, and I can—”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m not staying long, and this isn’t a social call.”
“Mycah, interrupting your mother is unnecessary,” Laurence admonished. “We didn’t raise you to be rude.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid that might become the norm, so you might need to become used to it.” She cocked her head, coolly eyeing them. “Which one of you did it? Which one of you went to the media and told them I was pregnant?”
They didn’t even have the grace to appear remorseful. Not even a little bit. If anything, annoyance crept across her mother’s face. Annoyance that Mycah bothered her with this?
Jesus.
As if she didn’t have the right to be angry.
“Is that what all this is about?” Cherise flicked a hand. “Neither one of us went to the media. I did happen to mention to Margaret Dansing that you were expecting while we were lunching. I’m not responsible for what she did with the information.”
“Margaret Dansing. The same Margaret who told you about seeing me with Cain. The same Margaret whose daughter is a columnist with the Brahmin Post.” Mycah seethed. Paused. And reminded herself this was her mother. She couldn’t disrespect her even though, God knows, the woman couldn’t give a damn about the word respect when it came to Mycah. “How did you find out?”
“Dr. Luther’s office. The nurse there congratulated me on becoming a grandmother. Do you know the embarrassment you caused me when I had to pretend to know what she was talking about?” Cherise frowned. “Really, Mycah, I should’ve been the first person you told.”
“Because of what you did with the information when you did find out?” she snapped. “How could you, Mom? Did you even care about the damage you did? To me? To Cain and Devon? To Achilles? Did you even care that it wasn’t Cain’s baby? Or that people only believe it was. That’s all that mattered to you.”
“I didn’t say who fathered it,” she said calmly. “I let Margaret draw her own conclusions. And since she’d just seen you dining with Cain...” She shrugged a shoulder. “But yes, anyone else is better than people believing that man fathered our grandchild,” she bit out. “What were you thinking, Mycah?”
“I wasn’t thinking about you.”
“That much is obvious,” Laurence said, shaking his head. “What’s done is done. And you still get to keep your little job because Cain couldn’t very well fire the mother of his child and look good in the public eye. It all works out in the end and it’s for the best, if you ask me.”
“It’s for the best?” She stared at them. Gaped. Good God. She loosed a disbelieving laugh. She’d been protecting them all this time when they were ready to sacrifice her—her happiness, her well-being, her future—for themselves. “The best for who? You? You’re connected to the Farrells, but through the right Farrell. And I still work and support you with my ‘little job.’ Well, I hate to break it to you, but that ends here.”
“What are you talking about now, Mycah?” Cherise asked, leaning forward and picking up
a magazine off the table in front of her. “You’re being so dramatic about this, but like I told you before, you’ll see we’ve only ever wanted the best for you. Eventually, you’ll understand that.”
“Oh, I see more than you think now. My eyes are wide open.” She reached into her purse and withdrew a check she’d written out beforehand and set it on the table. “That’s a check that should be enough to cover your household bills for three months. I’d spend it wisely because after it’s gone, it’s the last money you’ll receive from me. I’m through supporting you.”
“What are you talking about, young lady?” Her father surged from the couch, his book tumbling unheeded to the floor.
“Just what I said. I’m done. I’ll continue to pay Angel’s tuition and any of her needs because she doesn’t deserve to be penalized, but the tuition will be paid directly to the school. As for you two, I suggest you actually start going into the Hill-Harper office or downsize or actually learn to live off a budget. Because I’m done allowing you to use me. This relationship is toxic, and I can no longer afford it—emotionally or financially. So you’re cut off.”
She turned and headed for the entrance to the family room, ignoring their indignant calling of her name. But at the last second, she pivoted, holding up her hand, palm out.
“One last thing. Achilles Farrell is going to be in my life. And not just as the father of my baby, but as my husband, if he’ll have me. And if you can’t accept that, then I’m sorry. I’m even sorrier that it’s a decision you’re making not to be in your grandchild’s life. Because I won’t have you disparaging my child’s father. If you can’t respect him, my choice of a husband and the father of my child, then you don’t have to be a part of that family. It will sadden me, but again, that’s your choice.”
With that, she left and didn’t look back.
She only looked forward.
Because only the future lay ahead.
Eighteen
“Is all this really necessary?”
Achilles scanned the huge office with the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sitting area with the dark brown couch, matching chairs, rug and coffee table. Black, glossy built-in cabinets surrounded a wide, flat-screen television on one wall, and a large, curving glass desk with a bank of computers that, admittedly, had him drooling, encompassed only half the space. There was plenty left for him to add whatever he wanted, because yes, this was his office.
On the executive floor.
He’d finally made the move.
But it wasn’t the furniture, computers and amazing view that had him scowling at Kenan and Cain.
No, that honor belonged to the streamers, balloons, food and people crowded into the office.
“Yes, it’s necessary. You’re finally out of the basement and up here with your brothers. Now stop glaring at us. This is a no-glare zone,” Kenan commanded, passing him a cup of—something red.
“Not to mention, you hired two people to help you work on your game and finish it. Think about that. You officially have the first two employees for your new company. Even before you have a name for it,” Cain said, sipping from his own cup.
“I have a name for it.” Achilles scrubbed a hand over his hair, then slid it in his pants pocket. “Farrell Brothers Incorporated.”
Cain and Kenan stared at him. Then slow, wide smiles lit both of their faces.
“I love it.” Cain nodded.
“It’s fucking perfect,” Kenan agreed. “Now you really have to drink up, because we have to toast to Farrell Brothers Inc.”
Achilles lifted the cup—still didn’t know what he was drinking—to his mouth when movement from the doorway caught his eye. He glanced up...and froze.
Mycah.
It’d been four days since she’d left his apartment, and fuck, it might as well as have been four months. Four years.
Or four minutes.
He missed her.
Like an amputated limb, she was gone—he knew she was gone—but he felt her phantom presence in the living room where they’d made love, in the bedroom where he’d told her about his past, in the kitchen where he’d fed her.
Because they were on different floors at work, it’d been easy to avoid her, and he hadn’t attended the press conference. Hadn’t watched it, either. As it was, when she’d emailed him the date of the doctor’s appointment three weeks from now, he would need every day of that time to prepare himself to see her.
He hadn’t been ready for four days.
God, she was beautiful.
In another one of those pantsuits that were both professional and sexy as hell. What would she wear when she started showing? Excitement and greed spiked inside his chest, low in his gut, because dammit, he wanted to know. Wanted to be there with her in the mornings when she dressed, to caress and hold her belly, wait for their baby’s movements under his palm.
But she didn’t want that.
At least not with him.
He drew back, mentally and physically.
Glancing around, he noted the looks thrown her way and heard an undercurrent of whispers. His gut tightened, and he remembered her worry about the hit to her reputation. Anger ignited within him. Yes, she’d broken his heart, but damn if she deserved this.
“Mycah.” He held up a hand, waved her inside. “Come on in. Grab a plate and something to drink.”
Relief flashed across her face, and she briefly smiled, stepping into the office. He spied the two gift boxes, one medium-sized and the other smaller, she carried as she neared, and his gaze flickered from the packages to her.
“I’m sorry to just drop in without...”
“Mycah, you don’t need to apologize,” he murmured. “Everyone’s welcome.”
“Right.” An emotion that could’ve been hurt flickered in her eyes, but before he could ascertain it, she handed him the larger gift box. “For your office, and a belated gift for your new company.”
Setting his cup down behind him, he accepted the present. For several seconds, he just held it, staring down at the gaily wrapped package. Finally, he lifted the top and pushed aside the tissue paper, revealing a framed picture.
No, concept art.
From his video game.
Speechless, the bottom part of the box dropped from his hand, unnoticed.
It wasn’t one of the images he’d shown her, but something completely original that she must’ve had commissioned.
She’d plucked the vision straight out of his head. His teenage hero, wearing a hoodie, jeans and sneakers and bearing a shield and sword, stood on an inner-city street, the landscape of old buildings, cracked streets and dim shadows surrounding him. And in the distance, a dark castle, thick forest and maze.
He wrenched his gaze from the framed art to the woman in front of him.
“I commissioned it after you showed me your video game. I thought it would make great cover art for the game. But you’re under no obligation to use it. I just wanted you to know I’m one hundred percent invested in your dreams—in you. And...” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and his fingers clenched around the frame, needing to thumb the sensual flesh free. “This is for you, too.”
She handed him the second box.
“I’ll hold that for you,” Cain murmured, taking the art.
Reluctantly, he turned it over, his heart thudding in his chest as he accepted the smaller gift. He didn’t hesitate this time to open the present. Lifting the top, he removed the tissue paper, and as he stared down at the tiny item nestled inside, shock and then joy exploded in his chest.
He picked up the yellow onesie and read the bright green stitching on it aloud. “My daddy makes heroes.”
Around them, a couple of gasps and more murmurs filled the room before it fell into total silence. But he didn’t care. All of his attention remained focused on her. The woman who had just announced in fro
nt of his brothers and an office full of employees that he was the father of their baby.
“I know I asked for time, but over the last few days I’ve realized that time can be our greatest gift...and our worst enemy. I don’t want another day to go by with you believing that I’m ashamed to declare to whoever will listen that you’re the man who will teach our child what it is to be strong, respected and good. You’re the man who will raise our baby with me, guide him or her, show them what true character is, what kindness is. Show them what it is to be loved. Because you’ve shown their mother all of those things. And I’m sorry I ever let you doubt it. I’ve allowed fear to run my life for too long, and I want to step out on that limb with you. Please forgive me, Achilles.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” And there wasn’t. Because he’d forgiven her as soon as she’d left the penthouse.
“Yes, there is. I hurt you. But, Achilles, if you offer me your heart again, I’ll take care of it. These past few days—” she shook her head, spreading her hands wide, palms up “—they’ve been so empty because you haven’t been in them. My job, my family—they’re all important. But not more important than my love for you. The life I want to build with you and our baby. Our family. I love you. So much more than I thought it possible to love a person. I don’t just want you in my life, I need you. And I would be proud to stand beside you, with you, and claim you as mine, to be claimed as yours. If you’ll let me.”
Before the last word finished, he swallowed it with his mouth, tasted it on his tongue. Once more, he crushed those curls in his fingers, having missed their rough silk texture almost as much as he missed the flavor of her, the perfect fit of her pressed against him.
“I never rescinded my heart, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “It’s always been yours.”
