by Jacie Lennon
“I get it,” I say with a sigh.
“Got anyone else who can take you?”
“Nah. I’ll just bus it.”
“Like hell I’m letting you get on that bus.” Mooney scowls at me, and I shrug.
“No other choice.”
“What about Drake?” he asks, and I cringe.
I’ve never told Mooney the truth about Drake and what I went through as his girlfriend. If he knew, he wouldn’t even ask me that. But I would rather lick the floor of a New York subway station than ask Drake if I could bum a ride.
“Nah, I think he’s busy.”
“You’ll have to reschedule,” Mooney says with a tap to his steering wheel. “I can take you another time.”
“Okay,” I say as we pull up at Mooney’s Bar and get out.
I walk in the side door with him and plop into his roller chair, sticking my feet up on the desk, sighing in relief. All I want to do is take a nap. I flip my phone around in my hands, staring at it. There is one person I could call. I don’t know if he would drive out here and take me. I would be late anyway, but it beats missing the appointment.
Before thinking too hard about it, I have the phone open and his name brought up, hitting Call and bringing it to my ear.
It rings three times, and right before I think it’s going to go to voice mail, the phone clicks on.
“Hello?” His voice washes over me, deep and sexy, and I feel an ache start between my thighs.
God, these hormones are getting to me.
“Hey, um, Brock?” I ask even though I know it’s him. I called him, for fuck’s sake. But I would know his voice anywhere.
The way he spoke to me that night, gruff and no-nonsense, turned me on. Still does to this day, if I’m being honest. I’ve played back that night more times than I care to imagine during my alone times.
“Yeah. What do you need?” He pauses, and my heart races.
I don’t know why, but I think I might be upset if he refuses to pick me up.
“Hey, uh, so I’ve got that appointment today that I need to get to. My ride had something come up. Do you think you could take me?”
The silence stretches between us for so long that I check my phone to make sure he didn’t hang up on me.
“When?”
“Right now. I mean, it’s at four thirty, so even if you left now, we would still be late. If you can’t, I understand. It’s not that big of a—”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Where are you?” he cuts me off, and I smile.
My eyes fill with tears a little, but I blink them away. This crying has to be hormone-related.
“Mooney’s,” I say, and I can hear the sound of a car door opening.
“Okay. Be ready to hop in, in case any Lions spot me.”
Oh fuck. I didn’t even think about that. It’s not safe for him to be in Loredo. I’m so selfish that I didn’t stop to consider that.
“Fuck, wait. No, you can’t come here,” I say, and he clears his throat.
“Already on my way.”
The call ends, and I bring the phone away from my ear, staring at it.
I try not to read too much into him coming all the way here to take me to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe he’s not the asshole I think he is. I know he has beef with Drake, but they don’t openly talk about it. It is one of the reasons I picked him for a revenge fuck though. I thought I’d won that night. The sex was amazing, but the outcome hasn’t been too great.
I climb out of the chair and make my way into the bar area, greeting a few old-timers who are here every day.
“Hey, I found a ride,” I tell Mooney as I sidle up next to him at the register.
He studies me for a moment and narrows his eyes. “Who?”
“Just a friend.”
“Would this be the same friend I found you with the other day in my office? The one I told you is in trouble with the Lions?” His eyes narrow even further, and I roll my eyes.
“You aren’t my dad, Moon.”
“I know. Thank fuck. You need someone like me in your life, not that degenerate asshat.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” I say with a smile, and he snorts.
Mooney is my mom’s brother, and since I can remember, he has hated my dad with a passion, for the way he’s never cared about anyone but himself. Mooney blames him for my mother’s death, getting her addicted to drugs.
When I was younger, my mom was perfect in my eyes. She could do no wrong. But as I got older and started seeing things for what they were, suddenly, her long naps, days she didn’t come home, and partying weren’t as fun as I’d originally thought.
“Be safe, P. You know I love you,” he says, giving me a look, and I smile, patting his arm.
“Love you too, Moon. I’ll be back here after for my shift.”
“Don’t be late,” he says with a fake growl, and I shove him a little.
I have been a waitress at Mooney’s since I was fourteen, except for when I was at Almadale. So far, I’ve managed to save quite a bit. Originally, it was for college and getting the hell out of this godforsaken town, but now, it’s allotted to something else. Someone else. I glance down, not surprised that my flat stomach hasn’t changed.
But it will.
Once I’m back in Mooney’s office, I glance out the side door. Still no Brock. Checking the time, I see it’s only been twenty minutes since my phone call.
My eye catches on a picture frame hanging on the wall. It’s something I’ve seen a thousand times, but now, I look at it with more intent. My mom in a hospital bed, Mooney smiling beside her as she holds me. She looks happy, a smile lighting up her entire face, and I run my fingers over the glass, trying to feel that same happiness. All I feel right now is scared. Scared of the future, of the unknown. Scared that this child could be Drake’s.
But weirdly, I don’t feel that same fear when I think of Brock being the father. I can’t figure it out either. Maybe everything I think about him is a rumor. His actions certainly don’t fit the way I’ve always seen him.
Cracking the door open again, I see Brock’s black SUV pull into the opening of the alleyway. I look both ways before darting out and across the alley to open the passenger door. I’m embarrassed by the visceral reaction I have every time I see him. His piercing gray eyes seem like they look right through me. He’s the picture of ease, sitting back against the door, one hand draped across the top of the steering wheel, while he looks at me standing here like an idiot, staring.
I make eye contact with him, noting his smug smile, and it snaps me out of my stupor.
“Sorry,” I say, climbing up in the vehicle, buckling my seat belt while studiously not looking at him.
“It’s fine.” His voice sends a shiver over me. I am not used to this.
Maybe there’s a reason I picked him that night over anyone else. A reason that doesn’t have anything to do with his beef with Drake. Maybe it had everything to do with what I wanted. All of that messy brown hair and penetrating eyes, hard muscles, and big hands all over me. And suddenly, I want it again.
I squeeze my legs together, my core throbbing, and try to think unsexy thoughts.
Drake.
Drake’s dad.
Loredo Lions.
Still not working.
“Where to?” Brock hits the gas, gunning away from Mooney’s, and I work on finding the address on my phone.
“It’s a clinic on the edge of town. Head toward the bridge,” I say while scrolling through my Contacts. I saved the address under the number.
“What kind of clinic?” he asks, and I cock my head toward him.
“The kind that specializes in babies,” I say sarcastically, and he pauses for a moment.
“I know that,” he shoots back. “Do you have insurance?”
“Is that any of your business?” I start to get defensive and stare out the window.
“I figure it’s my business now,” he says, and I look back at him. He has one elbow
up on the window ledge, his one hand still effortlessly thrown over the steering wheel.
Unsexy thoughts. Unsexy thoughts.
“It might not be.”
“It is until we find out it’s not.”
“This is confusing,” I say with a laugh, finally breaking the tension that was building. “Why are you being nice about this?”
“As opposed to what?” he asks, briefly glancing over at me before focusing on the road again.
“I don’t know. Yourself? You were kind of a dick to me freshman year. I didn’t think you would take the news this great,” I say. “Oh, turn here.” I indicate the next street, and he turns, drumming his fingers on the top of the dash.
“I didn’t exactly take it great. No guy wants to hear that news before he’s officially ready for it.” He doesn’t address his actions toward me while I was at Almadale, not that I expected him to.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So why are you being nice? Damn, are you always this hard to get a read on?” I throw my hands up.
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t have much to say.”
I get it; I do. What can he say right now? It’s such a weird situation for both of us.
We ride in silence as I watch the map progress on my phone.
“It’s just ahead.”
He doesn’t say anything, but as I point to where he should turn, he keeps driving.
“Wait, that was it. Go back.” I look at him, and he has his lips pressed together. “Brock?”
“Did you see that place? It’s a shithole.”
“So? Not all of us have money or basic health insurance. What else am I going to do?” I shrug.
“Lucky for you, one half of the possible father duo has money,” he says sarcastically, tapping something on his phone, and ringing comes through the speakers.
“Wait, no. I’m not asking you to do this.” I try to reach and press End Call, but he blocks my hand.
“I know. I’m doing this for a possible Montgomery child.”
I stare at him, but he refuses to look my way as the phone continues to ring.
“Montgomery Medical and Women’s Clinic. How may I assist you?” the voice says over the speakers.
This time, my eyes widen, and I start to put the pieces together. “Your family owns a clinic?”
He shakes his head and starts to speak, “Hey, Patty. It’s Brock.”
I can only sit there, dumbfounded.
He’s on a first-name basis with the front-desk person at a women’s clinic? How many times has he had pregnancy scares?
“Brock, it’s been a while,” she says, and I can hear the warmth in her voice.
“Miss you too, Patty,” he says, and I think I might be in the twilight zone.
“What can I help you with?”
“I have a … someone here who needs to see Dr. Welsch.”
“Hold on.” The speakers play soft elevator music until Patty’s voice comes back on. “She said she will stay open past five o’clock if you need it.”
“Perfect. We’ll be there.”
“I’ll get the paperwork together,” Patty says before they say their good-byes and hang up.
“Your family owns a clinic?” I repeat and stare at him again.
“No, my dad donated a lot of money to open it, and they named it after our family.”
“Oh,” I say because that makes sense. Why didn’t I think of that first? “But you know the people who work there?”
“I make it my business to know the business. It will be mine one day.”
“You said you don’t own the clinic.”
“No, but we donate each year and hold a fundraiser for it. We are involved.”
“Hmm.”
“What does hmm mean?” he asks, looking sideways at me.
“I didn’t expect it from you.”
“What? That I’m not an asshole?” He chuckles, and I let a snort slip.
“Well … yes.”
“I am, make no mistake. I fight hard for my family, and if you get on my wrong side, I’m not on yours. But now, it seems you might be part of my family.”
I suck in a deep breath at his words. What is that like? To have someone so in your corner that they would go to war for you each and every time? The Montgomerys are a lucky family in more ways than one. They have money, but they also have each other. More than I can say.
“But you don’t know for sure yet. I don’t know for sure yet.” And I know better than most how something can come back to bite you in the ass. I’m going to view this as a favor and not something to get used to. The way my luck runs, this baby isn’t a Montgomery, and I need to get my mind wrapped around it now.
“Well, until we know …” Brock says with a shrug, leaving the rest of the sentence unfinished.
9
Peyton
“Peyton Rossman?”
I look up at the nurse who called my name and then glance at Brock. He’s thumbing through a magazine, and when I don’t immediately move, he looks up at me.
“That’s you,” he says, flipping the page of his magazine.
“I know, smart-ass. You’ll be fine out here?”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back, throwing the magazine back on the table and grabbing his phone from his pocket. “I’ll get some reading done.”
“You read?”
“Yep, I’ve been able to since I was maybe four.”
I lightly punch his arm as I laugh, but then I freeze. I’m not sure I should be touching him. He glances down to his arm and then back up, face unreadable.
“You know what I mean,” I say and stand, the nurse glancing back and forth between us.
“Yeah, I read.”
Not knowing what else to say, I turn and follow the nurse into the hallway.
“Does he want to come?” she asks.
I shake my head. Better not to open that can of worms. Brock isn’t my boyfriend. He isn’t my anything.
“Okay. I’m going to get your weight,” she says and motions for me to stand on the scale. Once she’s weighed me, she shows me to an exam room, where she takes my blood pressure and asks me about my last period and sexual history. She leaves me with a cup that I have to pee in and tells me the restroom is around the corner.
I’ve known this is real this entire time, but you truly don’t know what real is until you are holding a plastic cup that you are about to pee in to confirm. Suddenly, I’m terrified of that positive. Of the doctor telling me I’m pregnant and asking questions. Asking what I’m planning on doing, going forward.
I do my business, leave the cup in a special little door for the lab tech to take, and head back to the examination room.
I wonder if I should have let Brock come back.
But that would have been strange since I don’t know where we stand, and he probably doesn’t want to know that I have to pee in a cup and whatever else I have to get done.
“Peyton?” There is a knock on the door, and once I confirm it’s me, the doctor sticks her head in. She shuffles a few papers around and closes a file that I assume is mine. “How are you today?”
She gives me an easy smile, and I instantly feel comfortable with her.
“As good as can be expected,” I say, and she moves to sit in the roller chair positioned across from me.
“So, the news you probably already know is, you are indeed pregnant.” She smiles, and when I don’t say anything, she continues, “Now, we need to discuss your plan, going forward.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you thought about what you want to do?” she asks softly. “You have options. I’m going to assume with your age that this wasn’t planned?”
I shake my head, and she smiles in sympathy.
“I haven’t decided yet what I want to do. I initially wanted to get rid of it, but now, I’m not so sure.” I think back to the picture in Mooney’s office, my mom smiling and holding me in the hospital bed. In some way, I cons
ider this child already here, already mine, and I can’t imagine not holding it.
“Let’s get some bloodwork done and get you in for an ultrasound to determine gestation. We can move on from there.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling hollow.
I wish I weren’t alone in this room, making decisions. I desperately want someone to hold my hand right now. My mind drifts to the waiting room, where Brock is. I never in a million years could have dreamed up a scenario where I would be sitting in a clinic, pregnant, with Brock Montgomery out in the waiting room. But here I am.
I get my bloodwork done, and they send me back out to the waiting room to wait for the ultrasound. I sit beside Brock and blow out a long breath.
“This is weird,” I say, and he cocks his head at me. “I never thought I would be here.”
“In a clinic?”
“Pregnant. Two possible fathers and you being one of them. I hated you, you know.”
“Hated?”
“Yeah, past tense now.”
“Yeah, I hated you too,” he agrees, and we sit in silence.
Brock’s phone pings, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he frowns and answers the text. His eyes dart back and forth, reading whatever he’s looking at. He bites down on his lower lip for a moment as he focuses and then releases it just as quickly. I remember the way his lips felt on mine, the way his teeth nipped my lips. The way he thrust in and out slowly, languidly, as if we had all the time in the world.
“What?” he says, and I suck in a sharp breath as I realize he caught me staring.
“Nothing.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but I’m called again, this time for my ultrasound.
I stand and wipe my palms on my pants, walking a few steps before stopping and glancing back. “Do you want to come for the ultrasound?” I don’t say what’s on my mind.
I don’t want to be alone.
He sits there for a moment, looking undecided, and right before I turn and continue to walk, he rises.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says gruffly.
Without another word to each other, we follow the nurse to a room. A table and a chair sit in the middle, very doctorish-looking equipment sitting on the other side of the table.
