by Jacie Lennon
“You passed out in the car with blood all over your face and clothes. I was terrified, thinking you’d been hurt.”
“Was I?” He furrows his brow, trying to sit up a little.
“Slow,” I remind him again, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“I’m not that weak. I’m pretty sure I can sit up by myself.”
He pushes up on his elbows, and I stand to grab a few pillows and tuck them behind him as he rises the rest of the way up. The covers drop down, revealing his bare torso, and I drink him in, appreciating the sight as much as I’m thankful that it wasn’t his blood.
“Where are my clothes?” he asks, touching his abs with one hand while looking down.
“When we brought you in, we thought you were hurt, so we sort of stripped you,” I say with a laugh.
I watch as he yanks the blanket up and peers under and then looks back at me.
“Even my underwear?” He chuckles.
“Bodhi was convinced they had cut your dick off, and that’s why nowhere else was hurt,” I say with a shrug. “Couldn’t stop him.”
“Did you even try?” he asks, sitting back against the pillows.
I hold up my finger and thumb close together and wink at him before making a serious face.
“I wanted to make sure it was there as well,” I say.
Brock laughs and then looks toward the water on the table, so I grab it. I can’t help myself as I reach up to smooth his hair from his forehead. His gray eyes meet mine and hold, the unspoken words between us almost stifling me.
“What I said before, I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” I lean forward, holding his water with a straw and trying to stick it in his mouth while he bats it away.
“Damn it, woman,” he says, and I laugh. “I can do that myself.”
“You need to drink some water.”
“I need to tell you what’s on my mind,” he says, leveling me with a look that has my laughter dying and me setting the drink back down.
Just then, Bodhi pops his head in the door, and Brock’s attention is diverted, a smile stealing over his face as he sees his brother.
“You’re awake,” he says, walking into the room. Bodhi strides over and ruffles my hair before skirting around the bottom of the bed and launching himself on the other side of Brock. “Dude, put some clothes on. There’s a lady present,” Bodhi says, eyeing Brock’s naked torso.
“I would’ve had clothes on if you hadn’t strip-searched me,” Brock mutters, giving Bodhi a side-eye. “Pretty sure Peyton has already seen me naked though.”
“I have,” I confirm seriously. “Bodhi, do you know where babies come from?” I ask, and Brock chuckles.
“Shut up,” Bodhi growls, turning over on his side and propping his head up on one hand. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got run over by a truck,” Brock says.
“Did you? We need to know what happened,” Bodhi says.
“Hey,” comes from behind me.
I turn to see Corbin and Landry looking in the door. Then, it cracks open to reveal Chester and Trixie behind them.
“Come on. Brock is about to give us all the deets,” Bodhi says, and I laugh.
“Are you a twelve-year-old girl?” I smirk at him, and he flips me off, making me laugh harder. It feels good to be laughing after so much worry.
“Are you hungry?” Chester asks. “Ms. Anderson is going to bring some food up.”
“God, yes. I haven’t eaten in two days,” Brock says, and I frown.
“Probably why you passed out,” I say, and he grimaces.
“That, along with running full-out for two miles.”
“Tell us everything,” Landry says, plopping down on the end of Brock’s bed, and he gives her a surprised look. “What? I’m putting aside our differences for story time,” she says.
“I did apologize,” Brock points out.
Bodhi turns to tell me about the way he, Brock, and Corbin treated Landry like she was an accomplice when her mom, Chester’s ex-wife, was stealing money from the Montgomerys.
“There’s still some bad blood between Brock and Landry, but I think they will eventually work it out. Landry is part of the family now,” Bodhi says, finishing his story before turning to Brock. “Now, I want to know what happened to you. Leave nothing out.”
Brock spends the next thirty minutes telling us about what happened from the time he was arrested to when he ran up on our car at the emergency turnaround. We sit with shocked expressions, especially when he talks about the massacre at the Lions’ compound. I’m not sure how the Soltorres will cover it up, but I know they can, and that scares the hell out of me.
“Wait, so Drake is dead?” Bodhi sits in shock, his mouth hanging open.
No one else is talking. It feels weird for Brock to be telling us a story like this, and my stomach roils when I think about how all of this happened because of me.
“It sure as hell looked like it, but I wasn’t waiting around to see,” Brock says with a stiff shrug. His eyes meet mine, and there are as many unanswered questions in his gaze as I’m sure he sees in mine. “I still don’t understand what went down. I don’t get why Connor was there, but I saw his dad as we were leaving, and I’m assuming it had something to do with his family occupation?”
“Yeah. We had a meeting with them, and they are scary as fuck,” Bodhi says.
“They wanted to take over Loredo territory, and I guess you being taken spurred them to action. Either way, I’m not going to question it,” I say, and there’s a round of murmurs, agreeing with me.
Brock leans further back into his mountain of pillows and runs a hand over his stomach, where it growls. As if on cue, Ms. Anderson walks in with a tray, tutting at everyone to give Brock space.
“He needs some food and air, and he can’t get that with you all gathered so close around him,” she says, setting the tray on the bedside table beside me and then waving her hands around at everyone.
Brock’s hungry face tracks the tray, and I decide to put him out of his misery, picking up the plate that has a gourmet-looking grilled cheese and side of soup and crackers. I set it in his lap as everyone else starts to file out, saying their good-byes—everyone, except for Bodhi, who leans across Brock and nabs a cracker from the tray.
“You too, Bodhi Trent Montgomery,” Ms. Anderson says as she slaps at his wrist, and he looks at her, wounded.
“I’m hungry too,” he says, and she narrows her eyes.
“Then, take yourself to the kitchen, where the food is.”
Bodhi scoots off the bed, making a wide berth around all of us as he chomps down on the cracker. Ms. Anderson leans down and smooths Brock’s hair back, a smile on her face and I think maybe a tear in her eye.
“It’s good to have you back,” she says. Then, she turns swiftly and leaves the room, shutting the door on her way out.
I watch Brock eat for a moment before deciding it’s a little creepy, so I stand and put my hands to my lower back, pushing in and working out the kinks from sitting beside him for so long.
“Come on,” Brock says, patting the bed beside him, and I sigh with relief. His bed is probably what angels sleep on, huge and fluffy with no shortage of covers or pillows.
I snuggle in beside him, and he sets his now-empty plate on the tray and turns toward me. He drags one finger across the middle knuckles of my hand that’s resting on his stomach, my head tucked onto his shoulder, and I listen to him breathe.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, and my head rises and falls as he takes a deep breath.
“I’ve been trying to tell you something,” he replies, and I rise to look at him. “You first,” he says, and I push up, capturing his mouth with mine.
I kiss him for a few seconds, deflecting the nerves in my stomach. He brings his opposite hand up, thrusting it through the hair close to my ear and holding me to him, deepening the kiss and pressing inside my mouth with his tongue. Finally, I place my hands against hi
s chest and exert a little pressure, breaking our contact and sucking in a breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
I fully sit up beside him, crossing my legs and placing my hands on my knees before giving him my attention. I can’t be touching him for this. I don’t know if he will be upset with me or relieved. Maybe he doesn’t want to know, but it’s something I need to tell him.
“I didn’t tell you about the paternity test until I gave you the swab because I wasn’t sure I was going to find out. Even once the test was done, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. It would make things more or less complicated, depending on who turned out to be the dad. But now …” I bite my lip and look away for a moment, but Brock props himself up and grabs my hand.
“I know. Drake told me. Before … everything,” he says, and I look back at him.
“That wasn’t my goal—for him to tell you that. I thought, if I gave him me, it would prompt him to let you go, but that’s not exactly what happened. God, this feels weird to talk about now that he’s … you know.”
Brock loops his fingers with mine. There goes the not touching.
“It doesn’t change anything,” Brock says, his mouth set in a serious line, and I look away again.
“What?”
“It doesn’t change things. I don’t care who the biological father is. That’s what I was attempting to say before—when you asked if I was in this for the baby or you, and I said both. I was wrong. At first, I was going to be there for my child because it deserves that much. I wasn’t going to be a deadbeat dad. I take care of my family. But along the way, I started to care for you too. So, saying both was a cop-out to your question because, yes, this child brought us together, but I don’t want to stay together for that reason. The possibility of the two of you being taken from me put it in perspective that you are my family now. I want to make a family with you, not only with the child. I want you.” He ends the sentence on a whisper, leaning forward to rest his forehead on mine.
“I want that too,” I whisper back.
“Good. So, if you agree, the baby will never be known as anyone other than a Montgomery.”
I look at him, reaching with my free hand to grab the paper burning a hole in my back pocket, placing it in his lap. I can see the laboratory logo at the top, where I haphazardly folded it.
“I agree … because that’s the whole thing I’ve been trying to tell you. The baby is yours.”
Epilogue
Peyton
April—Spring Semester
“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” Brock asks, his fingers running in circles over my bare belly, and I’m twitching because it tickles.
“Stop that,” I say, batting his hand away, but he brings it right back, continuing the strokes with a smirk on his face. My other hand extracts a chip from the bag right beside me, making it rattle, and I moan as I put the chip in my mouth. “I honestly have no idea what it is. Do you wish we had found out? I still have the envelope.”
“Nope. I’m all about the surprise,” Brock says as his phone chimes in his pocket. He pulls it out and reads the text message. “Dad wants to see us.”
“Both of us?” I ask, brushing my hands together, and he gets off the bed and comes around, putting both hands out to help me up.
“Both of us,” he confirms as I wiggle my way to the edge of the bed and push my body to where I’m sitting.
I’m huge. My stomach gets in the way of everything, and I’m frequently out of breath. Thank goodness I’m thirty-nine weeks already. I grunt as Brock hauls me to stand, and I adjust my tank top so that it covers my stomach.
“Want me to carry you?” Brock asks, and I laugh.
“Uh, no.” I put up a hand, stopping him from getting any closer. “We don’t need you to throw your back out.”
“You barely weigh anything,” he says, rolling his eyes at my silliness.
He’s been wonderful, overprotective, and absolutely smothering this entire pregnancy, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. I follow him down the back stairway; the large, open windows allow me to see the pool from both levels, and it looks amazing. I might have to take a dip in it once we see what Chester wants.
“Come in,” Chester says as soon as he sees us standing in his study doorway, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk, across from where he’s sitting.
I sink onto the chair and lean back, thankful to get the weight off my feet, while Brock takes the seat next to me.
“How are you feeling?” Chester is smiling at me, and I smile back.
I’ve made myself at home here this year, moving some of my stuff from Almadale into the mansion, staying here on the weekends. And Chester has become like a father to me, seeing as my own wasn’t much of one. I envy Brock and Bodhi for having him their entire lives.
“I’m good. Gigantic but good,” I say with a smile.
“Good. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.” He leans forward, clasping his hands on his desk. “I wanted to talk to you two about something. Brock is, as you know, going to be interning at Montgomery Properties over the summer, and I was originally going to send him to my new expansion in Florida. However, with everything that has happened, I think the best thing now would be to keep him around here. So, now, my goal is to keep you here as well.” Chester smiles at me, and I laugh.
“Pretty sure I’m sticking around for the time being,” I say, rubbing one hand over my swollen belly.
The baby kicks where I’m rubbing, and I grin, reaching over for Brock’s hand to put it on top of where I felt it.
“I’ve been in contact with the board at Almadale. As a large supporter of the school and a board member, I have talked to your teachers and found out that you have a knack for numbers. I’d like to offer you an internship in my financial department and help you pay for college, if that’s something you would like to do.”
I suck in a breath and stare at him, eyes wide, and Brock’s hand stills where it sits on my belly.
“Are you serious?” I ask, knowing that he is but wanting to hear it from his mouth.
“Very serious. It doesn’t have to be this summer. I know you’ll be busy, but it’s there whenever you want to take it.”
“I would love that,” I tell Chester, wanting to launch myself over the desk.
Technically, yes, it’s a handout, but it’s something that will further my education and set me on the right path, and I’d be an idiot not to accept.
“It’s set then. We can talk more when you’re ready to jump in,” Chester says. Then, he turns his attention to Brock. “You and I have gone back and forth on your internship, and as much as I want you to work your way up and earn it, I know you are chomping at the bit to learn everything. I wouldn’t usually do this—and I’m not doing this because you are my son, but because you now have a family to support—but you will be going in with me, learning what I do. How to negotiate, fix problems, get the most out of your money while still maintaining the integrity that Montgomery Properties is known for. You will take this company over someday, and I’m going to make sure that you are worthy of it. So, get all your playing out in the next month because once you graduate, you are hitting the ground running.”
I expect to see Brock looking as serious as Chester at this moment, but he’s not. He’s wearing a pleased expression on his face as he quickly stands, leaning over the desk with his hand out, and I watch them shake.
“You won’t be sorry, Dad,” Brock says.
“I’d better not be. And that’s Mr. Montgomery when we are on site. Start practicing now.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Montgomery,” Brock says with a little salute before turning and holding both hands out to hoist me up. “Time to celebrate,” he whispers to me, and a flush rises in my cheeks.
“I can hear you,” Chester says, his tone droll, and I’m pretty sure my flush deepens.
“Well, quit listening. This is a private conversation,” Brock says back, not looking at his dad.
He
pulls me up effortlessly and then wraps his arms around me in a hug. I bury my face in his shoulder, so I don’t have to stare at his dad, who just heard a mildly sexual sentence come out of his son’s mouth. Yeah, he knows we have sex. I have a beach ball on my front. But I would rather not talk about it with him.
“Uh, I don’t want to embarrass you,” Brock murmurs against my ear, “but are you by any chance pissing on the floor?”
I glance down to see water everywhere, running down my legs, and then I look back at Brock.
“Nope. I think my water broke,” I say calmly, as if this happens every day.
“Cool, cool,” Brock says, turning to his dad. “Hey, we are gonna head to the hospital. Can you call ahead for us? Also, let everyone else know.” At that, Brock turns me slightly, and with an arm around my waist, supporting me, he walks me from the study into the back hallway. “Wait here.” He runs into the kitchen and grabs a chair, dragging it into the hallway with a hand towel that he flaps in the air before laying it down on the seat. “Sit.”
I do what he said and watch, bewildered as he takes off down the hallway and skids around the stairs, feet pounding as he goes up them.
I glance up as Chester comes out of the study, frowning at me as I’m awkwardly sitting on a kitchen chair in the hallway.
“It’s gonna be fine. He will freak out for a while, but he will be fine,” he says with a chuckle before grabbing keys from the hook beside the garage door and reaching one hand out to help me up. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. I’m going to drive.”
“Thank you,” I say, one hand on my belly as I feel a small contraction start. This labor stuff doesn’t play around. “I don’t know that he would be able to.”
I’m sitting in the backseat of Chester’s Mercedes-Maybach when Brock comes barreling out of the door into the garage, bags in hand, ones I didn’t even know we had packed. It seems he’s thought of everything. He throws them in the front passenger seat and climbs in the back with me, holding another towel and a change of pants.
