The Seduction of Dylan Acosta

by Nia Forrester

  “But some of it was made up. Lies.”

  “So she lied,” Lauren said, her tone cavalier. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m afraid there’s more, Dylan.”

  Dylan gave a short bark of a laugh. “More? Isn’t that enough?”

  “Are you pregnant?” Lauren asked.

  Dylan bolted upright. Her heart was hammering against her ribs now. “Where did you hear that?” The only people who knew were Miri, Ava and Grant. And she would bet her life that none of them would breathe a single word unless maybe Grant told Jenn and then . . .

  “Someone took a picture of you leaving your doctor’s office and did some poking around and got confirmation. And then they checked with Stephanie who’s been feeding them information all along. And now they have a story.”

  “What story?” Dylan practically shrieked.

  Lauren sighed. “So looks like they revived the Ray angle. And apparently they’re going with you possibly being pregnant with his love-child. And since you haven’t been photographed with Mark for a long time, they’re speculating that he left you, and that’s what the fight between Ray and Mark was about ya-dah, ya-dah . . .”

  Dylan felt herself sag into the mattress. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. “And Stephanie gave this to them?”

  “Now that I don’t know,” Lauren said quickly. “All I know is they’ve been talking to her to fill in some holes all this time. And I guess they think they’ve got it all filled in.”

  The tone of Lauren’s voice, as casual as someone reciting the plot of their favorite soap opera, was almost chilling. Almost as though it had no consequence in the real world and for real people.

  Dylan could feel her hands beginning to shake. She’d done as Corey asked, staying out of the public eye, doing nothing other than living her life, and being careful to live it without her husband, no less. And still, they found ways . . . maybe there was never a strategy that would have worked. It only slowed them down; it didn’t stop the innuendo and odious speculation. She could feel herself becoming just something short of hysterical, her hands’ trembling travelling to her shoulders and arms until her entire body shook.

  “Dylan? Are you there?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “I called you because they’re running it in tomorrow’s paper. It’ll be on the stands and online at midnight tonight. I’m sorry . . .”

  Dylan hung up on her, not caring what she thought, wanting only to get as far away from those women and their mean, small lives as she possibly could. She had intuited a long time ago, one quiet night when she and Mark were home all alone that when she focused on him and on them, on their life together, things made sense. The insanity happened when she allowed herself to be seduced by shiny new things and glittery new people, not allowing herself to see what was so clear to her now.

  Now how the hell was she going to explain this to her husband? Things were just beginning to get back to normal, to the normal she would have had all along if she hadn’t been so swayed by the glitter that accompanied her new life. Now Mark would see this story and would learn that she’d hidden a pregnancy and he would wonder if maybe, maybe there was some truth to the implication that it might not be his.

  Picking up her phone again, she dialed Corey’s number and when he picked up repeated everything Lauren had shared with her. He listened almost without interruption and when she was done remained completely silent.

  “Corey!” she said, her voice shrill. “Tell me what I should do!”

  “Dylan, we talked about a lot of things,” he said finally, sounding distant and resigned. “But the decision to conceal a pregnancy from your husband? That one’s all on you.”

  And that was it.

  That, finally, was the moment when it began to sink in that all this time everyone had been looking out themselves. Lauren, Stephanie, and even Corey who was supposed to be looking out for his client—all of them were motivated by self-interest. Corey was looking out for his cash cow, not for Mark; not really. And she’d allowed him to convince her to withhold material information from her husband, convincing her it was part of some genius media strategy that would ‘save’ him when all it had been was a clever ruse.

  In listening to Corey she’d failed Mark yet again. She hadn’t trusted him to make his own decision based on what he valued most. She’d decided for him that his career should be that thing of most value, and bargained away their right to have a life like any other couple. She’d traded the right to hold her husband’s hand in public for the possibility that he might one day want to be a sportscaster on ESPN.

  Dropping the phone once again, Dylan ran down the hallway toward the bathroom, grasping her towel about her, falling to her knees and retching into the open toilet. She sat there for awhile, on the bathroom floor, wanting to cry but not being able to produce a single tear. At this point, they would be tears of self-pity and there was no time for that. Not now.

  She took a shower and brushed her teeth, then dressed and combed her hair, steeling her spine for the difficult conversations that were ahead of her. Then she called Miri and told her everything, watching as her sister-in-law let her head chin drop to her chest, knowing that she was just barely restraining herself from saying ‘I told you so.’

  “I need to borrow some clothes,” Dylan said. “A pair of jeans and a top, and then could you call Peter and Matt up here?”

  Miri looked at her. “What’re you planning to do?”

  “It’s ten-thirty now,” Dylan said. “I was thinking we’d wait until midnight and get a copy of the paper. And then I was going to have your brothers take me to Pittsburgh where Mark’s playing the Pirates.”

  Miri nodded. “Okay,” she said.

  Dylan tried to sleep, but for much of the drive she couldn’t. Matt and Peter were up front and she was alone in the backseat of her truck, leaning against the door, the offending newspaper on the floor at her feet. Miri had remained behind with her parents to explain everything to them when the news broke in earnest in the morning.

  She closed her eyes, listening to the hum of Matt and Peter’s voices, speaking Spanish. Occasionally she heard her name or Mark’s but she honestly didn’t much care what they were saying. When she told them back at the house several hours earlier, Peter had looked exasperated at first, and as he eyes fell to her stomach, his expression turned sympathetic. At least he seemed not to have given any serious consideration to the idea that the story about to be printed might be true. It was better that he think her a complete idiot than an adulterer who was making a fool out of his brother. Matt, who had always had a soft spot for Dylan had hugged her right away and told her he understood why she thought she was doing the right thing.

  That’s bullshit, man, Peter said. Then he looked directly at her. My brother loves you, with his whole heart. Holding nothing back. It’s about time you decide whether you love him the same way, Dylan.

  The ways in which she had failed Mark . . . Jesus, the list only grew longer every single day. If he wanted to leave her, if he wanted to be with someone else, like Patricia, she almost couldn’t blame him at this point.

  She must have drifted off at some point because when she opened her eyes again, the sky was gray and Dylan could see the first splashes of orange in the horizon. It was almost dawn. Peter had stopped at a Dunkin Donuts and shook her awake, asking whether she needed the bathroom, which she did. She used the ladies room while he went to the counter to order. In the truck, Matt, who had been driving earlier, slept.

  When she got out of the bathroom, Peter wordlessly handed her an orange juice and a warm sandwich and they got back on the road. Dylan ate, looking at the back of her brother-in-law’s head, thinking about how he’d dropped everything—how they both had—to help her fix the latest mess she’d gotten into. All along, they, her family, were the only ones she should have trusted. All the parties, the stupid little gatherings that she’d arranged, wondering guiltily whether she should even include them . . . she w
as embarrassed to think about it now.

  “How far away are we?” her voice croaked when she spoke.

  “Not too far. Less than a half hour, I think,” Peter said without looking back at her.

  He was angry at her again and would be for a long, long time. She couldn’t say she blamed him.

  “Peter,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I do love you brother,” she said. “I do love him with my whole heart. I’m holding nothing back.”

  “Except for the news that he’s about to be a father.”

  Well. That was entirely deserved. Dylan said nothing more until they arrived at the Crowne Plaza where the team was staying. They would be on their way to Baltimore to play the Orioles after tonight’s game. Given the hour, Dylan guessed that Mark was working out or would be shortly. Peter shook Matt awake when they’d parked and he stretched and yawned, looking around and taking in their surroundings.

  “So what now?” he asked rubbing his eyes.

  “I’ll get the manager or someone to let me into Mark’s room so I can wait for him. You two should get a room to get some sleep . . .”

  Peter shook his head. “We’ll get some sleep once we make sure you’ve found Mark.”

  Inside, it wasn’t nearly as easy as Dylan anticipated getting the manager to assent to letting her into Mark’s room. He explained that he wasn’t at liberty to let anyone in except for the registered guest unless that guest expressly gave him permission to do so. All he could do, he told her, was leave the message light on so that when Mark returned to his room he could call down and be told that she was waiting for him.

  So they left the message and got their own room, making it clear to the manager that when Mark returned, he could be told the room number. Once upstairs, Matt and Peter spread out fully-clothed, on one of the king-size beds, leaving the second one for her, even though she couldn’t begin to think about sleep. As she watched the sun rise in earnest, she listened to Matt and Peter’s snores and reached for the newspaper, allowing herself for the first time to look closely at the picture that accompanied the headline. But the headline itself was quite the attention-grabber.

  ‘More Drama!’ it declared in bold type, and underneath, ‘Acosta-Hernandez baby news?’

  The picture was of her leaving her doctor’s office with her head down. Dylan couldn’t recall why she was looking so somber. Perhaps she’d been looking for her car keys. But the story inside suggested that it was because her pregnancy was unplanned (true) and possibly with the man to whom she was not married (of course, false). It went on to say that she was spotted having lunch with an attorney friend (true) because she was wanted to ascertain her financial rights should she get dumped by her now completely fed up husband (false).

  Dylan had just finished with the story and set the paper aside when the knock on the door came. It was loud and insistent, and she could only imagine that Mark would be beside himself, wondering what tragedy could have brought her and his brothers to Pittsburgh. Taking a deep breath, Dylan went to open the door. Behind her, Matt and Peter stirred.

  Mark was in workout gear, a close fitting Lycra muscle shirt that was soaked through with perspiration and sweats. Dylan hugged him and let him hold her a moment, finally pulling away to lead him into the room.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes frantic. “Are my parents . . . is Miri . . ?”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Dylan said quickly.

  She put a hand on his arm and then removed it, keenly aware that once he saw the paper he might not want her anywhere near him, let alone touching him.

  Mark heaved a sigh of relief and then looked confused again, his eyes flitting over to the bed where his brothers were now sitting up, only partially awake.

  “So why . . ?”

  She handed Mark the newspaper, turned over to the back page, so he could read the sports headline. He looked at it for a few moments and slowly lifted his head so his eyes met hers. Dylan could already feel the beginnings of a good cry but took another deep breath. She could do her crying later because there was sure to be plenty of reason to.

  “Is it true?” he asked quietly.

  She couldn’t help it. All it took was those three words, and the tears spilled out onto her cheeks and began running in rivulets. She wiped them away, but they kept coming until she gave up and just let them flow.

  “No,” she shook her head emphatically. “No, Mark, it’s not true.”

  He bit in his lower lip and his brow furrowed. “So you’re not pregnant.”

  “Yes, I am, but I mean the part about it maybe being . . .”

  Mark sat up ramrod straight, his eyebrows raised. For a moment he said nothing but just stared at her. He exhaled then got up from his position on the bed and kneeled in front of her, taking both Dylan’s hands in his, and there were tears in his eyes as well.

  “Do we know each other so little?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “That you think I would ever believe that about you?”

  Dylan looked up at him, stunned. Again. She had underestimated him once again.

  Mark shook his head and turned her hands over so her palms were facing up. He pressed his lips to them, kissing them.

  “Dylan,” he said. “For you to think that I would ever . . .”

  “But I never told you I was pregnant, so maybe you would think it was because . . .”

  “Nothing would make me think that,” he said, and his dark, dark eyes were so steady as he stared into hers that all Dylan could do was dissolve into even more tears.

  “I never earned your trust,” she began.

  “How can you say that?” Mark asked, but there was a sad smile on his face. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from her face. “All of those long hours, when we talked on the phone before I signed my contract? When we fell asleep talking and I’d wake up to hear you still there, just breathing on the other end of the line?”

  Dylan smiled as well in spite of herself.

  “We talked about everything,” Mark said. “Do you remember? Things you told me? Things I told you? You became my best friend, Dylan. My best friend and my heart . . .”

  He opened her arms and rested them on his shoulders, leaning in to press his lips softly against hers. Then he pulled away and raised her shirt, just enough to expose her stomach and kissed her there too. He pressed his open palm against her, rubbing it from side to side and smiled.

  “I’m going to be a father?” he said grinning.

  Dylan nodded and braved another smile of her own. “Yes. I should have tol . . .”

  Mark cut her off by standing and took her hand.

  “Come,” he said. “We’ll go to my room so you can get some rest; we’ll let these two get some rest. We can talk when you wake up.”

  In Mark’s room, they said nothing more while he pulled the blinds, plunging the room into almost complete darkness. The bed, already unmade from his previous night’s sleep was soft, comfortable and smelled like him. When he led Dylan to it and gently pushed her back, sliding off her shoes, it was only moments before she felt herself begin to give in to sleep; sleep of a different kind than she’d had in the truck, real sleep. She was awake only long enough to hear Mark start the shower, but within moments the sound of the water sent her toward total mindless slumber.

  Dylan opened her eyes to the sight of her husband staring at her. His eyes were soft, and as soon as she opened hers, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile. There was a dull glow from a lamp across the room that was on, but the curtains were still drawn so she could not tell what time it was.

  “I need to pee,” Dylan said and he smiled wider.

  As she sat up, she realized that the sheet had been pulled down and her shirt pulled up. Mark had been touching her abdomen while she slept, probably as amazed as she was, to think that inside her a new little life had begun. One they’d made together.

  She used the bathroom and brushed her teeth with his toothbrush, looking at herself in the mirr
or. Her hair looked unkempt and wild, and her eyes had dark circles beneath them. How could he smile at her the way he had, with her looking like a crazy woman, with her having driven here like a crazy woman and dragging his brothers along for the ride? And beyond all of that, how could he smile at her at all when she’d kept something so important from him so deliberately and for so long?

  When Dylan walked back out into the bedroom, Mark was still in bed and she saw now that he was fully dressed in sweats with a t-shirt, socks on his feet. Glancing at the time, she saw that it was much later than she thought, just past two p.m. He would need to leave soon for the game and had probably just been waiting for her to wake up before heading over. She sat on the edge of the bed and Mark turned over onto his back, arms folded behind his head. His expression was unreadable, but not angry for sure, not even upset.

  “I’ve been nothing but trouble for you,” she said finally.

  Mark actually laughed at that, and then he leaned over to grab ahold of her shirt, tugging until she lay back and scooted closer to him so that her back was pressed against his chest.

  “Never a dull moment,” he said against her ear.

  “I can’t . . . I don’t understand why you’re not insanely pissed off at me,” she admitted.

  “I’m too happy about the baby,” he said shrugging. “Maybe I’ll get really angry later.”

  “Mark, I’m being serious.” She pulled out of his arms and sat up cross-legged facing him.

  “I had lunch with my brothers,” he said, his face serious. “While you were still asleep. They told me. About Corey and that stupid set-up you agreed to where you’d pretend not to be my wife . . .”

  “I never agreed to pretend not to be your wife,” Dylan said.

  Mark’s face grew serious then. “That’s what it amounted to in the end though, didn’t it? You pulled away from me in exchange for me getting . . . what?”