by Gage Grayson
“Well then, what is it?”
“Okay, so don’t get mad…”
My eyes narrow at Eric, and he takes a small step back away from the bar. Even Jessie takes a step back—just to be safe.
“Eric Timothy Mack, what did you do?”
My voice slowly begins to rise because, given how this conversation has started, I’m a hundred percent certain I know what he’s about to tell me.
“So, Dylan gave me a call. And he was talking about coming on back down here to see you again. He found out that the whole merger thing was just some big giant ploy by his dad and—”
“Eric,” I’m trying to keep my cool, but it’s growing increasingly more difficult.
“Yes?”
“What did you tell Dylan?”
“Oh, that. Well, I may have let it slip that you’re pregnant with his baby.”
“You what!?”
I yell so loudly that everyone in the bar stops what they’re doing to stare at me. One of the waitresses even drops a tray of drinks in surprise, shattering them on the floor with a booming crash.
“You know, I’m going to handle that mess. You two enjoy your talk.”
Jessie quickly exits stage left, leaving us to take care of the mess that I, technically, caused.
“Look, I fucked up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spill. I thought he already knew.”
“Of course, he didn’t know, because I haven’t fucking told him!”
“Well you should have! The baby is his, too, Brooke.”
Eric’s rising voice matches my own, but his words hit a cord that immediately has me falling back and regrouping.
I want to be mad at Eric, but, ultimately, this is all on me. And, though I’d hate to say it, Eric does have a very valid point. Dylan does deserve to know the truth about his baby, just as Henry deserves to know the truth about his grandchild.
“I’m sorry, Eric. I didn’t mean to snap.”
Eric looks at me, perplexed for a moment, and then smugly smiles. Now I want to take it back.
“Well, apology accepted.”
“Just tell me everything from the beginning.”
“Okay. So, Dylan gave me a call and turns out that this whole merger was just one big ploy by his father to make Dylan realize that he loves you, and that you love him.”
“You mean to tell me that Henry came up with this whole merger just to get Dylan and I back together?”
I’ve heard of some pretty far-fetched lengths that people will go through to get two people back together, but this is extreme, especially for Henry.
“Actually, Meredith came up with the plan. Henry just put it all into motion.”
Okay, now that actually makes more sense. This is exactly the sort of thing Meredith would think up.
“So, Dylan said that he’s getting ready to come back here to Texas, so he could convince you to go back to New York with him. And I said that, with you having the baby on the way, there might be a better chance than before that you’d go. I didn’t realize that you or Henry have yet to tell him.”
Eric looks genuinely remorseful, and it’s easy to forgive him for his blunder. I’m still a little pissed about it, but I do forgive him.
“So, how did he take it?”
“Pretty good, actually. Surprised the fuck out of him like a jailhouse blitz.”
“He didn’t sound angry or anything?” I admit, I’m concerned about Dylan’s reaction to the news—especially since he didn’t learn it from me.
Ideally, it would be amazing if Dylan was a part of this baby’s life, regardless of whether we’re together or not. And if he wants no part of this—of us—then that’s okay, too.
“Not angry, just really thrown for a loop.”
“Do you think he’s still coming to Texas?”
“Brooke, we’ve both known Dylan for a long time. Do you honestly think he’s not coming after this bombshell?”
Eric brings up another valid point, but this time, his point has me scared shitless.
I was perfectly fine with never seeing Dylan again and raising this baby on my own—with a little help from my baby’s future godparents—but now, the truth is out there, and it has really changed the course of how this is all going to play out.
My nerves feel incredibly rattled, and I’m really wishing I could have a glass of whisky right now. I have no idea how I’m going to face Dylan, or what I’m going to say when I do. Freaking out feels like a bit of an understatement.
And while I now have no clue on how I’m going to handle things, I’m left to face the only thing that I know for certain in my immediate future.
Dylan’s coming back to Texas.
Chapter 37
Dylan
Brooke is pregnant.
Brooke is pregnant.
And the baby—it’s mine.
I’m going to be a father.
Never have I felt how much I’ve truly fucked up than right now. I literally—unknowingly or not—walked out on, not only the love of my life, but also my child. And I’ll be damned if I’m not around to be the kid’s dad.
I used to think I’d never give anything up for my dream job in New York. The fact that I gave Brooke up twice is testament to that.
But now? It’s not even a decision to be made. There’s no comparison. My child comes first every fucking time.
Now I just have to relay how important both Brooke and our unborn child is to my fellow partners in the firm.
Surely, they’ll be willing to come to some kind of compromise so that I needn’t leave the firm—I could work from Texas, or I could work from New York maybe two or three days a week.
What isn’t negotiable is that I need to spend more of my time in Texas than I do anywhere else.
Funny how a child flips your priorities inside out.
The only issue is how I tell everyone. I can’t exactly just walk into the next board meeting and go Hey, so, my high school sweetheart is pregnant with my child. I’m gonna need you to adjust my schedule so I can live in my hometown.
I can see that going badly even just as a theoretical situation. And yet, it’s a conversation I have to have. And now. I’ve wasted enough time not even knowing about the pregnancy. It may already be too late for me to repair my relationship with Brooke.
But, I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try.
I’m thankful when Lisa brings me a large Americano—I could certainly do with the caffeine to get me through the imminent meeting.
I only have ten minutes before the meeting, and I savor every last minute of it. Once I walk into the conference room, my life as I know it will be irreversibly changed.
I just hope, for the love of God, that it changes for the better.
When my coffee is nothing but dregs, I accept the fact that it’s time to get moving. I stretch my arms above my head, cracking and massaging a knot out of my shoulder that’s been bothering me ever since I left Texas. And then I leave my office.
“Have you sorted that plane ticket to Texas, Lisa?” I ask as I pass her by on my way down the corridor.
She nods her head, giving me a small, knowing smile.
“It leaves at three this afternoon. Will that do?”
“Perfect. Thanks, Lisa.”
And then I’m at the conference room, taking a deep breath for good measure as I open the door.
When I sit down, Roland Parker gives me a measured look. “You’re looking very serious today, Dylan.”
“Well, I’ve got some serious news.”
My other partners sit up straighter in their seats and look at me with gazes ranging from concern to curiosity.
“Brooke Sinclair—”
“This is the high school sweetheart, am I right?” Emmerich asks.
I nod. “Yes. Well…she’s pregnant.”
“And it’s yours, I take it?” Roland quickly asks.
“I wouldn’t be bringing it up if it wasn’t.”
“Does she know that you know?” Roland i
nquires hastily once more.
I shake my head.
A few of the partners smile.
“Well, that’s that, then,” Emmerich says. “You can keep ignoring it. Pretend like it never happened.”
I somehow manage to contain my shock at the man’s callous answer. “I couldn’t do that to Brooke. I can’t…not let her know that I know.”
“Ah. You want to do right by her?” McDowell asks.
Well, I suppose that’s one way to put it. Although I’d prefer to go with the fact that I love Brooke and I made a terrible mistake, I suppose waxing lyrical in a board meeting isn’t a good idea.
I nod instead.
“How far along is she?” Roland asks.
“Not long. A few weeks.”
“Aha! You’re safe, then,” he replies, smiling in a satisfied manner.
I raise an eyebrow.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, though I have a vague idea.
The man looks uncomfortable at having to spell it out, which only confirms my suspicions.
“Just…give her some money. Ask her to take care of it. It’s quick and painless this early on. All she has to do is take a pill.”
I frown, starting to grow agitated. He certainly sounds as if he’s had to take care of a few unwanted pregnancies in his life.
“I’m not…I’m not going to ask Brooke to terminate the pregnancy.”
I’m fighting to keep my voice level and steady—and fighting not to lay Roland out for even suggesting such a thing.
Roland smiles gently at me, but it does little to stop me from wanting to break his jaw.
“Of course, you don’t. Certainly not if she wants to keep the child. But if that’s the case, Dylan, then what are you wanting to do?”
“How involved do you want to be in the child’s life? Child support payments? Weekend visits? Holidays? Or are you proposing you throw away everything you have here and move back to Texas?”
I blink, dumbfounded. My partner doesn’t seem to have even considered the possibility of me both keeping my job and being in my child’s life.
“There shouldn’t be any conflict between me being there and still operating as partner here for the firm. Fuck, you yourselves spend more time out of the office than in it. And this is my family.”
My family. There. I said it.
“You underestimate how much work we actually do, Andrews,” McDowell interjects with a sour tone—likely because I called him out.
I look around the room, and it’s clear that they all agree. I will receive no back-up here.
I breathe deeply, “I’m going down to Texas and sort some things out with Brooke.”
Roland sighs.
They all share a look, one I’m not crazy about, and turn their attention back to me.
“Dylan, you only just got back,” Emmerich speaks up first. “You did a wonderful job there, yes, but your job is here. Now, as partner, it is imperative you understand that.”
The room smells of hypocrisy. I want to flip the boardroom table on them and throw it out the window in anger and frustration.
But I, instead, take in a deep breath to remain level-headed and reasonable. “You can’t be suggesting I abandon my child or the woman I love, Victor.”
Roland shakes his head, and the others are quick to follow suit with the same gesture.
“Just take Roland’s advice. Throw some money her way and make this all go away.” The tone in McDowell’s voice makes me want to vomit. It’s cold, callous, and dripping with smug misogyny.
“Why? Is that what you do, Victor, with all your twenty-something mistresses?”
The old man’s eyes go wide in shock before turning to anger. He opens his mouth to speak, but Roland holds up a hand to stop him.
“I’m sorry, Dylan,” Roland begins, “but—”
“I resign.”
Roland looks at me in shock. A quick glance at the rest of the board members confirms that my comment has certainly caught all of their attentions, too. I stand up, and Roland does the same.
“You can’t mean that,” he says.
“I do. I quit. Clearly, this firm isn’t the right place for me.”
“Don’t throw your career away for some small-town—”
“Don’t you dare belittle Brooke like that,” I practically yell at Emmerich from across the table. “Don’t you dare.”
“Dylan, you are so talented,” Roland says, a frown on his face. “You’re an asset…fuck, you’re the future of this firm. Why would you give that up?”
“Because there are things in life that mean more than this, Roland. Because I was raised to be a man, not some sniveling coward in a three-piece Tom Ford who doesn’t have the dignity to own up and take charge of his responsibilities.”
“If the three of you are what my future looks like, then fuck it. I’m out. That’s not who I am or want to be.”
They all stare at me, dumbfounded.
“Dylan, don’t do this,” Roland lets out quietly.
I run a hand through my hair and then straighten my tie. “It’s already done. I wish you all the best.”
I’m out the door and halfway down the corridor before I remember to breathe again.
“Dylan, come back!”
Roland shouts again behind me as I reach my office. The only thing I retrieve from it is the photo of me with my mom and dad—it’s all I need.
I turn to a shocked Lisa and hand her a check for enough money that her mouth drops open when she sees it.
“Thank you for being such a wonderful assistant. If you ever find yourself looking for a job in Texas, get in contact. Now get your student loans paid off.”
“Mr. Andrews, I can’t—”
“Just call it a well-deserved bonus. That plane ticket?”
“Sent to your email. I’ve checked in for you already.”
I grin at her before holding my hand out. Lisa looks a little confused, then shakes my hand and returns the grin.
“I’ll miss you,” she says.
“Don’t cause any trouble now.”
And then I’m off, bounding down the stairs in lieu of the elevator, ignoring the shouts from Roland Parker and the board telling me I’m a fool and that I’m throwing my career away.
What they will never understand is that I’m trading in my career for something far more valuable—a family. A real life.
And I have some packing to do.
Chapter 38
Brooke
“I still can’t fucking believe they picked Under the Sea as the fucking theme.”
Jessie laughs as I lament over yet another reminder of Dylan—as if our child growing inside me isn’t reminder enough.
“They did it as a tribute to you. You saved the school, and it’s their way of showing appreciation,” Eric says as he fills a couple of cups with punch. “And besides, our prom was amazing. You know, right—”
“Right up until my now baby daddy bailed on me for Harvard?” I interrupt with a steely gaze.
This bout of morning sickness—which is a total misnomer since it lasts all fucking day and night—has me feeling more than a bit cranky.
“Yeah…that,” Eric says as he hands me a cup of punch.
I let out a heavy sigh and take the offered drink. Eric smiles at me reassuringly, and I admit that my mood does lighten a bit.
As annoying as it is, Eric does have a point. The kids did choose this theme because they believed it to be a thoughtful gesture—and it is. How could they know my deep-seated dislike for it?
I have to admit their decorations are better than my prom’s too.
I bring the red plastic cup up to my lips but stop suddenly and glare up at Eric suspiciously. He may be dressed properly in a pair of black suit pants and a plum colored shirt, matching Jessie’s strapless sundress, but I’ve known him far too long to know he’s anything but proper.
“You didn’t spike this, right? You know I can’t drink while pregnant.”
>
“Please, what kind of chaperone do you take me for, Brooke?”
“Do you really want me to answer that honestly, Big Mac?” I ask, deadpan.
Jessie giggles and takes a drink of her punch.
“I didn’t spike it, so you’re fine. I just spiked Jess’ and mine.”
Jessie looks down at her cup and then up at Eric with a grin.
“I was wondering why this tasted so good,” she muses before taking another drink.
I take another sip of my punch and turn to face the sea of students dancing about under the haze of the soft blue lights. They all look so happy and content, as if they don’t have a care in the world. I admit that it makes me a little envious.
I take another sip of my punch, and when I look out over the students again, there’s a small gap in the crowd between me and the gym entrance.
And that’s when I see him.
I nearly drop my cup as I cough in shock. I look down at my own canary-colored dress to make sure I didn’t spill my drink all over myself.
I hope that it’s just a figment of my imagination, but when I look back up, he’s still there. And he’s walking towards me.
This can’t be fucking happening.
Not only is Dylan here, but he’s dressed in a three-piece navy tuxedo that looks almost identical to the one he wore to our prom—only he wears this one better. Between the tux and that oh-so-sexy smile of his, I can’t help but feel a little weak in the knees.
He stands about half a foot away from me, and he holds out his hand to me. “I know I’m a little late to the party, but is there still time to have a dance?”
“Um…well—”
“She would love to,” Jessie says for me as Eric takes my cup of punch.
Jessica pushes me into Dylan’s arms.
The touch of his hands against my arms makes my skin feel cold, but my insides are burning up—almost as if I’ve been microwaved.
Dylan leads me out onto the dance floor, and I let him. We fall into step with the beat of the music, and I find our eyes locked in a dance of their own.
“What are you doing here, Dylan?” I ask, not bothering to hide my bitterness and anger.
“I came here to tell you that I love you, and that I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”
