“What’s it about?” Dean stepped closer and peered down at the paperwork as well.
“I don’t know.” Creigh put them back in order and began to scan the documents again. It only took reading the first paragraph to get the gist of it all. Unfortunately, it only took Dean the same amount of time to do the same.
Before she could offer up any explanation, he snatched the papers out of her hand and turned them so they were facing him. It took only a few seconds for him to reread the damning evidence, but when he looked up at her, there was fire in his eyes. “Is this a fucking joke?” His voice was low, but the heat in his words rang out loud and clear.
“I…I…” Any sort of explanation escaped her. She was just as floored as he was by the document before him. This isn’t how it was suppose to happen. This wasn’t how she’d wanted him to find out. Not like this. Not this way.
“You what?” he growled.
“I…” Blood roared in her ears, and her heart pounded like mad. It took everything in her to force the truth past her dry lips. “No. It’s not a joke.”
The color rushed from Dean’s face. “Trace. The father is Trace.”
Creigh let out a harsh and painful breath. “Yes.” And inside she died a little. “Yes, he is.”
———
The silence that followed her announcement was explosive. Dean felt sick. It literally felt as if a vortex had opened and sucked all the air from the room. Dean couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was feel. Pain. She… With Trace of all people. For a long, terrible moment, he thought it was a really, really bad joke, but then he looked at her ashen face and knew the truth. The documents weren’t the joke. He was.
His sweet Baby H. The child he’d come to love and accept all without knowing her was the daughter of the man Dean wouldn’t piss on if Trace were on fire. How was this fucking possible? Needing proof he hadn’t gone completely mad, Dean looked down at the letter and read it for the third time, taking in every condescending line of the letter the coward had his lawyer pen to Creigh.
It wasn’t just any letter. No. Trace, that motherfucker, was requesting a DNA test. An insult Dean took personally. Creigh wasn’t a liar. If she said Trace was the only man she’d slept with, then Dean believed her, and he took it as a personal slight Trace didn’t. Then to add insult to injury, according to the letter from Trace’s lawyer, if the test determined he was the father, Trace would waive his paternal rights and make a onetime payment of fifty thousand dollars to go toward the rearing of the child. In return he expected her to sign an agreement not to request further compensation nor disclose his role in the paternity of her child.
He was buying his way out of his paternal responsibility. As if money could teach a kid to tie his shoe, to hit a ball, or could wipe away the tears brought on by a scratch on the knee. Dean always thought that it would take a piece of shit to walk away from a pregnant woman. Now he knew he was right.
“Dean.” Creigh reached out and tried to touch his hand, but he flinched and moved out of the way. Creigh inhaled sharply, but his rebuke didn’t stop her from speaking. “Talk to me. You’re not saying anything.”
“Might have to do with the fact I honestly don’t know what the hell to say.” Dean folded the papers back together so they fit with ease in one hand. It gave him something to squeeze, something to take his frustration out on, because Lord knew, no matter how angry he was at Creigh, he’d rather die than touch her in anger. “I mean I got nothing.”
“Say whatever you feel.” She stepped closer. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking you fucked him.” Just saying the words caused his stomach to sour.
“Yes, I did.” He stood there for a moment, waiting for something, an apology, an explanation that would make some sort of sense, but she gave him nothing. Just her level stare. It was more than he could bear. “Talk to me.”
“No.” This wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t have this conversation like this, quietly and calmly, with people walking about. All he wanted to do was scream, to yell at the skies for the disservice they’d done to him, and he couldn’t do that here. With her staring at him with eyes begging him to understand. He couldn’t understand. Not now, possibly not ever. “I need some air.”
Shaken, Dean opened the door and walked out of the house. Unfortunately for him, Creigh was right on his trail. She slammed the door behind her, then went after him, down the steps and across the lawn. Before he could reach the sidewalk, she grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Are you seriously just going to leave? You don’t want to talk about this? Not at all?”
Dean snatched his arm free. “This is all I’ve wanted to talk about for months, but you refused. You refused,” he reiterated angrily. “And now I know why.”
“No, you don’t know why. You just think you do. You have to let me explain.”
“No, I don’t.” He stepped back, shaking his head. “Go back in the house. Enjoy your party.”
Her temper flared at his command. “No.”
“I need some space. I need to process this.”
“No, you want some space, but you need to listen to me and let me explain what happened.”
Dean held his arms wide, surprised she thought anything she could say would make this better. “How can you possible think anything can explain what you did?”
Instead of answering his question, she fired off one of her own. “You said it didn’t matter who the father was.”
Dean frowned, taken aback. “It doesn’t.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Dean refused to be made into the bad guy here. “You know what the problem is. You know why I’m upset. You…” Dean stopped and took a deep a breath. “You slept with him. Trace of all people. I think I would have preferred it had been one of my brothers. At least then I could look at you and not see the man I despised.”
Creigh took a step back and placed a hand her belly. “Then I guess it is best you found out now and not when the baby was born. I would have hated for you to look at her and only see Trace.”
“This. Is. Not. About. The. Baby.” He bit the words out in an attempt to stifle the scream behind them. “This is about you. She can’t help where she came from. I told you once and I’ll tell you again. She’s yours, and that’s all I need to know in order to love her.”
“And what about me, Dean? What do you need to know about me so you can love me?”
“I already love you. I’m just mad as hell. And hurt. You knew this would hurt me.”
“Yes. That was the point.”
The honesty in her words set him back. “Excuse me?”
She snorted in a show of disgust at him. “Do you want to hear it now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“The whole point was petty and to hurt you, and do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because two weeks before Trace came back into town, I drove by your house to ask you for forgiveness, to see if we could work it out, and you were”—she paused as if gathering her courage to continue—“opening the car door for some half-dressed tramp who was kissing you and hugging you. The two of you practically fucked on the trunk of your car. I sat there watching for some sick reason, hating myself, hating you, and I wanted to do something to make me feel better.”
“So you fucked him.”
“Not right away, but yeah, I did. We ran into each other one night; he brought up the divorce and made a pass. I remember thinking, ‘What a dick. No wonder you didn’t like him.’ Then it hit me. Here he was.”
“So you fucked him to get back at me?”
“I slept with him when I buried our marriage once and for all. I took cold comfort in the arms of a spoiled little rich boy who’d been trying to get down my pants for years. It was once, it was unmemorable, and I regretted it instantly. Not just the deed, but knowing I lowered myself, my standards, to get a revenge I knew I would never tell you about. I knew Trace w
ouldn’t either. He’s the type that would just love knowing he knew and you didn’t.”
That was exactly the type he was. And from the shit he’d been doing since he was back, Dean knew something was up with him. The way Trace went out of his way lately to antagonize him all made sense now.
“Now you know the truth. You can stop wondering. I can stop hiding, and we can both stop pretending this was ever going to work out.”
Before he could reply, she turned on her heels and rushed back toward the house.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered harshly. Disgusted, he got into his car and roared off.
Despite what Creigh said, he hadn’t been pretending, and it pissed him off even more that she would imply he was. Dean loved her, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but even he had his breaking point. After the bombshell she’d just dropped on him, he needed space and time to think, but more importantly, he needed to get his hands on Trace.
———
Storming off was bad, but it beat the dickens out of taking Creigh over his lap and tanning her ass. Even now that he’d had a time to cool down, Dean knew he couldn’t go back and risk seeing Creigh until he’d worked out what it was he was going to do. Instead he found himself driving around for hours on end. Aimlessly for hours at first, then with purpose and a particular destination in mind toward the end. He had to see a man about a letter.
The drive to Trace’s house took less than twenty minutes. Long enough to give Dean time to think, but not long enough to calm him down. He was still just as mad at the other man as he was from the moment he’d read his name on the document. He was, however, done with being upset with Creigh. The drive over had given him the ample opportunity he needed to put things into prospective and to get a handle on his feelings for what Creigh did and why.
If he tried, he probably could pin down the night and the name of the woman Creigh said she saw him with that set them on this destructive path, but like Creigh, he didn’t want to dwell on the past. They’d both done things neither was particular proud of, but unlike her, he hadn’t been tripped up. Her motives for what she’d done were no different from the reason he’d slept with other women. The only difference was she chose someone he knew to wreak her vengeance, and he hadn’t thought of that possibility.
He couldn’t blame her; he didn’t blame her for the decisions she’d made. He loved her, and he’d forgiven her for sleeping with someone back when she’d first told him. Now that he knew the name of the man, nothing should have changed. But because of him, it had. He’d lost his temper and blown up, and for that he owed her one hell of an apology. But that would have to come later. Right now there was a score to settle, and it had less to do with Creigh and more to do with their unborn child.
Dean pulled up next to the sidewalk of Trace’s town house and cut off the engine. He picked up the offensive letter off the passenger seat and stared at it. He could feel himself start to get angry all over again. With a frown riding low on his mouth, he stepped out of the car and made his way up to the building. Every step he took fueled his anger even more, and by the time he reached the door of Trace’s town house, Dean was beyond pissed off.
One hand clutched the folded and battered law forms in one hand, and the other pressed heavily on the doorbell. Dean didn’t know if Trace was in. But Dean had nowhere to go that was more important than being here right now. He wasn’t going to leave this stoop until he and Trace had a talk.
Dean didn’t have to wait long. After he pressed the bell for a second time, Trace opened the door. He took one look at Dean and frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The gall of the other man’s bravado was infuriating, and it called to Dean’s baser side. The side that didn’t necessarily want to kill Trace for abandoning his child, as much as Dean wanted to kill Trace for having the nerve to touch Creigh in the first place. Dean was at war with himself. With his morals and with his pride. And unfortunately for Trace, the other man was about to receive a visit from both sides of Dean.
Without saying a single word, Dean balled up his fist around the documents Trace had sent Creigh, pulled his arm back, then sent it flying straight into Trace’s smug face. The right hook to the jaw was followed rather quickly by a left hook, then another right that sent Trace stumbling back into the house and flat onto the floor.
“Mind if I come in?” Dean asked as he stepped over the man and into his home. “We need to talk.”
“The only people we’re going to talk to is the cops, motherfucker.”
His words didn’t faze Dean at all. “Do you really want to bring other people in on this, Trace?” The threat of Trace’s parents finding out was just what Dean needed to squash the bastard’s threat to call the cops.
“Takes a real man to sucker punch a man in his own house. You must have balls of steel.”
“Gigantic. And if I were you, I’d stay right there on the floor,” Dean warned. “Real man. Like you, right? The type of man that hate-fucks a woman and impregnates her just to get back at his childhood rival.”
A bit of the anger seemed to seep right out of Trace. “Told you about it, did she?”
“Today.”
“I figured it had to be recently, or we would have had this”—Trace gestured between the two of them—“conversation a while ago.”
“The moment I found out,” Dean assured him. “And don’t worry. I’m not talked out yet.”
“Fine. You’re pissed. I get it.” Trace sat up and gingerly touched his jaw. “Is that all you wanted?”
“Maybe if this was just about the two of you fucking, it would have been enough. But it isn’t.” Dean dropped the papers in Trace’s lap. “Serving a woman in the midst of her baby shower is a bit low. Even for you.”
Trace let out a heavy sigh and picked the papers up, not even bothering to look through them. “Didn’t know there was a party.”
“I’m beginning to see there are a lot of things you don’t know. Like how not to touch things that don’t belong to you.”
“Be as pissed off as you want. But at the time she didn’t belong to you.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Dean bent over and grabbed Trace by his shirt and hauled him to his feet, then threw him against the wall. The papers that had been in Trace’s lap now lay scattered on the floor like the rubbish they were. “Creigh always has and always will belong to me.”
“Fuck, man.” Trace brought his hands up between them and shoved, breaking Dean’s hold on him. “The first hit I might have deserved, but I haven’t seen her since. You’ve defended her honor. You guys are getting back together. Lucky you. I’m not making waves. You saw what that paper said.”
“Yeah, which is problem number one.” Dean took a step toward Trace, who flinched but didn’t back up. “Are you really implying you don’t believe Creigh when she says it’s your baby?”
“Lawyer thinks it is a good idea. His goal is to protect my inheritance at all times.”
Dean shook his head in disgust. Spoken like a true spoiled rich boy. “And what do you think? You know Creigh. You’ve known her forever. Do you think she’d come after you for your money?”
“Hell, I didn’t think she was still pregnant. I thought she took care of it. It’s what I told her to do.”
“You told her to get an abortion?” Dean’s incredulousness seeped into his question.
Trace frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “What? I offered to pay.”
“And she told you to shove the money up your ass, didn’t she?”
Sheepishness crept across Trace’s expression. “Something like that.”
“Idiot.” Dean couldn’t believe Trace didn’t know her any better than that.
“Look, Dean. I tried to do the right thing here. I offered money.”
“In return for her silence.” It took everything in Dean not to haul off and hit him again. “This is a kid, not a secret.”
“I don’t want a kid.”
“Too
late. You’re having one.”
“No,” Trace said firmly. “She’s having one. Against my wishes. Well, that’s fine. She knew what I wanted from the first day she told me. I’m not the bad guy here. I never pretended to love her or want to have a relationship. It was one time. And I don’t relish paying for this mistake for the rest of my life.”
“It’s not a mistake. It’s your child. Yours.”
“No.” Trace’s tone brooked no remorse. “No, it isn’t. You can hit me all day, and nothing is going to change my mind. I don’t want kids. I never did.”
Dean shook his head in disgust. “Over the course of time I’ve known you, never have I been more revolted by you than I am right now.”
Trace pursed his lips before replying. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“And you really don’t give a damn?”
“No. I don’t. Maybe I’m just not built that way. I feel nothing when I think of the kid. Nothing. Even seeing Creigh the other day, all I thought was, ‘fuck, she’s still having it.’ Fathers don’t think that way.”
“Humans don’t think that way.”
“I am human.”
“But you lack a heart and any sense of decency that would make you worthwhile. Stay away from Creigh. Keep your lawyers away. I’ll make sure she signs the papers.”
“And the money?”
“We don’t need your money. I can take care of my children without any assistance from you whatsoever.”
“I’ll put it in a trust fund, then. He or she can use it for college. I’m not a bad guy.”
“Yes, you are.” And Dean wasn’t going to let him think otherwise just because he was willing to write a check. “Since by an accident of God you’re Roland’s son and second in command at the factory, consider this my two weeks’ notice.”
Trace’s eyes widened with shock. “You’re quitting?”
“Yes.” The only other decision Dean had made that he felt more right about was his one to be with Creigh the rest of his life.
Happily Even After Page 16
