My Fiancé's Brother (The Guilty Series Book 2)

by Odette Stone

  We pulled into a deserted park that was on the edge of a river bank. He killed the engine. We sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Jackson was probably wondering what the fuck just happened. One minute he was giving me away to Matt and the next minute he was being told he was going to be a father. It had been a desperately unfair way to tell him. I should have told him privately. I should have told him as soon as I found out.

  I looked over at him. He was still wearing his suit but his tie was gone and his white shirt was opened at the collar. He gingerly touched his lip that was split from Matt’s punch. His green eyes were dark and his expression was undecipherable. He glanced at me and something flared in his eyes. I take that back. Jackson was holding back a whole lot of emotions right now. I sunk back in my seat.

  “You have my baby in your belly and you were going to marry Matt?” He enunciated each word slowly.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a tiny voice.

  He looked out the windshield. We sat there for a long time.

  “How long have you known?” his voice sounded flinty.

  I swallowed. “Since the day I was attacked.”

  More silence.

  He looked over at me. “And how were you going to explain the baby to Matt? Or were you just going to pawn my kid off as his?”

  I threw my hands in the air. “I didn’t get that far.”

  His look was incredulous. “You didn’t get that far?”

  My eyes filled with tears. But I had no response.

  “Did you think that maybe this was something you should’ve shared with me?”

  I looked at him with indignity. “You told me that you don’t want kids.”

  “I don’t.”

  “And you also told me that I should marry Matt.”

  “You’re pregnant with my kid. If I had known that fact, do you think I’d have encouraged you to marry another man?”

  He was seething.

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “When?”

  I swallowed convulsively. “In the parkade.”

  “You should’ve tried harder.”

  I crossed my arms over my waist and looked out the window. That night that he had left me in the parkade, I had felt so utterly rejected. He had been adamant that he didn’t want a family or any kind of commitment, making it impossible to even conceive telling him the truth.

  “Well now you know.”

  “Really Emily? That is what I get from you? Now I know?” his arctic tone could have sliced steel.

  I stole a glance at him and was immediately sorry I did. His neck was corded and his nostrils were flared. But his eyes, they were cold green slits.

  It was more instinct than anything, but suddenly I was scrambling to climb out of the truck. First I had to paw through yards of filmy white fabric before I managed to find the door handle. And then I was flinging myself out of the vehicle.

  It was stupid really. Who actually thinks they can outrun a navy SEAL? Especially when they outweigh you by about 110 pounds and you’re encased in a wedding dress that is so tight you can barely move your rib cage. Nonetheless, I tried.

  I got about 15 feet and let out a terrified squeak as his arm wrapped around my waist and he spun me around.

  “Why do you always do that?” he yelled in my face.

  “What?”

  “Run. You are always fucking running away in the middle of important conversations.”

  “What do you want me to tell you?” I yelled back at him.

  “The truth.”

  “You want the truth?” my voice was shrill. “You made it abundantly clear that we have no future.”

  “What else?”

  I stood there unable to speak. It didn’t help that my bladder was getting precariously full.

  “Come on, Emily. Here is your chance to finally be real.”

  “I was scared to tell you.”

  “You didn’t think I had the right to know?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your life or have you think I was trying to trap you.”

  “Did you get pregnant on purpose?”

  “It was my first time,” I sputtered with indignation. “I don’t know why we didn’t use birth control. I didn’t even know we were going to do that.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “It wasn’t my first time.”

  “Well, that was totally obvious.”

  “Do you think when I knocked on your bedroom door I had an inkling of what I was going to do to you?”

  I felt my mouth go dry. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe since I was the more experienced one, I should have thought of the birth control?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “I’m not mad that you’re pregnant, Emily, but I’m extremely irritated that you didn’t think you could tell me.”

  “How was I supposed to know I could tell you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You told me you didn’t want a future with me and everything that was happening around me was going to shit. And you told me you didn’t want kids.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I was freaking out. Why did I have to be the one to tell you something you didn’t want to hear? Why was I supposed to force you to talk to me? You couldn’t get away from me fast enough that night in the parkade.”

  He went still while his eyes looked behind me. “You’re right.”

  I stood there stunned. I wasn’t used to winning arguments. Much less being told that I was right.

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I know I should have told you. I was just scared.”

  His eyes locked with mine. “What were you scared of?”

  “That first night after I was attacked, I was scared if I told you, you would be so mad you would leave the loft and I was too scared to stay there by myself.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “And then you went to Virginia and I was in this weird fake engagement with Matt and you were the only person in my life who knew the truth. I was afraid that if I told you, you would leave.”

  He pulled at his collar. “I did leave you. I left you in that fucking mess that you had to deal with by yourself.”

  He swore and walked away from me for a few moments. His hands were on his hips and he was looking upward.

  When he turned back to me, his face was contrite. “I’ve been a complete dick and I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you.”

  My mouth dropped open. This man deserved an award for the number of times he had been there for me. He had been my rock. You couldn’t ask someone to be there more.

  “This wasn’t your mess in the first place. I didn’t expect you to be there for me.”

  “It was the sex.”

  I felt all the blood drain from my face. Didn’t men usually stick around because of the sex? And yet he was telling me he left because of the sex? Had I been that bad at it? I felt compelled to apologize. “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Now my face was burning hot. “Nothing.”

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  Was he really going to make me say it? My silence was stubborn but had no impact on this trained SEAL who stood there with that look on his face that said he would stand there all day and night until I told him exactly what I was apologizing for.

  “You said you left because of the sex.”

  Understanding dawned on his expression. “You think I left because the sex wasn’t good?”

  I looked around the park. I was reaching the point of no return on the issue of needing to empty my bladder. And in this dress that was no joking matter.

  “I need to leave,” I said.

  He blinked. “Right now?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  He kind of looked around, like it was an option for someone in 20 pounds of lace and satin to squat behind a bush. “Okay.”

  Chapter 2

  We started to drive. Every time
someone slowed in front of us, I fretted. Every time we stopped at a set of lights, I thought I was going to die.

  “Please get me home,” I said in complete misery.

  He looked over at me. “Why don’t we stop somewhere?”

  There was no way that I’d be able to negotiate a public bathroom stall by myself. It was logistically impossible. “My dress is too big. I don’t have my bridesmaid here.”

  Car horns blared as he did a California lane change, drove over a meridian and pulled a dramatic U-turn to park in a no park zone in front of a small Italian bistro. “I’ll help you.”

  My eyes were wide in horror. “Jackson, no.”

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  This man was fearless. If I wasn’t so scared that I was going to pee myself, I would have refused. He grabbed my hand as we walked into the bistro.

  The place was bustling with the Saturday brunch crowd and we stopped everyone in their tracks with our entrance. Jackson towered with a broken lip and a scowl on his face, tugging behind him the young runaway bride with a desperate look on her face. Blasting past the startled hostess, he weaved through the tables. At the back, he pushed open a door and shoved me into the small bathroom before locking the door behind him.

  I decided I would rather pee on my dress than have this man help me with my skirt.

  “So, do we take this off first or what?” he was matter of fact, as he studied my dress.

  “I don’t have my button hook.”

  “What’s a button hook?”

  “I need it to take off my dress.”

  “So, you want me to hold your skirts while you sit down?”

  I shook my head, my shame complete.

  “Turn around,” he said. I felt him start to lift, layers and layers of organza. “Jesus. Are you actually underneath all of this?”

  “Jackson,” I wailed.

  He was standing behind me, and had my entire skirt pulled up above my waist. “Your modesty is safe with me. I can’t see past all of this fluff.”

  We shuffled over to the toilet where I managed to sit down.

  And I sat.

  We both waited.

  I thought my bladder was going to burst but still I could not pee.

  “I thought you said you had to go.”

  “I can’t do it with you here.”

  We waited some more.

  He started to talk. “The training exercise I hated the most was the box.”

  “What is the box?”

  “They lock you in a wooden box that is so small you can only kneel with your head bent. Your hands are cuffed behind your back and you’re blindfolded. It is disgustingly hot. The soundtrack that they play at full volume is death rock, dogs barking or my personal favourite, babies crying. The first time I did the box I was in there for 20 hours without relief. I pissed myself at least six times.”

  I started to pee.

  “Who are these people? Why would they do that to you?”

  “It trains us to mentally withstand the pressure of captivity.”

  “And you really peed yourself?”

  “My friend, Chris, did worse things to himself in his box.”

  I started to laugh. “This story isn’t true. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “It’s totally true. But if you ever tell Chris I told you that, he’ll kill me.”

  His story impacted me on so many levels. Jackson always knew what to say to make me feel better. It gave me a glimpse of how truly bad his job must be and it intrigued me that he had a friend. I only knew Jackson in my world. I couldn’t imagine him in his.

  “Feel better?”

  I nodded. He watched me while I washed my hands. My complexion looked translucent. My hair was artfully pinned up. I looked impossibly young. Behind me loomed Jackson’s massive frame. I drank in his black suit, messy hair and cut lip. We were so mismatched in appearances it wasn’t even funny.

  “I left because it was so good I couldn’t resist.”

  He opened the door and grabbed my hand. We started walking through the restaurant and we were halfway through the place when I realized that he was talking about the sex we had. I stumbled and his hand tightened on mine.

  He looked back at me, amused. “Just got that?”

  ***

  Back in the truck, I looked over at this man who completely mesmerized me on so many levels, I didn’t even know which way was up.

  He didn’t ask to come up to the loft. He just parked the truck, got out and led me up the stairs. Chloe almost lost her mind when she saw Jackson. She literally leapt into his arms. I watched her entire body tremble while she whined and licked his face. Despite the fact that he was wearing a suit, he laughed and cuddled her close to his chest.

  I found my bag, my keys, the button hook and my phone on the island along with a note from Beth, “Hope you’re okay. Text me when you get home.”

  I looked around the loft. Matt was no where in sight.

  “Can you help me get out of this dress?”

  Without looking back to see if he was following me, I swished up the stairs to my bedroom. He appeared behind me and without speaking, he took the buttonhook from my hand and opened all the buttons until the heavy material was sliding off my body.

  “Oh, thank God,” I breathed, stepping over the pool of white that piled at my feet. “That feels so good.”

  I turned and looked over my shoulder. Jackson’s eyes were raking down my body. I blushed when I realized that I was standing there in only a white lace bustier and matching panties.

  The hunger in his expression was clear.

  “Jackson,” I started.

  He turned to walk out of my bedroom. “Come downstairs when you are changed. We need to talk.”

  I changed into soft, stretchy clothes and pulled all the pins out of my hair. I washed my face and then sat down on my bed. I just needed to mentally catch my breath. Jackson’s reaction to everything was so different than what I had imagined. I wasn’t sure why I had been afraid to tell him in the first place.

  Not that it changed anything. He openly admitted, after hearing the news, that he didn’t want kids. So, I would be raising this child alone, but at least I was doing so with honesty. I had come so close to marrying Matt. Beth had been right. It would have been a colossal mistake to not only marry Matt but to start our marriage with such a big secret between us.

  I sighed into my hands. Since Matt’s accident, I felt like I had been some actor in a really dramatic show. I had only been a supporting character in my own life and I hadn’t been honest with anyone, including myself. Today’s scene at the wedding had been extremely humiliating, but at least my secrets were out in the open. I had nothing to hide anymore. Now I could start actually planning my future.

  ***

  I woke up curled on the end of my bed, on top of the covers. Someone had come in and covered me with a fuzzy throw. My mouth was parched and I was ravenous. I sat up and looked at the clock. I had slept the entire day away and it was just after eight in the evening. I sighed. Jackson was probably long gone and who knows where Matt was.

  I wandered downstairs and chugged a glass of water. At the island I scrolled through my phone. 47 texts and counting. Nothing like a little drama to heat up your social life. Beth said that Matt and Julie were both blowing up her phone. She had lost her earring but then found it. Did I want to go for coffee tomorrow? Matt wrote me a series of texts that had so many expletives, it was safe to say that he was still in the venting stage of things. And Julie sent me a text that simple said, “You betraying bitch.”

  “You hungry?” a voice said from behind me.

  I screamed and spun around. Jackson wore a mild expression.

  I held my hand to my beating heart. “Do they train you to sneak up on people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Figures.”

  “Did you have a good sleep?”

  “You should’ve woken me.”

  “You needed the sleep.�
��

  “What did you do?”

  “Worked out. Made some calls. Talked to Matt.”

  My mouth dropped open. “He called you?”

  Jackson dug through the fridge. “Want a sandwich?”

  “Did Matt call you?”

  “He was here.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Really?”

  “I’m surprised we didn’t wake you.”

  What happened?”

  “We had words.”

  “What kind of words?”

  “He wanted to talk to you.”

  I pondered that statement for a moment. I could just imagine Matt coming charging in here, all fired up and Jackson stopping him from coming near me.

  “You could’ve woke me. I owe him an explanation.”

  “He needs to dial it down a notch before he talks to you.”

  “He was upset?”

  “Yup.”

  “At me?”

  “At us.”

  I sat and watched as he started making my sandwich. “I think he gets a pass on being upset.”

  He shrugged. “Matt is entitled to his feelings. He’s no longer allowed to take those feelings out on you.”

  And that is exactly why I found this situation so complicated. I’m totally bad at standing up for myself. People tend to just steamroll me. And I let them. I don’t like it, but I have trouble managing that. It was intoxicating when Jackson planted himself between me and everything bad in this world. He naturally protects. That is who he is. But somehow my heart translates that into he is protecting me because he cares about me. Which I’m pretty sure is the figment part of my imagination.

  He slid my sandwich in front of me, along with raw cut veggies.

  “You’re not eating?” I picked up the sandwich.

  “Already ate.”

  He leaned against the counter in his famous pose of crossed legs and arms folded across his chest. Relaxed yet closed off. Which was the epitome of Jackson. Easy going, yet unobtainable on so many levels.

  His voice was calm. “What do you want to do?”

  “About what?”

  “You’re having my baby. We should talk.”

  Chapter 3

  I wasn’t sure what we were going to talk about since he was going to go back to his life and I just blew up mine. I looked around the loft. “I was thinking I would sell this place and move back to my granny’s place.”