by Jaymin Eve
He didn't address all that underlying baggage, though, because as he took two steps toward me, I couldn't help but let my gaze drift down his body. He was still wet and glistening from the shower, and every dark plane of his muscular chest was begging to be touched. Licked. Kissed.
Fuck.
"Brooke, you're looking at me like you want more than a conversation right now," he murmured in a suggestive tone. He took another step toward me, and my breathing hitched.
Damn it, he was right. My mouth was dry with anticipation and my pussy throbbing in need. I wanted him so freaking bad, despite all our issues right now.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, my voice thick with desire.
He gave me a sly, lopsided smile. "Sure, you don't."
His towel dropped to the floor, and I almost swallowed my tongue. There was no pretending he wasn't interested, that was for sure. He strolled a little closer, and just as I was starting to pant a tiny bit, he detoured straight to the walk-in closet. When he emerged a minute later, he was dressed, and I was both horny and disappointed. But it was a hundred percent the right thing to do.
I couldn't have sex in my current condition, and making out was just the worst kind of teasing.
"You're driving me crazy," he murmured as he reached my side. "You gotta get that look off your face because I can't love it off like I normally would."
Leaning over, he scooped me up, very gently, to place me in the center of the bed, then pulled the blankets over me and brushed some of my hair off my face. "You need to rest, at least until the doctor gets here and can assess how you're doing."
I wanted to argue—I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. My head was a hot mess with all of the death and loss in the last few days, but Dylan was right. "Do you have any books? Or a television?"
He leaned over the bed and pulled open a side table. Inside was a small black device, and when he hit a button, a massive screen descended from the ceiling at the back of the room.
"We have all the streaming apps. Hopefully, you'll find something to watch."
I looked down at the control he’d handed me and had not a freaking clue how to use it, but admitting to that weakness right now might just make me seem needy, like I was making excuses to keep him around. So I just smiled and tightened my hand around it. "Great. Can you let me know when the doctor gets here?"
His face was unreadable; even his eyes gave nothing away. "Of course. I'm just gonna go grab some food. I'll check in on you again soon."
We were awkward, neither of us knowing what the fuck to do now or how to talk to each other without addressing the multiple massive elephants in the room. I hated it. Hated it so much that I felt sick and wondered if I was about to vomit up all the delicious food I’d just eaten.
Stomach cramps sent fear shooting through me, but I managed to wait until Dylan was out the door before I pressed my hands to my center, trying to slow my breathing. I had to stay calm for my baby. I had to do everything in my power to ensure this pregnancy was viable. The broken ribs would heal, along with the bruises; I'd had enough pain in my life to know that.
But something told me the loss of my child—before I even came to grips with the idea of being a mother—would hurt like hell.
Fear sent me out of bed and into the bathroom. Thankfully, there were no signs of bleeding, so after washing my hands and face, I crawled back into bed. There was no way I could figure out the projector remote, so I set it aside and closed my eyes.
I was exhausted, no denying it, so without too much effort I drifted off into a pretty decent nap. Apparently, my body was done and just needed some uninterrupted time to sleep. No one woke me, and when I opened my eyes, I had no idea how much time had passed but actually felt a lot better. That might have been one of the only sleeps in years I hadn’t spent half awake anticipating an attack.
Taking my time, I stretched out my limbs, pleased that the ache in my side felt a little less intense. I was still on pain relievers, but the last dose would have run low by now—which meant my ribs were healing pretty well. My face, on the other hand, was worse, stiff and swollen—I’d gotten a decent smack in the face, thanks to those fucking fucks. They were dead now though, so I could count us even.
There was a knock on the door, and when I called out for whoever it was to come in, Dylan entered. "Doctor is here," he said shortly. "I just wanted to make sure you were awake."
Pushing myself up on the pillows, I nodded, rubbing my face. "Yep, send the doctor in. I'm ready."
He called out to someone, then strolled in and settled himself against a nearby wall. His arms were crossed, face set, and I was a touch confused.
"Are you staying?"
The narrowing of his eyes told me exactly how he felt about that question, but he didn't get a chance to answer before a middle-aged man pushed his way into the room. He was followed by two others and a ton of medical equipment.
The first man approached my bed, and I knew this was the doctor—he just had that look about him. Despite being close to sixty, he was very fit and handsome with just a hint of gray in his dark hair. He smiled down at me.
"Brooklyn, it's so nice to meet you," he said, flashing a white-toothed smile. "I'm Dr. Joseph Matterhorn."
Dylan grunted like a fucking caveman from his spot holding up the wall. But the doc apparently understood because he straightened and pulled some papers from the bag he had slung over his arm. "Sorry it took me so long; I was waiting on medical records from the hospital. Apparently, they had a little drama with their online network, among other things, but we got through in the end."
Little drama. Like a few brutal murders and whatever Blake had done to ensure he wouldn't be interrupted. Yeah, definitely drama.
"First thing I want to check is your pregnancy," he continued, still flicking through the papers. "I know there were some concerns with the injuries and continued bleeding. Have you had any further discharge or spotting?"
I shook my head. "No, nothing."
He nodded, noting that in his chart. "That's excellent news. Okay, if you'd like to change into this gown, I'll get your bed ready in case we need to do an internal examination."
Dylan grunted again, and I could have sworn the doctor went a little pale.
Meanwhile, I'd had enough. "Dylan, if this is too much for you, feel free to step the fuck out of the room."
Dr Joseph was definitely pale now, and he left us to our bickering as he made his way to where the others were setting up what looked like half a hospital room.
Dylan crossed to me and sank to his knees beside the bed, and I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to my mouth going dry at the sight of him on his knees like that. "Brooke, I will never leave you alone in a room with strange men again. Not while you're vulnerable and saving the life of our child."
My throat immediately choked up as I fought down tears. Our child. He'd never admitted it was his, and his acceptance of reality explained some of his caveman attitude. This was what I’d wanted all along: to not have to do this alone. No matter what eventuated for Dylan and me, this was a gift I had to take.
"Thank you," I said huskily. "I'm scared."
He captured my lips in one sudden move that I hadn't expected at all. My breath caught until my brain got with the program, and then I kissed him back.
"You and I will face it together," he said seriously when he pulled away.
The tension between us eased. Dylan pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the bed from where the doctors were working. I changed into the gown, leaving my underwear on for now, and then got back into the bed. Dylan immediately took my hand.
"Okay, Brooklyn. Let's start with an ultrasound," the doctor said, wheeling one of the machines closer. He lifted my gown, and I stared down at my perfectly flat stomach, trying to comprehend that there was a life growing in there. It was still so early—so many chances of miscarriage. But I had to have faith.
The squirt of liquid was cold, but I didn'
t even flinch. I'd been tortured by worse shit than that. My eyes were locked on the screen, and as he started to wave the wand over my stomach, I desperately searched for signs of life, even though I had not a fucking clue what I was looking for.
"Ah," he said, and there was a smile on his face. That had to be a good sign, right? "There you are, little one," he said. He froze the screen and started pointing shit out to me and Dylan, but the only important things I got from him were that the baby had a strong and steady heartbeat and was what looked like a perfect example of an almost eight-week gestation. It was literally a black dot, but he seemed pleased.
That machine went away after that, and Dylan was pulling my gown down before the doctor had even taken a step away. "Mine," he murmured in my ear as he got me situated again. "You get naked for no one but me, Brooklyn Lawson."
Damn him and his caveman attitude. And damn me for liking it.
"Let's check those ribs next." Doctor Joseph was back.
He did have to move my gown around again, much to Dylan's annoyance, but the doctor was completely respectful. "Your pain seems to be fairly manageable?" he asked when he was done examining all my injuries, including my face. "A few of these will take a while to heal, but I'm happy with your current progress."
"I'm managing the pain just fine with the pregnancy-safe painkillers from the hospital."
He looked through the medication and all the other notes and, satisfied with it, left an hour after he’d arrived.
"I'll get him back to check on you in a few days," Dylan said.
I shook my head. "No."
He paused, confusion on his face. "No?"
I took a deep breath, knowing this wasn’t going to go over well. And while Dylan and I’d had a few lovely bonding moments together this evening, I had already made a decision about my next move. It was a step I had to take for myself.
"As much as I appreciate your help and everything else you've done for me, I need to get back to my own life." I needed a little independence from Dylan while I sorted it out. "I have to deal with Blake's death. Has his body even been discovered? The police, no doubt, will want to question me. It's a hot mess, and I can't just escape and hide here."
His eyes darkened, and it was clear he wanted to rage about my decision. "Brooke, you're injured. You're pregnant—with my fucking child. You will stay with me so I can protect you, keep you safe."
I shook my head, refusing to engage in an argument. "I respect you for taking responsibility. I will never keep you out of your child's life, but I'm not an obligation you need to handle. I'm a real person, a real person who has never had a chance to live my own life free of fear and able to make my own choices. I won't exchange Blake's cage for yours, Dylan, no matter how fucking good we are together in bed."
His expression clouded, and it was pretty damn obvious I was in for a fight on this one. But it was a fight he'd lose. I was done being pushed around like a weak, broken bird. I was done being treated like a possession for powerful men to own and play with at their will.
Thankfully, I wasn't in this argument alone, not here, not in the Delta Five’s shared house.
"Let it go, D-man," Riley snapped, pushing the half-open door with her toe and stepping inside. "You don't own her, and you can't force her to stay if she doesn't want to."
Dylan whirled on his friend, his body language screaming what the fuck?
Riley raised her chin, her whole body radiating more strength and stubborn determination than I'd ever possessed in my whole life. "It's simple, Dylan," she told him in a cool tone, then shifted her gaze to me. "Brooke, do you want to stay here with us?"
I shook my head, trying to emulate her strength. "No. I want to go home to Mary."
As soon as those words left my lips, I knew I’d never felt so sure of anything in my life. Mary was the one person on this whole planet who I truly felt loved me unconditionally, but then... she was an employee of the Lawson household. Did she really care?
I needed to go home and find out for sure. She was like a second mother to me; the idea that she had only been doing her job was too painful to consider.
"Who the fuck is Mary?" Dylan barked, his glare like laser beams.
I blinked at him, fumbling for words. But once again, Riley had my back.
"Her housekeeper," she snapped back at him. "Which you'd know if you’d even tried to look into the real Brooklyn Lawson instead of sticking your head in the sand and believing the Serena lie."
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw ticked in anger. "I tried," he growled, but she just scoffed.
"Clearly not very hard. Take your ass downstairs and get Brooke some orange juice, would you?"
She stood there with her arms folded and her foot tapping the floor until he reluctantly did as he was told.
After he was gone, she kicked the door shut and turned to me with an expression of Can you believe that asshole? And I burst out laughing.
"Okay," I said with a chuckle. "I can see how those boys are all so enamored by you. I think even I have a bit of a girl crush going right now."
She just grinned and came over to sit on the side of my bed. "They just need to be called on their bullshit every now and then, girl. Don't forget that, or you'll be swallowed up by all that alpha-male crap."
I gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I don't think that's going to be a huge problem. I can't exactly see Dylan and I having a happy little family together; I'll be fine with just amicable shared custody or something."
I rubbed a hand over my belly and swallowed back the tears. This was so freaking far from how I'd dreamed my life would turn out.
So, so far. But I had options now. I had freedom, and I would not waste it.
Riley gave my leg a comforting squeeze. "Don't count your dead chickens too soon, Brooke. I've got a good feeling about you two." She shot me a wink. "Now, let me sort out some travel arrangements and clothes for you. Unless you want to stay a few more days? You could have Christmas here with us."
It was tempting, but I already felt so uncomfortable with my whole situation. Despite what Riley seemed to think, Dylan and I weren't some kind of romance novel. His noble actions now were stemming from only one emotion, and it wasn't love. It was guilt.
I never wanted to be that girl, the one trapping her billionaire fuck buddy by getting knocked up—intentionally or not. Nope, I was walking away with my head held high and my dignity intact. We could co-parent without forcing a romance, and honestly, what were the odds of a relationship surviving when the man was only in it out of obligation?
Not fucking great.
"I just want to go home," I told Riley in a soft voice.
She nodded and gave me a sad smile. "I get that. I'll sort it all out, okay?"
Only after she’d left the room did I let the tears fall. And they continued falling as I departed the Delta house an hour later in the car service Riley had ordered.
I didn't see Dylan on my way out, and he’d never returned with that orange juice Riley had sent him to get. He was just... not there. Probably for the best, too. If I'd seen him, if he'd made another attempt to make me stay... yeah, I would have cracked.
But he didn't. So I left.
28
Mary didn't ask me questions when I arrived home.
I was bruised, exhausted, and still crying, but she just gathered me into her arms and pulled me inside the house. It wasn't until hours later that I was able to find the words to tell her Blake was dead.
Her reaction was exactly what I needed.
"Good," she spat. "I hope it was a painful end. He deserved it after all he'd put us through in the last years."
My jaw dropped at the viciousness in her voice. "Mary!"
She just shrugged. "It's true. Wait here a moment, sweetheart; I need to tidy some things up." She gave me a squeeze, then left me on the sofa to head into the kitchen.
Curious, I strained to hear what she was doing, but all I heard was the low murmur of her voice as she spoke on the phone to som
eone. She returned just a few minutes later with a smug smile on her face.
"What..." I started, trailing off with a shake of my head as she pulled me up from the couch.
"Just cleaning up the staff, my girl. Blake's no longer the head of this house; you are. You don't need anyone lurking around the estate who can't be trusted." She clicked her tongue as she ushered me through to the kitchen. "I’ve been here long enough to know who’s to be trusted or not. The bad eggs will all be getting their dismissal notices, if that’s okay with you?"
That thought hadn't even occurred to me, so I was speechless as she gestured for me to take a seat at the island. But she was right. Most of the staff had been hired by Blake and were generally pretty awful people who’d turned a blind eye to his abuse of me. One of the few that had always seemed okay to me was the family accountant, Martin Goldborough. That must have been who Mary called in order to fire our staff.
"I'll get the security company out in the morning to change all the locks and alarm codes, too," Mary continued as she set about making hot cocoa. "Too many of Blake's slimy associates had access to the property for my liking." She shook her head in disgust, and I couldn't help the smile creeping over my lips.
I wanted my independence. I needed it. But I was also perfectly okay with Mary making these decisions because they genuinely were in my best interest. Besides, self-discovery would be a slow process, and I'd be an idiot to shun all help.
"Thank you, Mary," I whispered when she set a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of me. "What would I do without you?"
She gave me a warm smile, leaning on the counter opposite me. "You'd survive, Brooklyn. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, just in a different way than most people expect."
That brought tears to my eyes, so I took a sip of my drink to try and compose myself. I needed to stop crying so much.
"Now, why don't you tell me why you're really upset," Mary suggested with a knowing look. "I don't believe for a second it's Blake's death that has you all in knots. Is this about that boy you were seeing?"
