by Jaymin Eve
32
Dylan Grant
My life was a series of fucked up years sprinkled with moments of happiness. I was ancient in ways other twenty-three-year-olds were not. Strange, considering I’d never expected to make it to this age at all.
Fuck if I wasn’t grateful for it now that I had Brooklyn. From the first moment I saw her standing at the bar, a cloud of angel hair drifting around her and the most timid, innocent expression on her face as she tried to wave the bartender down, I’d been fucking hooked.
She was nothing like any woman I’d ever known. Quiet where they were bold. Introspective where they were brash. And broken as fuck. Just like me.
It could have been her jagged edges, barely hidden, that first drew me forward. Or the lush-as-fuck lips and expressive hazel eyes. The way she tasted drove me crazy, and if Delta hadn’t kept me so busy, there was no way I could have stayed away as much as I had. It had taken real effort to focus on work.
For so long, all I’d wanted was to have her in all ways. Our conversation tonight was almost unbelievable. Good shit just didn’t happen in my life, and I was waiting for her love to be yanked right out from under me.
What fate didn’t realize was I would tear this world to fucking pieces to keep her. No matter what was thrown at us, what obstacle or pain, I would be stronger. Brooklyn was done with fearing the next dawn. Both of us were going to have a happily ever after if I had to kill everyone else on Earth to make it happen.
But right now, she just wanted me to speak with her housekeeper. A simple enough request.
As I dropped off the bottom step, I heard clattering in a room off the main foyer and, figuring that was the kitchen, headed in that direction. My little bird had a nice house, and now she could enjoy it without fear.
If I could kill her motherfucker of a brother over and over again, I would. There was no amount of torture that would be enough, and my only regret about his death was that his heart had given out after less than twelve hours. At least his carcass didn’t go to waste, feeding my favorite of the big cats.
Thoughts of that coward cut off at the sound of a beautiful voice singing. The song started up so suddenly, and it was a familiar song: Brahm’s “Lullaby.”
My boots ground to a halt.
Not because it was weird that an old lady was singing a lullaby in the kitchen—even though it was super fucking weird—or because the song in question was the most common lullaby played by every baby toy that played music and, also, my favorite. But because I knew that voice.
When I was a kid, I’d had this old bear; it was brown and worn out and one of the few toys my father never threw into the fire. It had a recording of this lullaby inside it, and I’d played it over and over every time I was scared and alone.
Eventually, I’d worn out the mechanism inside, and it’d been a sad day when there was no more “Lullaby.” I’d felt a real sense of loss, and to hear it now was fucking with my head.
I could swear that Brooklyn’s housekeeper sounded exactly like that old bear. But… the fuck? How would that even be possible? Was her side hustle recording shit for toy companies?
Needing answers, I barged through the kitchen doors, startling the hell out of the poor lady there. When she spun, a plate in her hand that she held up like a crappy shield, I stood there staring at her like I’d seen a ghost.
Or my own damn twin. The female version with about twenty extra years on me.
“What the fuck?” I growled, because I was smooth like that. Handling heavy emotions was not my strong suit, and right now, the thoughts going through my head were a dark mess.
“Language, Dylan,” she scolded softly, recovering far quicker than I had. She placed the white dish back on the table.
Meanwhile, I was still standing there like an idiot with my mouth half open, hands fisted at my sides—because I knew this woman, even though I’d never met her. Mary looked just like me.
“I suppose Brooklyn sent you down here,” she said with a shake of her head. “I never could get anything past that girl. She’s a bright one, and you are very lucky to have her.”
“I know that,” I bit out. “Brooklyn is the best part of my life. Today, yesterday, always.”
But that wasn’t what we needed to deal with now. Now, I needed some answers, or I was going to lose my cool and turn this kitchen into rubble.
Mary let out a deep sigh before she grabbed a plate of cookies, poured two glasses of milk like we were children, and then set them in front of two barstools. She sat on one, patted the other’s seat, smiled at me kindly, and waited for my next move.
Like a fucking bitch, I almost cried then and there. It had been a long time since I’d shed a tear, but this moment almost destroyed me. Trying to get my shit under control, I focused on breathing as my feet carried me forward. I must have dropped into the chair, but I remembered nothing about how I’d gotten here. All I could see and think about was Mary.
Mary… who I was fairly certain was my mother.
She pushed the cookies and milk toward me, and I ignored them. It was an obvious mom move, and she might as well have just stabbed me in the fucking chest.
“I know you must have a lot of questions,” she said softly when it was clear I had no interest in partaking of her—admittedly delicious-looking—cookies.
“You think?”
I was not handling this very well, but fuck, why on one of the best days of my life did I have to run into this emotional shitstorm of a situation?
“Are you my mother?”
Blunt. It was about all I had in me tonight.
Mary clasped her hands together, and it was only now that I saw how difficult she was finding this as well. She’d been fairly successful at containing her sorrow, but deep in the well of her eyes, it was there. “Yes, Dylan, you’re my son.”
The urge to throw the fucking plate into a wall hit me, hard and fast, but I managed to stop myself at the last minute. It had taken me years, but I controlled my emotions, not the other way around… except when it came to Brooklyn, apparently. But she was an understandable exception.
My mother was apparently on edge as well. My hands trembled, and normally I’d bail the fuck out of here and go smash a punching bag for a while. But I couldn’t keep doing that. The reason it had taken Brooklyn and me so long to sort our shit out was because of our woeful communication skills.
I couldn’t do that here. I’d waited a long time to see my mother, half assuming she was dead, and I would get my answers.
“I’m going to need your story,” I rumbled. “From the beginning.”
She didn’t look surprised, more resigned. “That’s fair. I’ll give you the condensed version since I’m sure you’re keen to head back and check on your girl.”
I nodded, content with that. I did want to get back to Brooke, but this was just as important to me tonight.
“I was young, naïve, and dirt poor. My parents died when I was sixteen, and if I hadn’t gotten a job as a housekeeper, I would have been hooking on the streets.”
My father had always told me he’d saved her from a life of spreading her legs. Who knew he wasn’t a complete fucking liar.
“Your father paid attention to me on the nights his wife took her pills and went to bed early or any night when he’d had a few too many drinks. I’m ashamed to admit that I was flattered, at the time, to draw the attention of such a rich, successful man.”
Her face fell, but I didn’t blame her for that part at all. Truth be told, I didn’t blame her for any of it. My father was a monster, and she likely didn’t have much option to refuse even if she’d wanted to. I understood that all too well. But I still wanted her version of the story.
“And you got pregnant?”
She shook her head before a choked sound escaped. “First, his wife fell pregnant and I was assigned the nanny position. By then he was regularly coming into my room at night, and I was too scared to tell him no because a lot of the time he was cruel. His attention
wasn’t fun for me any longer.”
Again, no surprise on my side with this information.
“I got pregnant just after his wife gave birth. I hid it for many months, and thankfully, no one was the wiser. Your father had stopped coming to me by then, too busy with his child… his heir. It was an obsession for him, having the perfect heir.”
I snorted. “Hence why the bastard was so angry to be left with me when my sister died.”
Her face fell. “He was angry with you?”
She seemed genuinely surprised by this.
“My father hated me,” I told her shortly. “If he could have murdered me in my sleep, he would have, but he needed me alive too badly.”
“No,” she gasped as a tear fell down her cheek. “He promised me you’d have the best life, one of privilege and gifts the rest of us could only pray for.” Her voice got louder. “I only walked away because he made two promises to me. One: you would be a true heir, treated like a member of the family. He had his bad moments with me, no doubt, but I’d seen how he doted on your sister. I was so sure he would love you…” Since my father was a monster, he probably had loved me to the best of his ability. The motherfucker.
“And two: I was allowed to leave that bear with my favorite lullaby for you. He was never to throw it away.” She looked pleadingly. “I wanted you to have a piece of me, and I grieved every day without you.” She was crying now, and honestly, I was about to throw this fucking bench through the ceiling.
“The facade he showed the world was not the real life we lived behind closed doors,” I told her softly, “and you shouldn’t blame yourself. He manipulated more people than you’ve probably ever met.”
She shook her head. “I should have fought harder. I was just young and stupid, and he had a team of lawyers to fight me. They painted the picture so vividly. By the time they were done chewing me up, I’d have been homeless and destitute, he would still have you, and you’d be suffering for my defiance for the rest of your life.”
He’d have destroyed her. I knew that for sure, and he definitely could have made my life worse. Things could always be worse.
“It’s not your fault,” I repeated. “And I honestly can’t believe you're here. Alive. He told me you’d died.”
She didn’t seem surprised by this, her laughter dark and cynical. “He generously set me up in a job with an associate of his. But when the lady of that house decided I was too pretty, too tempting for her lecherous husband I was fired. Then I ended up here. The Lawson’s were good to me, but since they died, I’ve had to fight to stay with Brooklyn. She needed someone to protect her, and I did the best I could.”
“For that I owe you,” I said, and then I abruptly stood, pretty much done with the conversation. “And I’m glad to know you’re not buried in the backyard of the Grant estate.”
She seemed lost for words, her mouth opening and closing as her eyes shone with unshed tears.
I placed my hand on her arm, the first time we’d touched, and damn, if I didn’t get all fucked up again from the truth of this moment. “Don’t carry this burden, Mary. If you had fought harder, he would have destroyed you. That you survived to love the only woman I’ve ever loved means everything to me.”
Lifting my hand, I turned to walk away, needing time to process it all fully. I felt more at peace though. I’d needed this closure. This moment. It was a piece of unfinished business that I could finally let rest.
“Dylan,” she called out.
I paused, turning back to see her looking small and helpless. “Yes?”
She cleared her throat. “Will you share a cookie with me?”
Fuck. That might do me in, but not even I could dash that small sliver of hope that was peering at me through her expressive eyes. My expressive eyes. Like that wasn’t fucking weird.
“Yeah, sure. I could do that.”
I made my way back, sat next to her, and grabbed one of the thick chocolate chip cookies that rested on the plate. The first bite had me groaning. “Fuck, that’s a damn good cookie.”
“Language,” she said again, and I almost laughed. It was a little late for the mothering, but it was amusing none-the-less.
We were silent after that, just the sound of chewing, but oddly, it wasn’t as awkward as I’d expected.
“I’d like to have a relationship with you,” she finally said, placing down the other half of her cookie. “I know that’s probably asking too much, but all I’ve had over the years were news articles and magazines to know about you, and I… I’d like more.”
Staring down at my cookie, I tried to figure out how I felt about all of this. “It’s going to take time,” I told her. “But you’re a huge part of Brooke’s life, and she’s my entire fucking world, so… we will be part of each other’s lives no matter what. There’s no reason we can’t try and build a relationship.”
I had no idea if we would be successful or not. My experience with parents wasn’t the best, but what did it hurt to give it a shot. Especially when I had a child on the way. A child who deserved a fantastic grandparent.
I’d thought I’d maxed out my “Christmas miracles” with Brooklyn deciding she was ready to put up with my stubborn, violent, pushy ass. But maybe there were more in store for me.
One thing I knew, I was ready for whatever came my way.
33
Brooklyn
I’d fallen asleep content and warm in the knowledge that Dylan loved me, that I had a family in Mary, and that I was free. Finally, truly free. One day soon I’d even sell this shithole of a house with all its bad memories, and then I’d be totally rid of Blake’s memory.
When I woke on Christmas morning, Dylan's huge frame was draped around me with his palm splayed over my bare belly. For a long time, I just lay there, looking down at the way he subconsciously protected his baby.
Some time later, he stirred and kissed my neck lovingly.
"Merry Christmas, Brooke," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
My pulse raced and my belly flipped with utter happiness as I snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Merry Christmas, Dylan."
He drew a deep inhale, then released it slowly, warming my neck. "Thank you, baby," he whispered. "You gave me the best gift of my entire life."
My chest tightened. "What was that?" I asked. I was all too aware that the silly remote-controlled pterodactyl I'd bought at the mall was still wrapped up under the tree. The incredible tree that he'd set up for me.
"A family," he replied, stroking my belly. "You gave me a family of my own, Brooke. I fucking love you so much it almost hurts."
I knew he wasn't just talking about our baby, but about Mary, too.
"I love you too," I murmured back to him.
He'd given me the greatest gifts of all: our child, Blake's death and my subsequent freedom, and love. He'd showed me what it felt like to get my fairytale ending, and we were only just beginning.
“How did it go with Mary last night?” I asked, hoping that I wasn’t about to turn his mood sour. It could have gone either way, depending on Dylan and what he learned, and I really needed to know if there were pieces to pick up this morning.
He stilled beside me before he started to stroke my side softly, sending tingles through my body. “It was… a lot. A fucking lot.” He tickled me playfully all of a sudden. “A little heads up wouldn’t have hurt.”
I chuckled, pushing his creeping fingers away even though I really wanted to pull them closer. And lower.
“Mary never actually said anything to me, but I put all the pieces together. I don’t even know how I missed your similarities. Guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”
Dylan was quiet, but he didn’t seem upset. “She told me what happened. My father basically manipulated her into thinking she had nothing to offer then lawyered up to intimidate her. Since she was young and terrified, she walked away, thinking she was leaving me to my billionaire life. She didn’t know the bullshit that went on behind closed doors. No one did. I
can’t blame her for wanting me to have a better life, even if I would have given anything to have been raised by her. Even if we’d lived on the streets, it would have been ten times the life I had.”
My heart hurt and thanks to pregnancy hormones, I was now crying for him. For both of us.
“Did she end up with me because of my family contacts in Delta?”
He nodded, his stubble scraping my cheek, he was that close. “I think so, but she didn’t elaborate how she first came to work for your parents. After Blake took over the house, she fought to stay with you because she knew you needed her.”
That was my Mary. “She saved my life,” I whispered. “More than once. Patched me up, snuck me food, and put up with terrible treatment to stay with me. I owe her so much.”
Dylan kissed my cheek and then my neck, and I sighed at how good it felt. “For that alone,” he breathed against my skin, “I forgive her. You needed her more than I did. I had my best friends, and they kept me sane.”
He wiped away the few tears still trailing across my cheeks before his lips found mine, and our kiss was deep and sweet. He didn’t push harder, knowing we couldn’t go too far, but he thoroughly loved my mouth.
“Everything is going to be okay now,” I told him between kisses. “We will be the family we both deserved. Mary will be the most amazing grandmother, and this little kiddo will have a bunch of insane uncles and an aunt who will shoot any asshole that look at them wrong. We will make our perfect life, just wait and see.”
“It’s already perfect,” he whispered, and I breathed in the truth of that.
This was the exact life I’d always hoped and prayed for. I would never take it for granted, pun intended. Dylan, my baby, Mary, and the rest of the Delta crew... We might be an unorthodox family, but it was the best one I could ever imagine having.
Epilogue
Dylan… Seven months later
The strong smell of paint fumes reached my nose the minute I stepped foot inside my house, and I instantly knew what the source was.
