He couldn’t forget what they had together, this electric physical connection.
“Brooke,” he said, his words coming out a strangled whisper. He touched his forehead to hers and stared down into her eyes. He desperately wanted to believe he saw his own desire reflected back at him. “Oh, Brooke.”
“Shh.” Then she was kissing him with all the passion he remembered from last year, all the pent-up desire that had been driving him slowly mad.
He began to rock into her, each thrust threatening to destroy him anew—especially when she whispered, “More,” in his ear before she bit down on his lobe.
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered back.
It’d been like this in her dressing room, hard and fast and quiet against the door because people were right out in the hallway. It’d been exciting then. It was still exciting.
He paused long enough to shift his grip on her bottom, lifting her up and bracing his feet so he could support her with one hand. With the other, he reached down between their bodies to where they were joined. Brooke’s head dropped back, her chest heaving as Flash pinched the folds of skin right above where he was buried inside of her.
Beneath his touch, her body shuddered. Her head thrashed against the door and he felt the spasms of her orgasm begin to move around him, clenching him so, so tight. A low roaring sound filled the air around them as he came and she came, too. It was only after that he realized the roaring was him, groaning in pure bliss.
He collapsed against her body, pinning her to the door, still inside of her. Breathing hard, he couldn’t think, couldn’t talk.
Home.
That was the only word he had, one that repeated itself over and over again when Brooke kissed his neck, then his mouth.
This was what coming home felt like.
Which was wrong. She wasn’t home. He followed the rodeo. This was just...one of those things. A good night. Maybe a great week.
He pulled free of her body but not her arms. “Babe,” he murmured against her hair, but then he stopped because he wasn’t sure what was going to come out of his mouth next.
“I’m so sorry,” Brooke whispered, and he heard the catch in her voice.
He reared back, staring down at her. No, he wasn’t imagining things—she was on the verge of tears. “Don’t apologize to me, Brooke. You and I...”
But that was when a new sound reached his ears—something high-pitched, almost a whine. Something that sent a shiver of real fear racing down his back.
A single tear spilled over and ran down Brooke’s cheek. “So, so sorry,” she whispered, slipping out from under his arm and leaving him hanging—literally. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”
“Brooke?” He turned but she was already halfway up the stairs. Her skirt had already fallen back down and she didn’t look like she’d just changed his world.
And she didn’t stop.
“Brooke!” he said as the noise got louder, grating over his nerves like sandpaper. “What—”
“We woke the baby,” she said, choking on the words.
“The baby? What baby?” Flash stared up at her, the hairs on his arms standing at full attention, like lightning was about to strike.
Someone else’s baby. That was the only thing that made sense. Not hers. Not...
Oh, God.
She made it to the top of the stairs and still hadn’t answered.
“Brooke,” he shouted. “Whose baby?”
“Mine.” She turned around then and looked down at him, crying hard. “And yours. Our baby, Flash. Our son.”
Then she turned and ran.
Five
“Oh, Bean,” Brooke murmured, scooping the baby into her arms. “Momma needed just a few more minutes.” Five more minutes to break it to Flash that his son was upstairs. Five more minutes to untangle her body from his.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
The baby howled his displeasure, and Brooke quickly realized what the problem was. He was soaking wet and probably hungry, too. He’d already been asleep when she’d gotten home.
Everything was wrong. That wasn’t how she’d wanted to tell Flash. It wasn’t fair to just drop that bomb on him. Not mere seconds after he’d been inside of her. Not when her legs were still shaking with the force of the orgasm he’d unleashed.
She hadn’t planned to have sex with him again. No, that was a lie because obviously, she had—God, he was still so good—but she’d resolved to do the right thing and tell him about Bean first. And that resolve had lasted all of thirty-seven seconds. Right until he’d touched her.
She handed Bean his rattle shaped like a frog that croaked when he shook it. He only got to play with that toy when she was changing him and Bean was endlessly fascinated with it. Thankfully, it worked and the baby quieted down as she got him cleaned up.
That was when she realized the house was silent. Too quiet.
Was Flash still here? Or had he opened that door and walked out of her house and her life? Oh, Lord. Not that she would blame him for that, because she couldn’t. She’d hidden Bean from him. An entire pregnancy, a birth, a baby—and she hadn’t breathed a word of it to him. Really, that was unforgivable.
If Flash walked, that didn’t change anything. She was still responsible for Bean, just like she’d always been. But now that Flash knew, she wasn’t going to hide the baby anymore. It was time to show the world she had an amazing little boy. She’d tell her mother and her record label that she was going public and that was that. Her next album would get some extra PR, so everyone would win.
Brooke focused on the job before her. One day at a time and, when that didn’t work, one hour at a time.
The sound of heavy tread on steps ricocheted through her body like a gunshot, and she gasped. The baby began to fuss again.
Flash hadn’t left. Instead, he was coming upstairs. Somehow, that was worse.
Breathe. She had to breathe. It was good Flash hadn’t left. Yay, he wasn’t abandoning them! That was great, right?
Then he was standing in the doorway, staring at her with his mouth open and his eyes bugging out of his head, white as a ghost. He didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure he was breathing.
This felt like something out of a nightmare, the reoccurring one she’d had after she’d realized she was pregnant, had looked Flash up and seen all those news stories. A shiver of panic raced down her back as she remembered everything she’d read—the drunken bar fights, the criminal charges for assault.
But as she stared at Flash staring at her, she knew she wanted more than just a fight-or-flight reaction out of Flash, more than sex against the door.
Well. The show had to go on, didn’t it? She picked up Bean and turned to Flash. “Can you hold him?”
His mouth shut, then opened. “What?” The word sounded like she’d tortured it out of him.
“Here.” She held Bean out to Flash. “This is Bean.” She swallowed. “James Frasier Bonner, but I call him Bean.”
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Flash got even paler as he stared at the baby in her arms.
“He’s yours,” she said. “Please, Flash. I have to change his sheets and wash my hands. Can you hold him? For just a minute?”
Bean seemed to notice Flash for the first time. His little body went stiff and he made a noise of concern. On instinct, Brooke tucked her son into her arms. “It’s okay,” she murmured, watching Flash over the top of Bean’s head. “It’s...” she swallowed. “That’s Daddy, baby. That’s your father.”
“You... I...” Flash stuttered. Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and was gone.
It felt like a punch to the gut, but before Brooke could do anything but stiffen in pain, he returned, his eyes blazing. “I am coming back,” he said, his voice quiet and level and, somehow, all the more unsettling for it. Then he was
gone again. This time, she heard his footsteps thundering down the stairs.
She hurried to the doorway. “Flash?” she called after him. Was it a good thing that he was coming back?
He stopped when he got to the bottom of the stairs, his back to her. His hands were definitely clenching and unclenching. He looked like he’d just been bucked off a bronco a half second too early to win it all.
“I need a minute,” he said. The look he shot her over his shoulder made her stumble back, it was that intense. “Just give me a damned minute, Brooke.”
He straightened and walked out the front door. At least he didn’t slam it. That had to count for something, right?
* * *
Brooke had a baby.
Brooke had his baby.
He had a baby.
Flash paced relentlessly around his truck, struggling to breathe. The old Flash would’ve probably already punched the side of the truck a few times, breaking his hand and denting the metal. It was a pointless, destructive way of coping with a problem, striking out like that.
He’d thought she’d been giving him the gift of forgiveness with her kiss, her touch, her body.
And the whole time, the baby had been upstairs.
Jesus, he and Brooke had a baby together.
How old?
Flash did the math and, oddly, counting months helped him breathe. Thirteen months. Babies took nine months, right? No, wait—Renee, his sister-in-law, had been pregnant for ten months. So thirteen minus nine and a half, just to be safe, meant that baby boy was...
Three, maybe four months old.
Flash’s knees threatened to buckle, and he had to hang on to the side of the truck bed just to keep from collapsing. He had a son who was almost four months old already and he hadn’t known.
Because Brooke hadn’t told him.
The world went a deep, crimson red at the edges again at what he’d missed—the first heartbeat, the labor and delivery, his son’s first breath, first smile, first everything. All those moments, gone. He’d never get them back. All because Brooke hadn’t told him, goddammit.
That was unforgivable.
But the moment the thought crossed his mind, Flash pushed back at it. He had to reframe this right now, because he was many things but he didn’t like to think stupid was one of them.
He was angry, yes. Flash let the anger flow but he didn’t try to hold on to it. He let it pass him by and forced himself to look underneath. Before he’d started court-mandated anger management therapy, he never would have thought there was more to anger than good old-fashioned rage, but he knew better now.
For starters, he was surprised. Not that surprised was a strong enough word, but it’d have to do. Brooke hadn’t told him and then the baby had been crying, and Flash had been stunned—and that was a perfectly normal reaction to discovering a one-night stand had a child that was his.
What the hell did he know about being a father?
He’d gone over to his brother Oliver’s house and played with his niece, Trixie, but that didn’t mean he was qualified to be a father. He rode bulls and wild broncos for a living and did stupid stuff like having one-night stands. Not exactly the kind of thing a good dad did.
He didn’t know how long he paced in circles, but eventually the world went back to being plain old dark.
He paused and looked up at Brooke’s house. One light was on in what might be the baby’s room. No, Flash couldn’t keep thinking of that child as “the baby.” That boy had a name. He was James Frasier Bonner, which was a good, strong name—even if she had given the boy Flash’s real, awful name. James could be a Jim or a Jimmy or even a Jamie—never a Frasier.
What had Brooke called him? Bean? What the hell kind of nickname was that, anyway?
He took comfort in the fact that he must have been right—she’d tried to look him up and found those headlines and seen the pictures and decided it was safer for her and her child if Flash wasn’t around. That was the only thing that made sense. He understood that on a rational level. It was a good thing that she’d do anything to protect their son.
But that didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t told him. She’d kept his son away from him. She’d never even given Flash a chance to show he had what it took to be a good father.
He would not let his anger get the better of him, but, by God, he had no idea how he was supposed to forgive her for what she’d done.
Forgiveness could come later. Right now, he had to make sure that Brooke never again managed to hide his son from him. That boy was his just as much as he was hers.
Brooke was the mother of his child.
He knew what he had to do.
He pulled out his phone. Brooke probably wasn’t going to like this, but that was too damn bad, wasn’t it? He wasn’t about to try to handle a situation of this magnitude by himself. God only knew that’d be a disaster. Something like this required finesse and PR skills, not to mention a sensitive touch. None of those things would ever describe Flash, in this life or the next.
But they did describe his sister, Chloe.
He got voice mail and, scowling, hit Redial. He knew Chloe and her husband, Pete, were already in Nashville. They always got in a few days early to get everything set up for the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo. Finally, on the third try, Chloe answered and said in a breathless voice, “This better be important, Flash.”
He cringed, trying not to think about what he’d interrupted. “Sis,” he began, but the words, I have a son with Brooke got stuck in his throat.
Not that Chloe would’ve listened anyway. “I swear to God, if you’re in jail, I’m going to leave you to rot this time,” she snapped.
In the background, Flash heard Chloe’s husband, Pete Wellington, growl, “Now what’s he done?”
Well, sometimes she had finesse. “Go to hell,” Flash muttered. “I am having a legitimate problem and I thought I could count on you, but if you both are going to treat me like I’m a child, I’ll do this myself.” He hung up and then had to walk around the damn truck a few more times.
Yeah, he’d done more than enough to screw up his own life in the past. He knew that. Hell, everyone knew that. But since he’d started therapy, he would’ve thought he’d demonstrated that he was serious about being a better man. But maybe Chloe would always see a failure when she looked at him and, frankly, Flash didn’t have the time or space to deal with that. Especially not right now.
He hadn’t gotten far when his phone rang. Chloe. If he wasn’t desperate he’d ignore her, but...
“Sorry,” he gritted out. Chloe had always been the one to bail him out before, and he knew she hated it. “I’m not in jail or drunk. Not in a bar.”
“What’s wrong?” At least now she sounded concerned. And, oddly, that was what Flash needed.
“If I send you an address—a house—can you and Pete be here in...” He mentally calculated how long it’d take them to get from the hotel next to the Bridgestone arena in downtown Nashville to Brooke’s house. “In twenty minutes? Quietly, without attracting any attention?”
After all, Flash hadn’t known about his son because no one did. James Frasier Bonner hadn’t shown up on any social media or paparazzi site. Brooke had gone dark months ago. Probably about the time she’d been unable to hide her pregnancy anymore.
“Flash,” Chloe said, and finally she sounded about right for this situation—worried, a little scared. “What’s going on?”
He looked up at that lit window, where the one woman he couldn’t forget was holding a son he hadn’t known he had. This was how it had to be.
“I have a baby.”
Chloe gasped, a noise of pure pain. Flash could hear Pete in the background saying, “Hon? You okay?” Belatedly, Flash remembered that Chloe had been trying to get pregnant for months now with no luck.
“Sorry, sis. I just found
out. And I need help.”
“Yes.” He could hear her pulling herself back together. “Yes, of course we’ll help. Who’s...” She swallowed nervously. “Who’s the mother?”
He looked up at the window again. Brooke was standing there, James Frasier Bonner in her arms. She’d always been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but there was something about the image she presented, his son resting his head against her breast, her arms holding the baby tight—there was something right about it.
Why hadn’t she told him? Damn it all to hell.
“It’s Brooke. Brooke Bonner had my son.”
He exhaled slowly. He was going to make things right, starting now.
Six
What was he doing out there?
Flash appeared to be pacing around his truck, which was hopefully an improvement over the way he’d all but bolted out of the house like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.
It was a good sign, she decided as she quickly washed up. He hadn’t driven off in a blind fury, and even though he’d obviously been upset—what a pitifully weak word that was—he hadn’t done anything...scary.
God, this was a freaking mess. She was nauseous with worry. For crying out loud, she could face down an arena filled with fifty thousand screaming fans with little more than a few butterflies in her stomach, but one man was going to be her undoing.
As if he could sense her panic, Bean looked up at her from where she’d set him down on the rug and smiled like he was trying to reassure her. He had his father’s charm, but Bean’s drooly grin was all sweetness and innocence, whereas Flash’s grins promised wonderful, dangerous things. Things like long nights in hotels and hot sex against the door.
Brooke clung to that innocent baby grin. “Oh, you’re having a grand time, aren’t you?” she cooed to him as she swept him into her arms. “All sorts of excitement happening here tonight, and none of it involves sleeping.”
Bean gurgled appreciatively and Brooke kissed his little head. At least someone was having fun.
Bean in her arms, she peeked out the window. Flash was still out there, leaning against the side of the truck. Wait—was he on his phone? Oh, hell.
His for One Night Page 5