Dominick's Secret Baby (The Promise They Made Book 1)

by Iris Parker

  "Oh yeah," Alton said with a renewed smile. "Now we're talking. So which do you want? The blonde or the redhead?"

  "Blonde," I said automatically, a response that had nothing to do with the student and everything to do with a certain other blonde woman plaguing my thoughts.

  Alton nodded, smoothing his hair out a bit and standing up. Clearly he'd fallen for the distraction, just as I would have a few short days ago.

  And now I could go home in peace, without feeling bad about bailing. We approached the women together, starting the same song-and-dance that we always did in a place like this.

  Both women were fans, as it turned out, and they quickly asked if we were who they thought we were. The four of us spent a few minutes talking, just to keep up appearances, a formality that normally would've been followed with a cab ride to a hotel. Sometimes there was even a proper date involved, if the woman seemed like she was worth seeing a second or even third time. No strings, just a few good nights of fun before parting ways.

  Tonight, I really couldn't have cared any less. I just wanted to go home, but first I needed to play through the entire song and dance to avoid suspicion. The blonde woman handed me a scrap of paper with her number on it, which I accepted gracefully as always. After that, I promptly excused myself, apologizing for the headache before heading straight towards the exit.

  I knew Alton wouldn't miss a beat. He'd be flirting with both women the moment I turned away. They would be scandalized, intrigued, and maybe they'd wake up tomorrow with one hell of a story.

  It wouldn't be the first time. Certainly not the last, either.

  I laughed. Stuff like that used to be my bread and butter, back in my old glory days of last week. Now, however, the entire thing just seemed kind of tedious and incredibly immature. The woman's number felt like a weight in my pocket, and I discreetly tossed it in the first trash can I found.

  I was getting too old for this stuff.

  Or maybe I was just finally growing up, I thought, memories of Ali flashing in my mind.

  Helena

  I opened my eyes slowly, listening to the familiar noises of our cul-de-sac in the morning. The birds were chirping loudly. Mrs. Lauer was cooing at her little Pomeranian as she took it for a walk. Jason, the teenager who lived next door, was just leaving for his paper route.

  To the rest of the world, it was just another perfectly normal morning on another perfectly normal day.

  I stretched my arms out over my head, trying to wake up more thoroughly, but nothing seemed to help. I'd been tossing and turning for hours, sleeping—if I slept at all—in short jags, broken up by feelings of dread and dreams about Dominick Henderson that I hated myself for having.

  I felt tired.

  Very, very tired.

  Also worried out of my mind and sickly nervous. I hadn't felt this bad since high school, after my first and last date with Johnnie Watson ended in him starting nasty rumors and nastier nicknames. Smelly Helly, everyone had called me, and it had seemed like the end of the world.

  As terrible as that had been, it was nothing compared to the doubts and fears circling my mind today. I wanted to cry, but knew I couldn't allow myself to wallow in self-pity. Ali still needed me, and so did her future brother or sister.

  I put my hand on my belly and, despite it all, smiled. Even though I was four and a half months along, I still was neither feeling nor looking very pregnant. However, even without visible reminders of the presence inside of me, I knew that in another four and a half months there'd be another life depending on me.

  Throwing the covers off of me, I stood up and walked into the kitchen. It was half past seven, and Ali would probably be in bed for another hour or two. I still had plenty of time to savor the morning, the summer break allowing me to follow my weekend routine every day if I wanted. I could make myself a good breakfast and listen to the news on the radio, or to one of the science podcasts that Ali and I had subscribed to on a snowy day last winter.

  The restless, jittery energy fluttering in my stomach and feet however told me that even the richest breakfast wouldn't settle my mind. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, waiting for Ali to wake up and finally have the conversation I'd been dreading since last night.

  I didn't want to do it, but it was not like I had a choice. We'd already covered the safety issue, at least. I'd explained how irresponsible it had been to leave on her own like that, how dangerous the situation really was even though things had worked out all right.

  What we hadn't talked about yet was Dominick. Despite his apparent willingness to stay in contact with Ali, it was important for her to not get her hopes up. The professional hockey player was, after all, a celebrity. The novelty of having a child looking up to him might be interesting for a while, but at the end of the day, Dominick Henderson was used to receiving the adoration of strangers.

  Was it possible he'd show up a few times, then get bored and vanish just when Ali started to get even more attached? I hoped not, but I wanted to be sure she protected herself as much as possible.

  I put a fresh kettle of water on the stovetop and waited for it to whistle. As I poured the boiling water into a mug of herbal tea, I hoped that the infusion would help me relax. It usually did, but this morning I felt like something stronger was in order.

  Like some vodka.

  The thought made Dominick's face pop into my head, for what seemed like the hundredth time this morning alone. Had he been up last night drinking vodka? Had the news changed his routine at all, or even made an impact on his day? A long internet search last night had worried me to no end, revealing numerous articles about the man's life and lifestyle.

  He seemed to be with a different woman every week, often models and actresses. He was also no stranger to minor trouble with the law, public disturbances and the like—in fact, if the articles were to be believed, he actually subsidized the Boston police department through the mountain of fines he constantly racked up.

  There were also wild rumors and speculation, the usual tabloid stuff. Ordinarily, I would've dismissed it all out of hand. With Dominick being so close to Ali, however, I couldn't help but wonder and worry. He was, after all, an outside force intruding on our little world.

  A sharp knock at the door jolted me back into reality. Putting on my slippers, I didn't bother to check the peephole to see who was outside. Mrs. Lauer often came by for a morning cup of tea, and this was the perfect day for it. As soon as I opened the door, I greeted her.

  "Thank you so much for that rose bush you planted; it—" I began, stopping dead in my tracks.

  In front of me was not the plump, aging frame of Mrs. Lauer, like I'd expected. Instead, it was the freaking huge frame of Dominick Henderson, standing right there on my doorstep. He looked completely different from yesterday, dressed in scuffed-up jeans that hugged his hips like a charm. Above, he sported a leather jacket that made him look like a biker, with disheveled brown hair sticking out a bit in the front. He ran his hand through it while my eyes scanned the rest of him, finally noticing the helmet tucked casually beneath his elbow and chest.

  He was a biker.

  Of course he was a biker.

  Could things get any worse?

  "Hi?" Dominick said finally, after I'd been staring entirely too long, and immediately I knew that the answer to my question was yes, they could. He was, after all, here to talk.

  I just hoped he wanted to talk about not being in our lives after all, making the pain brief rather than drawing it out over weeks of progressively dwindling interest. Missed outings, forgotten engagements, rescheduled commitments, lack of interest—the list in my head seemed to go on and on.

  "Hello," I answered, my voice creaky. Then it dawned on me. Not only had I just gotten out of bed, but I was still in my pajamas.

  In front of him.

  While he was looking at me.

  I blushed, quickly crossing my arms over my chest, vainly trying to hide that which I had no doubt he'd already seen.


  "It's early, I know," he said, his voice surprisingly soft and apologetic. "But I needed to see you, and couldn't wait any longer."

  I wondered if I looked anything like he did, confused and lost by the unexpected turn of events. My chest tightened a little at the idea that maybe he felt as hurt and lost as I did, that maybe I wasn't the only one who'd barely slept last night.

  Right, and if wishes were horses….

  "Come on in," I said, ignoring the cynical and scared part of my brain telling me to slam the door in his face. "Sorry about the mess. I've been working a lot lately," I explained. His large body was so tall that it seemed to take up the entire small foyer of my house.

  "I hear you. If it weren't for the cleaning service, I'd be a dead man," he laughed.

  "Coffee? Tea?" I asked, ushering him into the kitchen and offering him a seat.

  "Coffee would be fantastic," he said as he sat at the table.

  Dominick's masculine, rugged features were at complete odds with the pink pastel kitchen that Ali and I had decorated together. Even sitting at the table, he looked out of place. His thick and muscled build made him look like a giant next to the small furniture.

  I busied myself at the kitchen counter, trying my best to ignore the way that he took up all the space in the room and all the air in my lungs. I bit at my lip and tried in vain to remember how to make coffee, staring at the machine as if it were arcane sorcery.

  Dominick's presence didn't just take up physical space. He filled my mind as well, drowning out all other thoughts and subjects.

  After a moment of fumbling with scoops and measures, I finally remembered what I was doing enough to turn the machine on.

  "Ali won't be up for another hour or two," I said as the coffee brewed slowly behind me. "Maybe more." Leaning against the counter, I tried my best to look natural and think of something to do or say. The more I tried to think, however, the more jumbled my thoughts became.

  Who was this man, really? What did he want? Why was he here? What was he entitled to, and how would it affect us? I stood in front of him, speechless and worried.

  For the first time, I noticed the grey circles beneath his eyes.

  Those hadn't been there yesterday, I was sure.

  The telltale noise of the coffee machine finishing gave me a reprieve from the awkward silence, and I blessed the interruption as I filled Dominick's mug with hot black coffee.

  "Sugar? Milk?" I asked, pushing forward the plate of cookies that Mrs. Lauer had brought over as late-night comfort food.

  "No thanks," Dominick said. "You're not having coffee?"

  "Herbal tea," I said, indicating my own mug on the other end of the table. I sat down slowly, unable to stop myself from thinking again of the baby. Before I knew what was happening, tears had welled up and were spilling out in sobs and sniffles. I stood back up in a rush, mortified at my outburst. As I ran over to the kitchen counter for a paper towel, I hit Dominick's chest head-on.

  "Hey," he said softly as he grabbed me and stopped me from falling. "Here." His arms circled my shoulders, and before I knew what was happening, I was huddled against the tightest pecs I'd ever felt—or even seen—in my entire life. The hug was warm and reassuring, and I hated myself for taking such comfort in his embrace.

  Quickly, I pulled away, noting the dark splotch where I'd wet his shirt in my tears. Using the back of my hand to wipe my face, stammered out a feeble and incoherent apology.

  "Are you okay?" Dominick asked, his fingers still wrapped around my arm to steady me.

  "Clearly not," I replied, hoping it didn't sound aggressive while I tried to fight off further tears.

  "We can talk about this, Helena."

  Hearing my name from his lips seemed surreal, and my heart throbbed in confusion at the sound. I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to calm down as quickly as I could.

  He was right. We could talk about this, and we needed to. It was just the very last thing I wanted to do. My cursory investigation last night had confirmed my suspicions, that Dominick had already waived all parental rights and responsibilities by donating to the fertility clinic, but I couldn't help but feel like that was irrelevant. Ali hadn't been thinking about child support when she spent all her savings to find him, and I needed to take that into account.

  I just had no idea how to do it.

  "Let's sit back down," Dominick suggested softly, pulling out the chair next to where he'd been sitting. I nodded and sat there, smiling weakly as he moved my tea across the table to me.

  We didn't say anything for a while as we sipped our drinks, the silence broken only by my occasional sniffling. I wanted to explain the sudden outburst, to blame it on the hormones, but the idea of explaining the baby to Dominick filled me with dread and exhaustion.

  He'd already had one life-altering bomb dropped on him yesterday, how would he react to another one so soon? Would he support my decision or fight it? It wasn't any of his business, or at least it hadn't been. It was all too complicated, too terrifying to discuss now.

  So I'd just let him think I was a crazy woman who burst into tears for no reason, then. That seemed much simpler.

  "I'm just here to find out what I can do," Dominick blurted out suddenly. I looked at him in surprise, noticing again that his own exhaustion seemed to mirror mine.

  Out all night partying? Or up all night worrying about this? And whatever the answer was, how could I ask without it being insulting?

  "What you can do?" I asked finally, trying to be as neutral as possible.

  "For Ali."

  "Ali and I are doing great, we don't need you to do anything," I said automatically, blurting the words out before I could think them through. The suddenly closed expression on his face told me it was a mistake, but too late.

  "Maybe I do, mom," a voice called. I turned around to face Ali, still in her pajamas with her hair all disheveled. She was looking straight at Dominick with a bright, shy smile that I'd never seen from her before, like she'd just found the Holy Grail. "Mr. Henderson," she said. "I'm so glad you came."

  "Call me Dominick. Or even better, Dom. That's what my close friends call me," he said, throwing a glance my way. "And family, too," he added, looking almost shy as he spoke. I struggled to find any similarity between this man and the playboy I'd read about last night online, failing miserably in the process.

  Ali smiled, walking to the fridge to help herself to a glass of milk.

  "You have a motorcycle?" Ali asked, her voice impressed as she gawked out the window at the large bike parked outside. I looked, too, finding a large and vintage-looking machine that gave me goose bumps.

  Anything that looks as impressive as that is probably a death trap, I reminded myself cautiously. Safety and style are often negatively correlated.

  "A couple of them, yeah," Dominick answered. "You like bikes?"

  "Yeah. Jason—our neighbor—he's hoping to buy one soon. Smaller than yours, I guess, but still cool. He's been saving up money for months, and his parents are going to pay the difference when he turns sixteen. "Can we take a look at yours?"

  "Sure," Dominick said, and Ali went squeeee with delight. "Your friend can look, too, if you want to invite him over."

  "Cool!" Ali said, a word that hardly seemed to be part of in her vocabulary. "But he's not home right now, he has a paper route and leaves early every morning." Without saying anything further, Ali rocketed back to her room to get dressed.

  "I, uh," Dominick said, sheepishly rubbing his head as he spoke. "Probably should have cleared that with you first, come to think of it. Crap. Should I call it off?"

  The sound of Ali's excited humming drifted through the house, audible even in the kitchen.

  "Not unless you want her to come at both of us with an axe, I think," I said. "But thank you for asking, even if it was a bit late. That was thoughtful of you."

  I replayed the sentence in my head a few times, hoping it sounded sincere rather than sarcastic.

  I was never very good
at this sort of thing.

  "This was probably inevitable, anyway. She's always had a fascination for motorcycles," I explained quietly. Dominick gave me a smile, and I didn't need to be good at social stuff to read his mind at that moment.

  Probably my influence, he was thinking.

  Was it?

  I didn't know.

  Moments later, Ali returned to the kitchen all dressed for the day. Her hair was brushed and in a ponytail, while she sported her favorite hoodie and a pair of stonewashed pink jeans. She radiated energy and happiness as she gave me a kiss on the cheek before grabbing Dominick by the arm and hauling him outside.

  I watched from the kitchen window, mug in hand, as the two circled around Dominick's bike. Ali, not Dominick, was pointing to every part and doing most of the talking. For his part, Dom was focused entirely on her, his eyes leaving her face only occasionally.

  After a few minutes, Ali stopped pointing at the bike and started pointing to the neighbor's house. She looked a little less animated, a little more sad, as if she regretted not being able to share the experience with Jason.

  It slowly dawned on me that this might well be the start of my little girl's first crush.

  The idea horrified me, but did not surprise me. Ali had always seemed older and more mature than other kids her age, growing up like it was some kind of race. Nevertheless, the idea of her being interested in a boy four years older than her filled me with dread. If I was right, there would soon be more sleepless nights and tears. Boys weren't my forte by any means, and she'd have questions I couldn't answer. The kind of stuff that she would've been better off asking—

  "Oh dear lord," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

  I'd created a monster.

  Helena

  Dominick and Ali remained outside, looking at the bike for some time. Eventually, I went out to join them, and listened to Ali as she impressed Dom with her vast and not-quite-obsessive knowledge about motorcycles. Dom, for his part, listened patiently and added extra info or corrected Ali where needed. To his credit, he was never bored or insincere, at least as far as I could tell.