Secret Baby for my Brother's Friend

by Ella Brooke

  ***

  Hunter

  “We need to talk.”

  I’d been sitting on the iron park bench again, staring at the duck pond, so engrossed in my own glum thoughts that I hadn’t heard footsteps approaching. I jerked my head up and discovered Char standing there looking down at me.

  I couldn’t read her expression, but I assumed she was angry about what had happened in the diner. Who wouldn’t be? Of course, it hadn’t really been my doing, but even so… “I’m sorry about that article in the paper,” I told her. “And for what happened in the diner this morning.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I apologize for my brother’s behavior. Finding out that you’re Diana’s father—well, I think it was a shock for him. He hates you.”

  The awful bluntness of those words cut through me like a knife. Of course, intellectually I knew that Jacob hated me, but to hear it so bluntly—it hurt. After all, he’d once been my best friend in the world. I’d really never replaced him in my heart, never found another man I could call a close friend. In college, I’d become a loner and had assured myself I preferred it that way.

  But deep down I knew I didn’t.

  She settled down on the iron bench next to me, her thigh close to mine. We were silent a long moment, looking at the small duck pond. It was so cold that the edges of it were lined with ice, but the mallards swam in brisk circles in the open water, tipping their rears into the air every so often as they searched for food. The sky above was a bleak, foreboding iron gray, and the sun that had shone so brightly yesterday was nowhere to be found, concealed behind dark scudding clouds.

  At last she spoke.

  “I’m sorry I tried to keep everything from you,” she said.

  “It’s all right.” I looked down at her in surprise. I’d expected anger, not an apology. “I understand why you did.”

  “It’s not all right. It’s just…well, I’ve gotten used to thinking of Diana as mine over the past couple of years. My mother and Jacob have helped raise her, but even so, I thought of her as mine and mine alone. But honestly…she never was really just mine, was she? She’s yours too, and I should have let you know about her the moment she was born. But I was afraid.”

  “Afraid she’d be known as a felon’s daughter?”

  “Partly,” she admitted, and the matter-of-fact words struck into me like yet another knife blade. Because of course Diana was a felon’s daughter, and now everyone in town knew it. Before long, I thought glumly, everyone in the country would know. People loved a good scandal. I wondered how much hell my daughter would go through in her life because of my choices. “But also because of your family. Your father was still alive then, and I was afraid that if he knew she was yours, he might get custody somehow.”

  “That was probably wise,” I agreed. “My father would have wanted her raised as a Kensington.”

  “Yes. Which would have meant she should live in a mansion, not a ratty old bungalow. That she should have a nanny and go to the very best and most exclusive preschools. And wear the best clothes, and have the best toys, and…well. I would have lost her, Hunter. You know I would have.”

  I thought about my father’s obsession with family and the amount of money he’d had at his disposal compared to Char. I nodded.

  “You were right. Keeping the truth to yourself was the only way to hold onto her.”

  “Yes. I did what I had to do, but I’m still sorry about it. It wasn’t fair to you. But now…”

  “I won’t take her away from you, Char. You know that, don’t you?”

  She looked up at me, and a little smile curved her mouth. “I do know that. Although when I came to know it, I can’t tell you. When I heard you’d been released from prison and were coming home, the first thing I thought was that you might take Diana away from me. But now that I know you…I don’t think you could be capable of such a thing.”

  “You’re right. I couldn’t. Yesterday I saw how much she loves you. How much you adore her. I couldn’t ever take her away from you, no matter what. She needs you.”

  “But she needs her father, too.” She reached out and gently placed a hand on mine. I realized my hands were clenched into fists on my thighs, and I consciously tried to relax them. “It’s not fair for me to keep her all to myself. At first, I thought that was what I wanted, but now I’ve realized she needs you, Hunter. And you need her.”

  I’d never needed anyone in my life, and the thought that I needed someone now, let alone a two-year-old, was absurd, almost insulting. That must have shown in my expression because she laughed softly.

  “It’s true,” she insisted. “You should have seen your face yesterday. Did you get a good look at the photos in the paper? Here, take a look.”

  She pulled the newspaper from beneath her arm and held it out to me. I took it, curious. I hadn’t really looked closely at the paper when Au had shoved it at me this morning, but I took the time to look at the photos now. The three of us were smiling together as we fed the ducks, looking very much like a happy family. There were even a couple of photos in which we’d clearly been laughing.

  I’d laughed with Char and my daughter.

  I never laughed.

  I looked at the photos and wondered. Maybe I really did need my daughter.

  And maybe, just maybe, I needed Char too.

  I turned my hand over, palm upward, and tangled my fingers with hers. The two of us looked at our linked hands for a long moment.

  “Diana isn’t just mine,” she told me softly. “She’s ours.”

  I felt an immense wave of gratitude wash over me, so warm and intense I couldn’t put words to it. I wanted to say thank you, thank you, but instead I just turned to her and wrapped my arms around her. She slipped her arms around my neck, and we held each other for a long while.

  I didn’t give a damn who might be lurking in the bushes, watching or taking photos. It honestly didn’t matter.

  This moment was ours alone.

  I breathed in the smell of her hair, the scent of strawberries, and knew it was my turn to come clean. She’d given me my daughter back, and now it was time for me to give her the truth. I owed her that much.

  “I have to tell you something,” I whispered in her ear.

  I felt her eyelashes brush my cheek as she blinked in confusion. “What is it?”

  I drew in a deep breath, then spat out the words in a rush. “The embezzlement charges—it wasn’t me, Char. I didn’t do it. I swear.”

  She jerked back her head and stared at me, looking shocked. “What do you mean, Hunter? You pleaded guilty, didn’t you?”

  “I pleaded no contest, actually. And…well, you can’t tell anyone else. Promise me. Promise.”

  She seemed to guess the enormous stakes here from my tone, because she nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

  I’d never told anyone else the truth, and I didn’t know why I was telling it to her now, except she was the mother of my child, and she deserved to know I wasn’t as terrible as she thought I was. Admittedly I was no one’s notion of the ideal man, but I wasn’t a criminal, either. And somehow I desperately needed her to know that.

  “Au…Au was the one who embezzled those funds from the charity,” I said at last, faltering only a little. “My father asked me to take the rap for him, so I did.”

  She stared at me, her mouth dropping open. “You’re telling me that you went to prison to protect your little brother?”

  I nodded.

  “The Kensington devotion to family,” she said dryly, “is far more fucked up than I ever realized.”

  The comment pulled a chuckle from me. “I suppose you’re right. But Au was only twenty-four at the time. He was just a kid. He didn’t deserve to have his life ruined over a stupid mistake.”

  “Hey, I’m twenty-four, thank you very much. And I’m not a kid, I’m an adult. If you ask me, if Austin was old enough to commit the crime, he was old enough to go to jail.” She saw I was about to respond, and swiftly lifted her hands in
a gesture of defeat. “But I can see you didn’t feel that way. That you still don’t feel that way. I… I’m just sorry your father managed to talk you into sacrificing yourself like that, Hunter. He shouldn’t have asked you to give up everything for your brother. It was wrong.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, although it really wasn’t. It had rankled at me for years now—had my father asked me to take the fall for Au because he loved Au more? I couldn’t see any other reason for his choice, and in a way I understood it. I’d been far from the perfect son, while Au had been everything the old man could have wanted in a son. Au had been intelligent, personable, and a born leader, whereas I had been—

  Well, the truth was that I’d been an asshole. Maybe I still was.

  “It’s not.” Char sounded more outraged than before. “It’s the furthest thing from all right, damn it. Why are you still protecting him? Why not just expose him? You could clear your name…”

  “Au is my brother, Char. I admit I don’t like him much, but I do love him. If it were Jacob, wouldn’t you give up everything to protect him?”

  She was silent for a while, thinking about that.

  “Yes,” she answered at last, her voice low. “I suppose I would.”

  “Anyway…” I heaved a sigh, looking back at the mallards swimming unconcernedly in the water. Ducks had such a simple, uncomplicated life. Lucky them. “The truth is, I honestly think it’s turned out for the best. Au always had more of a head for business than I did, and he’s actually become quite a good CEO. I’ve been reading up on Kensington Media, and he’s doing a damn fine job with the company. Better than I would have, I imagine. Maybe that’s why my father made the choice he did, because he thought Au, with all his faults, would be better for the company.”

  “But—“

  “No buts, Char. It’s over, and nothing can change it now. There’s no point in dredging up old troubles. I’m out of prison now, and I have a chance to start over. A chance to begin again. And I’d like to make the most of it…with you and Diana.”

  She looked at me for a long moment, her blue eyes brimming with tears. Her hand tightened on mine, squeezing so tightly it almost hurt.

  “Why don’t you come over tonight for dinner, Hunter?”

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte

  To say that dinner was awkward would be a vast understatement.

  Hunter arrived at six. He looked like he’d taken care with his appearance—his midnight-dark hair was freshly trimmed and neatly brushed, and he was clean-shaven—but he wisely hadn’t worn a ten thousand dollar suit in a misguided attempt to impress my family, either. Beneath the omnipresent leather jacket, he wore a simple, collared polo shirt with navy and burgundy stripes, and a pair of dark indigo jeans.

  Jacob insisted on meeting him at the door, somewhat to my dismay. The last thing I wanted was another fist fight to erupt between them. But the two of them just stared at each other for a long moment, then Jacob pulled open the door all the way and said simply, “Come on in.”

  Hunter stepped into the foyer, shrugged off his jacket, and hung it on the coat rack, exactly as he’d always done when he’d visited Jacob in high school. Before he could take another step, my mom came racing from the kitchen, dashed to him, and flung her arms around his neck with her usual complete lack of dignity.

  “It’s so nice to see you, my dear!” she trilled in his ear. “You look so grown up and handsome!”

  Hunter’s eyes went wide with shock, as if he hadn’t expected to find himself on the receiving end of a mom-hug, but he politely tried to return her embrace. “Um. Nice to see you too, Mrs. Evans.”

  He let go of her and sent a hesitant glance at Jacob, whose face had gone murderous. He looked like he might just kill Hunter after all. I stepped between them, took Hunter’s arm, and led him toward the dining room.

  He’d eaten at our house many, many times as a teenager, and I remembered him eating Mom’s cooking with tremendous enthusiasm—so much so that I had often wondered if they fed him anything at home. Of course, everyone in town knew his family had a French chef who prepared wonderfully exotic meals for the Kensington clan, everything from filet mignon to escargot, which were then placed onto silver serving dishes and served to the family by an English butler. Hunter must have enjoyed incredible cuisine at home.

  But he always seemed to prefer meatloaf.

  Mom had remembered that too. When I’d shyly informed her that Hunter would be coming by tonight, she’d instantly dashed for the kitchen and begun making meatloaf. Now she was placing large slabs of it onto every plate, along with generous helpings of mashed potatoes and green beans. We didn’t have silver serving dishes, just the same old Corelle Butterfly Gold dishes Mom had had since the seventies. But dinner still looked like a million bucks to me.

  “Set the table, won’t you, boys?” she said.

  She’d said that dozens of times when they’d been teenagers, and they’d always rushed to set the table, laughing and talking as they did so. Now the two of them looked at each other blankly, then went to find the forks and knives, which were still in the same drawer they’d been in ten years ago. Moments later the table was set to my mother’s satisfaction, I’d placed Diana on her booster seat, and we were all sitting down to dinner. I saw Hunter blink in confusion as my mother set a full glass of milk in front of him.

  “I remembered you always enjoyed milk,” she told him.

  I suspected that he was accustomed to sipping Chablis and bourbon with his meals nowadays, but Mom had apparently made the command decision to treat him as if no time whatsoever had passed and he was still a teenager. Which was perhaps just as well, considering everything he’d gone through since then.

  We dug in, and despite the awkward silence that prevailed, dinner seemed to go well. Hunter devoured his meatloaf as enthusiastically as if it had been prepared by the finest French chef in existence, and he guzzled his milk down thirstily too.

  But no one seemed to have anything to say.

  It didn’t take long before Diana decided the prevailing silence was unacceptable and decided to fill it with a long monologue about her day in preschool, which she seemed to be aiming mostly at Hunter. She was difficult to understand once she got going, like any child her age, but Hunter listened to her with every appearance of intense interest and made appropriate remarks, like “is that so?” and “wow, how exciting” and “sounds like fun!”

  Watching the two of them together, I couldn’t help but think that he was a much better father than I ever would have imagined. I remembered the two of them dashing around the park together, him laughing as she squealed with delight, and I couldn’t seem to stop watching them interact. I must have been doing the heart-eyes thing, because all at once Jacob shot me a glare of utter distaste and threw his fork down on his plate with totally unnecessary violence. It clattered noisily against the Corelle, and all of us looked in his direction.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, standing up so fast he almost knocked his chair over. His face, which was ordinarily amiable and happy, was dark with anger. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and pretend that it’s perfectly normal to invite someone like—like him into our house. I just can’t, all right?”

  My mother looked up at him, then slowly rose to her feet. Jacob stood an inch over six feet tall, and she was only five foot three, but all at once she looked as imposing as a queen, her round, lined face crowned with silver.

  “Sit down, Jacob,” she said, her voice steel-edged.

  “I told you, I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will. Hunter is our guest and Diana’s father. Don’t you dare walk away from this table.”

  Hunter stood up too. “Mrs. Evans, I don’t want to be the cause of any strife—“

  “Quiet,” she said sternly, shooting him a glare, and he instantly fell silent. “Hunter, my dear, this is not your fault, and you aren’t going to walk away, either. I don’t know what happened between you all those years ago,
but the two of you are going to have to learn to get along again, for the sake of the child.”

  “But he—“ Jacob sputtered, and Mom turned her gimlet gaze on him.

  “Quiet.”

  He fell silent, and Hunter wisely said nothing. Even Diana, who had been engaged in a long, earnest monologue comparing the swings at the park to the ones at her school, subsided into silence. Mom didn’t get angry much, but when she did, no one wanted to cross her.

  “The two of you sit down.”

  They sat.

  “Have seconds, Hunter dear. There’s plenty.” She passed him the tray of meatloaf slices, and he politely took a slice. He hesitated, then passed the tray on to Jacob, who took a slice too.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Evans.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “That’s better,” she said, beaming at them. “Have some more potatoes, boys.”

  They obediently had more potatoes.

  ***

  A few days later, I found myself whizzing through the narrow streets of Pinecone in a stretch limo. And not just any stretch limo, but a Rolls-Royce. It was a dignified old car that had been driving around the streets of Pinecone for as long as I could remember, ferrying Kensingtons on their various missions around town. Its ebony paint gleamed in the setting sun almost as brightly as the enormous chrome grill on its front end, which was topped with an angel.

  It was a car that said class and old money and get out of my way, peons with every softly purring rumble of its engine. I’d never expected to find myself inside it.

  Yet here I was, lounging on the soft leather seats and sipping at a Coke I’d found in its refrigerator.

  I wasn’t exactly dressed for a car like this. Hunter had texted me, suggesting I come over for dinner, and so I’d come home from work and hastily changed into a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt extolling the Pinecone Peanut Festival, the high point of Pinecone’s summer every year. And then, just as Hunter had promised, the old Rolls had rolled up in front of our house, and the chauffeur had climbed out and stood stiffly by its side, waiting for me.