The Perfect Illusion

by Winter Renshaw

  “All right, baby cakes. Love you.”

  “You’re back.” I linger in Beckham’s office doorway. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes darker than before. He stormed off earlier without saying a word. “You talk to Sophie?”

  “Yep.” He glares at the computer screen, punching his keyboard.

  “Get everything sorted out?” I shouldn’t pry, but then again, the woman was stalking me, so I have a right to ask.

  “She’ll leave you alone from now on.”

  That’s all I get?

  “What’d she say?” I step into his office. His eyes snap toward me, crawling up me from head to toe as if I’m not welcome in here.

  “The details are none of your concern, Odessa.”

  “No, it is. She was following me.”

  “And I told you she wouldn’t be a problem any longer. What part of that did you not understand?” He slams his keyboard tray back into his desk, slowly rising.

  “What the hell is your problem?” My arms lock against my chest, and my hip cocks sideways. “Is any of this about last night?”

  It has to be. Nothing else makes sense. Maybe he still loves Sophie and he hates himself for screwing me last night? I’m grasping at straws here but I need to understand what changed.

  “Why would any of this be about last night?” A single eyebrow lifts.

  My jaw slacks, the words sputtering in my mind. “Maybe you still have feelings for her?”

  “Absolutely fucking not.”

  “Maybe you’re upset that I’m a bigger part of your life than you ever wanted me to be. Maybe you don’t know how to deal with that emotionally, so you shut down.”

  He charges around the desk, coming closer until we’re face to face. He doesn’t intimidate me, and I refuse to back down.

  “Thanks for the psychoanalysis, but it won’t be necessary.” His calm tone is delivered with controlled force.

  “You don’t have to be so hard all the time,” I say. “You’re nothing but edges. If you’d soften up once in a while…”

  “Not everyone lives in a little glass bubble where the sun always shines and life never gets real.” He huffs, his stormy eyes grazing my lips. “Must be fucking nice to always have shit figured out, Odessa. But I’m working on mine, so how about you worry about your own for once?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  I search his eyes for a hint of anything that might tell me this friendship, whatever we have, is salvageable because I know what I saw back in Utah. He’s a good person. He has a good heart. This man seething in front of me is about to snap, and he needs someone there to pick up the pieces when he does.

  “Push me away all you want,” I say. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  “Both.”

  “You’re a damn fool,” he growls.

  “Likewise.” I stand tall. “You need me. You need me and you hate the hell out of that fact. You’d be a fool to let me walk away, but lucky for you, I’m not going to.”

  “I’m not capable of giving you the things you need.” His words offer an angry apology.

  “It’s not about me, Beckham. It’s not about what I need.” Our eyes lock. I’m never letting go. At least not until he hears me out. “You told me once everyone’s in it for themselves. But you were wrong because if that were the case, I’d have walked away from you a long time ago. You’re right. You’re not what I need. But you need me. And I’m going to be there for you because that’s what friends do.”

  He says nothing, his chest rising and falling.

  “And like it or not, we’re friends.” I press my pointer finger into his heart. “Deny it all you want, but–”

  A flash in his eyes precedes the grip he takes around my wrist, yanking me against his rigid body before I have a chance to protest.

  “We passed friends a long time ago, don’t you think?”

  I’m locked against him, his hands twisted in my hair and his lips silencing mine with a crushing kiss. My tongue dances with his. I’m caught between wanting to breathe and wanting to exist purely in this moment.

  His hands fall to my waist, and he spins me around, stepping toward me until I fall back onto his desk. Leaning forward, he clears the space behind me, shoving his stapler aside. A cup of pens scatters on the floor, but his focus is on me. Beckham’s fingers work the button of my pants followed by the zipper, and within seconds my pants are tossed aside and my panties are ripped in two.

  His mouth smashes mine, and he takes my bottom lip between his teeth as my hands work his belt. The heat in my body soars each time my fingers graze across the hardness beneath his layers.

  The second he’s free and sheathed, he hoists my thighs around his hips, plowing his swollen cock into me like the whole fucking free world depends on it.

  Beckham’s painfully delicious thrusts build a warm friction. With my fingers tangled in his dark hair, tugging and pulling, I widen my legs and welcome every generous inch of him.

  Every plunge.

  Every push.

  Every prod.

  But sex with Beckham is the perfect guilty pleasure. Carnal and uncomplicated. Exactly the way it should be.

  His hand gropes my breast over my blouse, and I spot the longing in his eyes to be naked, touching all of me. He needs that closeness he so stubbornly tries to deny himself.

  My ankles dig into his tight ass, pushing him deeper inside me as his thrusts quicken. The build-up washes over me as my nails claw his back. Warm spurts fill me, and his face tenses and relaxes as he unloads everything he has into me.

  When it’s over, we don’t speak about it. We don’t need to. It is what it is.

  Chapter 37

  BECKHAM

  I’m not sure what we are.

  All I know is my cock and Odessa’s pussy are addicted to each other and have been for the last month, ever since she marched into my office and refused to leave the day I met up with Sophie.

  She doesn’t ask for labels. We don’t hold hands or talk about the future. I don’t make promises and she doesn’t expect them.

  I’ve never been so content with an arrangement before, but I’d be lying if the thought of her meeting another asshole and running off with him didn’t cause my heart to drop into my stomach.

  Odessa reminds me not to think about the things I can’t control.

  She’s right.

  Shit. She’s right about almost everything.

  It’s the sexiest, most infuriating feature about that woman.

  My attempt to take her advice to heart is the reason I’m hunched over my sink on this Saturday morning in May, staring at an envelope from the Accusure DNA Corporation.

  The truth is in there.

  Separated by a thick white envelope is the answer to my future, to Sadie’s future.

  I want her to be mine more than I ever thought I would.

  I never wanted to be a father, but I want to be Sadie’s father.

  The thing came weeks ago. I’ve done nothing but stare at it, hoping one of these days I can summon the strength to see what’s inside.

  Odessa barges in the bathroom, rifling through my drawers for her strawberry red toothbrush. The one she constantly accuses me of hiding and the one I constantly accuse her of misplacing.

  “What’s that?” She stops yanking on drawers when she spots the white envelope. “You didn’t tell me that came in the mail. Oh, my God. Are you going to open it?”

  She sweeps her dark, fiery hair from her face and ties it on top of her head, leaning against the vanity.

  “Don’t know.” I swipe the envelope and trace my finger along the seam.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Her green eyes flash wild. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want to know?”

  “Got a call from Dr. Brentwood yesterday.” I stare ahead at my tired expression. I swear to God I’ve aged ten years in the last two months.

  She folds her arms, studying me,
waiting in patient silence.

  “Apparently Eva has been out of the hospital for a couple weeks now. She made some indication during treatment that she wishes to relinquish her parental rights to Sadie.”

  Odessa pops up, her hands covering her smiling lips. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  My mouth hardens. “She told Dr. Brentwood that she was fired from the fertility clinic for tampering with medical records.”

  “So what does that mean then? Sadie has to be yours.”

  “The timeline doesn’t add up.” I fight the choking sensation in my throat as heat creeps up to my ears. “The pregnancy, the due date. Sadie had to have been conceived after she was fired.”

  She closes the space between us, her hand resting on my tensed forearm. Odessa hesitates for a moment before pressing her cheek against my arm. She’s a fool for thinking she can comfort me.

  “If Eva doesn’t want Sadie.” Constriction in my chest makes it hard to breathe. “And she’s not mine biologically…”

  “Don’t say it.” Odessa pulls away, dragging her fingers over my lips.

  I have to say it. This is reality. This is real life. Running from the hard truth isn’t an option.

  “I don’t know if the court will let me adopt her. I’m just some random asshole Sadie’s mother once fucked.”

  “You’re so much more than that, Beck. You’re Sadie’s father. Biologically or not. You’re the only father she’s known. The only person who came to her rescue when she needed someone the most.”

  “You make it sound poetic,” I huff.

  “It’s a beautiful thing, the bond you two have.”

  I shake my head. “How the hell am I going to prove to a family court judge that a two month old is bonded to me? It’s not like she can walk in there and ramble on about our late night feedings.”

  Her lips twist into a bittersweet smile. I hope to God she doesn’t cry. Her strength is what keeps me upright most days.

  “What if they say she’d be better off with a mom and a dad?” Every worst possible outcome floods my mind all at once.

  Odessa’s gaze falls to the floor and then back at me. “I know I’m not her mother, but I’d be honored to be that mother figure in her life. You know, if you’re so convinced the judge is going to go that route. You have me. She has me.”

  “That’s a big commitment.”

  “I know.”

  “You’d do that for her?”

  She exhales, her hand lifting to her chest. “Of course, Beck.”

  Chapter 38

  ODESSA

  I’m in love.

  It came softly and unexpectedly, but I couldn’t escape it if I tried. This is the kind of love that lasts a lifetime; the kind that defines you and brings out the deepest parts of your heart you never knew were there.

  I’m not her mother, but I love her the same.

  Leaning over Sadie’s stroller, I melt when I catch a hint of a baby smile. She turned two months last week. Beckham acted like he didn’t want to make a fuss about it, but I made him take a couple dozen pictures with her anyway. He doesn’t say it, but he’s still afraid to get too attached.

  We both know it’s far too late for that.

  I rake a pink pacifier across her rose-hued lips until she latches on, and I lift a muslin blanket up to her belly before pushing on. The Saturday morning June air is just beginning to warm. Dane and Bellamy are in the city visiting Beckham, so I offered to take Sadie for a stroll around Central Park so the three of them could have a nice brunch at a restaurant that doesn’t have high chairs and complimentary wet naps.

  The stroll is leisurely, the fresh air cleansing. We needed this. May was much too rainy, and Sadie was cooped up far too long.

  Joggers pass us, and families, and little old ladies walking dogs. Sadie stirs, her arms fidgeting as she spits out her paci. She needs a break from the stroll. Ahead I spot an empty park bench, pushing her toward it and stepping on the lock before lifting her into my arms.

  She glances around, her dark eyes wide. I’m not sure how much she can see, but Sadie appears to be taking in as much as she can.

  “Much different than your nursery, huh?” I kiss her cheek, breathing in her powdery lavender scent.

  “Your daughter is beautiful.” An older woman in head to toe neon green Nike powerwalks past me with a wide grin, her eyes moving from Sadie to me and back.

  “Thank you.” I nod.

  She feels like mine, even if she’s not.

  Cradling her in my arms, I study her face. I can’t decide if she looks like Beck or not. Sometimes I see it in her expressions. He still won’t open the envelope, and it’s not my place to push him.

  Another temporary custody hearing is tomorrow, sparked by the fact that Eva signed away her parental rights. Beckham’s been a moody mess since last week, each day worse than the one before.

  Losing Sadie would destroy him. I refuse to believe it’s going to happen.

  Sadie smiles up at me, wrapping her fingers around my pinky. I make faces and tickle her beneath her chin until her legs get to kicking. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

  After playing for a bit, her tongue begins to click against her lips. She’s hungry. Pulling her diaper bag from beneath her stroller, I mix up a bottle, lean back on the bench, and feed her.

  Sadie watches me intently, her belly filling by the second, and I squeeze in a bit of people watching. A twenty-something couple amble past, fingers intertwined, and my heart squeezes.

  I lift the baby over my shoulder to burp, and circle my palms over her back, inhaling her once again. The judge is going to let her stay with Beckham no matter what. I know it in my heart of hearts. There’s no one else better suited to be her father. My eyes burn for a moment, but I push those doubts and fears away. I’ve been so preoccupied with keeping Beckham calm lately that I haven’t thought much about how it would make me feel to lose her.

  Squeezing her a little tighter, I lower her into my arm again and place the bottle against her mouth.

  A little boy blazes by on a bike, his mom chasing after him, calling for him to slow down. Watching to see if she ever catches up with him, I spot two familiar faces up ahead.

  My heart lurches into my throat, and for a moment the wind is knocked out of me.

  The couple grows closer, and I call them a couple because they’re unmistakably holding hands.

  Each second passes in slow motion, bringing them closer. They don’t see me. Not yet. But they will.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I stand up, Sadie in my arms, and in my best cordial tone say, “Hey, you two.”

  Jeremiah and Carly’s younger sister, Carissa, freeze, spotting me at exactly the same moment. Their hands drop and their faces turn pale.

  I strut across the wide asphalt path toward them, my heart breaking yet satisfied by the way Jeremiah squirms under my stare.

  “What’s this?” My eyes dance between theirs.

  Carissa turns to Jeremiah but he looks my way.

  “How long?” My jaw sets harder than the knot in my stomach.

  This explains Carly’s strange behavior last time we hung out. I thought it was odd how distant she’d been lately, but I chalked it up to the fact that I was busy dealing with Beckham and my new job. I thought maybe we were falling out of touch.

  I suppose she felt caught between her loyalty to Jeremiah and her loyalty to me.

  This was the last thing I ever expected.

  “It wasn’t planned,” Jeremiah drawls. His tone is smooth and unwavering but the shift in his eyes tells me he’s nervous as hell. “Carissa’s been interning at the studio. We spent some late nights together. It just sort of evolved, Sam.”

  I fight a bittersweet smile, staring at the young woman who likely ignited the doubt in the mind of my former fiancé. Carissa offered an excitement I could never give him.

  She was the catalyst.

  “We never wanted to hurt you.” Carissa bites her lip. I’ve been best frien
ds with Carly since college, but I’d only been around Carissa a handful of times since she attended culinary school in California. “If it makes you feel any better, Carly won’t speak to me.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, stuck between wanting to smack him and thank my lucky stars. I now know that marrying him would’ve been the biggest mistake of my life.

  “When did things…evolve…exactly?” I ask, not that it matters at this point, but I doubt I’ll get another chance to ask.

  “O-oh, um,” Jeremiah stammers. His reaction confirms my assumptions. “I mean, we hung out a lot, but we didn’t really do anything until after you said you absolutely didn’t want to marry me.”

  Carissa smacks him across the chest. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of consolation prize.”

  His blue gaze darts between us. There’s nothing he can say that’s going to please us both.

  “You’re not a consolation prize, Carissa. Damn it. We’ve had this talk.” His lips purse, his nostrils flaring as his hands fly to his hips. Jeremiah glances at me one more time, his eyes softening. “Are you happy now, Sam?”

  His question is gentle, his expression genuine.

  “I just need to know if you’re happy,” he says again.

  My hold on Sadie tightens, and I look down to catch the last of her chocolate eyes before she nods off in my arms.

  There’s so much more love in my life than I ever expected. My love for Sadie fills my heart so full sometimes, I’m worried it’ll burst. And Beckham. He’s my prickly cactus. The more he refuses to believe he’s deserving of love, the more I want to love him.

  I want to love him.

  I do.

  I see things in him I’ve never seen in anyone before. He’s strong and gentle, protective and loyal. Unapologetic and stubborn.

  I could easily love that man, and it could easily be the hardest, most rewarding risk I’ve ever taken. Sometimes I wonder if I’m already starting to fall for him. We’re together almost every day. He’s my label-free version of comfort and excitement.