by Jaymin Eve
My hand brushed over the hard box, and I tried not to hyperventilate. Ruth, who must have moved away from the fridge without me noticing, startled me when she took my hand.
"Not knowing doesn't change the truth," she told me. "Better to have all the information so you can make a proper decision about your next move."
"My mom died," I whispered randomly, voice soft. "And I have been a mess ever since. I feel like, though, maybe she would have said the exact same thing you just did."
Feeling determined, I sucked in a deep breath and let Ruth direct me to the cozy bathroom on her first floor. When the door closed and I was alone, I forced the panicked feeling in my chest down as I crossed to the sink so I could look at this test.
The instructions were pretty clear: Pee on the end, wait a few minutes, and read the results. This was one that didn't have colored lines and instead would tell me in no uncertain terms. The word pregnant would appear if I was, and there was nothing clearer than that.
My hands shook as I sat on the toilet, but it had been a while since I’d peed, so I had no issue with going. The brochure had said the midstream was the best to hit the stick with, so I did just that, then laid it on the sink so I could wash my hands and spend the next few minutes silently having a breakdown.
As much as Ruth's advice made sense, the reality of being pregnant and homeless had me half hyperventilating with my head between my legs. Long after I knew the results would be there, I couldn't pull myself up to look. Not until a gentle knock on the door startled me.
"Everything okay in there, Brooke?" Ruth called.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I got to my feet. "Yep, yep, all good," I called out, having no idea if that was a lie or not. "I'll be right out."
"Okay, sweetheart."
My heart ached at that word, and I tried to remember that last time I'd heard any sort of motherly endearment. Ruth was breaking me in the worst way, but fuck, I couldn't regret getting in her car.
And I honestly couldn't avoid looking at the test any longer, so I stumbled to the sink, reaching for the test. Of course, just as I picked it up to try and look at the word, I heard a loud banging on the door outside. Not my door. The front damn door.
Shit. My immediate thought was that Blake had found me, but the odds of that were slim. Just in case, I slipped the test into my pocket and rushed from the room, not bothering to clean up the box or the instruction leaflet. Ruth was heading for the door now, and I noticed that she held a handgun in her right hand.
"A gun?" I hissed.
Gone was her sweet smile, and in its place was a slight smirk. "I had a feeling your man would come looking for you, Brooke. You're not someone that he'd let go easily. My feeling was that you should have the choice to leave with him or not, and this gun gives us that choice."
Well, fuck. Could you fall in love with a sixty-year-old woman? Was that, like, a thing? I mean, in a purely platonic sense.
"Okay, well let’s see who is banging so loudly," Ruth said, stepping up to open her door. I noted the way she angled herself so her gun wasn't visible but she could use it if necessary.
When she pulled the white door open, Dylan was framed there, and for the first time, Ruth's house seemed small.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
Dylan's nostrils flared, his full lips thinning as those icy green eyes moved past her to lock on me. His gaze ran over me like he was checking for injuries, and I resisted the urge to put my hand in my pocket to clutch the pee stick. Not like Dylan had X-ray vision to see it there, but it was making me nervous nonetheless.
He didn't need to say anything for me to cringe. His every furious thought was painted across his face in black and white, and I shot a nervous glance at Ruth. She still had a gun, and if she thought Dylan meant to hurt me...
Dylan was smarter than that, though. He'd already recognized that Ruth could pose a threat and softened his body language dramatically as he shifted his attention to her.
"I apologize for turning up on your doorstep like this, ma'am." His smile was that slick, perfectly fake one from all his Forbes articles. "I've been looking everywhere for my girlfriend; I'm so glad you're taking such good care of her."
Ruth wasn't fooled. Fuck, I loved her. "Nice try," she replied with a deadpan glare. "I'm gonna ask you to wait outside while I chat with Brooke."
My eyes widened at her iron-clad lady balls, and a flicker of anger and frustration passed over Dylan's face before it was quickly wiped away.
"Ma'am, I think it's best if Brooke comes with me. She hasn't been well and—"
"I said"—Ruth cut him off with a cold voice, shifting her body so her gun was now visible to him—"wait outside, son. I won't repeat myself."
Dylan's eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, then shot me a somewhat pleading look. Fuck that, though. He was more than likely here just to drag me back to Delta for questioning. Not a single inch of me believed he'd stood up for me against his friends—against Riley—and why the fuck should he? All he knew about me was that I'd lied—I'd lied and I was a victim of my brother's abuse, but even there it was only my word. Given how I hadn't proven myself all that trustworthy, maybe he didn't even believe me on that.
After a tense moment of staring, Dylan reluctantly stepped back, and Ruth swiftly closed the door in his face. She flipped her dead bolt for good measure, then turned to me with a gentle smile on her face.
"What was the result?" she whispered, giving me a meaningful look, and my hand went to my pocket.
"I-I didn't even look," I admitted, feeling so much like the mouse Dylan had accused me of being. Swallowing hard, I pulled the pee stick from my pocket and peered down at it.
Then frowned.
"Well?" Ruth prompted, seeming almost as anxious as I was. Okay, not even close, but she was invested, nonetheless.
I shook my head. "It's... it doesn't say anything, just a little flashing symbol in the corner. But the box said it should say the word. You know, the word." Holy hell I couldn't even say it out loud. Pregnant, Brooklyn. It should say pregnant.
Ruth held out her hand for the stick, and I handed it over. She didn't flinch at touching it, just scowled down at the digital display and sighed.
"Error code," she told me. "Either it was a faulty test or it wasn't flat enough to read the result. You'll need to take another test."
My shoulders sagged and tears choked my throat. Talk about an anticlimax.
Ruth gave me a quick, sympathetic hug and back pat. "What do you wanna do about that tall drink of water on the porch, girl? I don't care how handsome he is, I'll shoot him right out into the snow if he hurt you."
I grinned at the mental image that conjured, but instantly a flash of guilt hit me. Dylan had tracked me down—somehow—but he didn't seem to have a team of guards at his heels ready to take me in, kicking and screaming. Maybe I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt? Surely, I couldn't turn my back and leave him to the snowstorm.
Then again, I was already imposing on Ruth enough. I couldn't just invite my sometimes-lover and maybe baby daddy into her home. Perhaps I should just go with him...
"I tell you what," Ruth suggested, tucking her gun away, "I'll let him in just until the storm passes. No one should be trying to drive through that mess, and I'd never forgive myself if you left with him and ended up in a crash. But if at sunrise you don't want to leave with him, then you don't have to. Clear?"
Stunned again at how incredible she was, I just jerked a nod with a thick lump of emotion sitting in my throat.
Ruth patted my shoulder in a comforting way, like she could read my mind, then tucked my failed pregnancy test into her pocket. When she unbolted the door and swung it open, Dylan was right there on the doorstep with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He wasn't even wearing a coat, and I could see a slight shiver running through his tense shoulders.
"You can come in and stay till the storm dies off," Ruth told him in a stern, don't-fuck-with-me tone. "But if Brooke
doesn't wanna go with you come morning, you leave. No arguments. Are we clear?"
Dylan shot me a quick look, then returned his gaze to Ruth with a nod. "Yes, ma'am. Understood."
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then stepped aside to let him into her home. Fucking hell, it was like the room instantly shrank by at least half.
"Head on through to the sitting room," Ruth told us. "I'll prepare the guest room for you, Brooke. Your friend can sleep on the couch."
Dylan's brows flicked up as he ripped his intense stare away from me. "I'm so sorry, ma'am; I didn't introduce myself. I'm Dylan—"
"Dylan Grant," she cut him off. "I'm old, not stupid. I know full damn well who you are, son." The grim set to her mouth and small frown indicated she knew who he was and didn't approve.
Clearing my throat, I awkwardly made my way through to Ruth's sitting room, where a fire crackled in the open fireplace. I didn't just assume Dylan would follow me, but he did nonetheless, like a huge shadow echoing my footsteps.
I chose one of the big, overstuffed armchairs so he couldn't sit beside me. But he just took a seat on the sofa directly opposite instead, and maybe that was worse. I couldn't escape his gaze when he was staring straight at me.
"Why are you here, Dylan?" I asked in a soft voice when the tension became too much for me to bear. I was sitting with my hands tucked under my thighs in an attempt to calm my tremors, but it wasn't doing a whole lot of good. "How did you even find me?"
One of his black brows quirked. "Seriously?"
I frowned. "Yes, seriously. Do you have a tracking device on me or something?"
He shook his head. "No, of course not. But you didn't exactly hide your tracks well, Brooke. It wasn't a hard trail to follow when you were seen by so many people at Walmart. Warde is the closest town to camp, and it’s tiny. Strangers stand out."
Well, now I felt stupid. "Oh."
"What are you doing here, Brooke? You ran away from camp right before a snowstorm was due to hit. Do you have a death wish or something?" His frown was deepening into a scowl, and his nostrils flared with anger.
I let out a bitter laugh. "Leaving means I have a death wish? No offense, Dylan, but staying seemed like a considerably worse option for me. Your girlfriend is way too bloodthirsty for my liking, and she had absolutely no interest in my innocence."
His frown darkened. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not in love with Riley? I love her, yes, but as a good friend. Same as how I love Beck, Jasper, and Evan. They're my family, Brooke. You're—"
"An easy lay," I finished for him with a sneer. "Heard, loud and clear. So why the fuck are you here? Or do you seriously think I know where those files are?"
Dylan was out of his seat in a flash, moving faster than any man his size had the right to. A split second later he was on his knees on the carpet in front of me, his face inches from mine.
He didn't touch me, but it didn't matter. His fingers were tight on the arms of my chair and his breath mingled with mine as we stared into each other's eyes for a heavy moment.
"That's not what I was going to say, Brooke," he informed me in a deathly quiet voice. "Don't you dare put words in my mouth."
Fuck. I swallowed heavily but couldn't bring myself to push him away.
"Riley and the other heirs are my family, but you're something else. I can't even explain what it is that I'm feeling for you, little bird, but the second I realized you'd run, I just..." He trailed off, shaking his head like he could hardly understand his own actions. "I panicked. I couldn't stop picturing what would happen to you if you were caught in the storm, and it'd be all my fault."
My mouth was so dry, like my panic had evaporated all the moisture in my whole damn body, so my voice was scratchy when I replied. "Yeah, it would have been."
Shock flickered over his features, and his eyes widened. "Did you find some sass while you were out in the cold, beautiful?" A small smile pulled at his full lips, and I was sorely tempted to punch him right in the handsome face. How dare he joke around right now?
My brow furrowed into a scowl. "Fuck you, Dylan. It'd be your fault because you treated me like shit back at camp with your friends. I may be a broken bird, but I deserve better than that."
The amusement slipped from his face, leaving behind regret and guilt. As close as we were, there was no mistaking his expression now that he wasn't hiding from me.
"I was trying to keep you safe, Brooke. I know it sounded harsh, but—"
"Sounded harsh? No, you called me a mouse and a dog in less than ten minutes, then outlined to your best friends how utterly pathetic and incapable I am—while I sat right there and cried. You're an arrogant, selfish prick, Dylan Grant. I can't believe I actually thought I was falling for you." I did shove him away from me this time, or tried to, at least.
Even with my hands flat against his chest, he barely swayed back a couple of inches.
"You're in love with me?" His voice was shocked and his expression like a deer in headlights.
I shook my head, firm. "Not even close," I lied. "Maybe I thought I was once, but I was so wrong. I could never love someone as cruel and heartless as you." My chin was trembling now, so I shoved out of my chair and past him before he could see the lie written all over my face.
Ruth was just coming back into the room, and she paused in her tracks when she saw my face.
"I'm quite tired," I told her with a plea in my eyes. "Do you mind if I just go to sleep?"
Her brows hiked up, and she sent a warning glare past me to Dylan before nodding. "Of course, sweetheart. Third door on the left upstairs, it's all set up for you."
"Thank you," I said with utter sincerity, wrapping my arms around myself as I hurried past her.
I knew full well Dylan wouldn't let me leave it at that, but maybe, just maybe, he'd give me some space to process for a few hours. Then in the morning, I could let Ruth toss him out on his ass.
20
Through some miracle of exhaustion or hormones, I actually fell asleep in Ruth's pretty guest room. I couldn't have slept for long, though, because the room was still pitch black when I woke with a startled gasp and a heavy hand over my mouth.
Fear choked me for a second, until I recognized Dylan's fresh, woodsy scent.
"Shh," he breathed, his lips right beside my face. "Stay quiet. We're under attack."
What?
Sure enough, a second later I heard more than one scuff from downstairs, and I scrambled into sitting position, pushing Dylan's hand away from my face.
“Who would be attacking us?” I gasped, feeling around for the pants that I'd taken off earlier. But Dylan already had them and slipped them into my hands.
"I don't know, Brooke, but there're a lot of them. I called in Delta backup, but with the storm, I don't think they'll get here in time."
Shit shit shit shit.
"Dylan, have you told Ruth?" I asked, reaching for his arm.
"No, I came straight for you. Ruth should be fine if they're after you or me."
They had to be. Dylan was a billionaire, so clearly worth a fuckton of money if kidnapped, and I had a deranged brother out there lying about me. It could be either of us.
Dylan turned away, listening closer, and no doubt cataloguing the noises coming from downstairs. They were almost silent now, and I was sure that didn't mean good things. "They're professionals," he murmured, confirming my worry. "Get under the bed, Brooke. Don't come out until I tell you to."
I wanted to protest. I really fucking didn't like the thought of cowering under my bed while Dylan fought them off, but there was a possibility I had another life to protect inside of me. A life that I had to fight for.
"Okay," I whispered as a creak of the stairs told me they were close.
Carefully, I eased myself down under the side of the bed and slid all the way back against the wall. From here, there was only a sliver of light visible under the door, but otherwise everything was dark. Outside, the wind blew hard, the dominant
sound, making it easier for those bastards to sneak in.
Dylan's legs disappeared from where he'd been standing, and like a ghost, he blended into the night, preparing for the attack. Closing my eyes I prayed they didn't get to Ruth first and that the kindness this woman had shown a stranger wouldn't cost her her life.
Not like I was a big believer in prayer or God, my parents had never even taken us to a church service as kids, but for Ruth, I was going to give this prayer thing a shot. And not just for Ruth but also Dylan and our baby.
So many lives on the line, and once again, I was helpless.
I was so tense that I almost screamed when the door to my room cracked open, slowly moving inward. The illumination in here grew brighter than the single light Ruth had left on to help me find the bathroom. No one entered straight away, and if they were professionals, as Dylan suspected, they’d be assessing the risks. I inwardly cursed when I remembered my unmade bed. Would they think I was gone and leave?
I was surprised when a few sets of feet moved forward, three people walking in formation. I trembled on the freezing ground, preparing myself for what was about to happen. As they got closer, I heard the muffled sound of a radio, like they wore ear buds to receive their commands. Most definitely professionals.
Should I scream? Would that help Dylan or make things worse?
I mean, I knew he was good at what he did, but knowing what plants to eat wasn't exactly the same as fighting against trained goons.
Just as I had that thought, there was a thud, and then the closest feet to me disappeared. In about the same instant, a body dropped right on the edge of the bed, unseeing eyes staring straight at me.
Holy fucking fuck. He was absolutely dead, his neck at an odd angle, while the gun he'd been holding clattered across the ground. The gun disappeared as a familiar hand wrapped around it, and then there were two barely audible shots as Dylan fired.
"Come on, Brooke," he hissed, face appearing next to dead guy one. "Let's get out of here."
I had to hold my breath as I slid past all the bodies, worried I might throw up on them, and seriously, nobody had time for that. Come on weak stomach. Sort your shit out.