"Our baby, Dylan. This is our baby, not my brother’s."
Holy hell, that was equally the most terrifying and exhilarating statement I’d ever made out loud, regardless of how Dylan was going to react.
The silence extended awkwardly.
"You don't have to say that, Brooke," he finally said. "I will help you get away from Blake. I will set you up for life, and you’ll never have to worry about money or a lack of freedom ever again. There's no need to pretend it's not your fucking asshole of a brother's child. What he did to you is absolutely reprehensible, and when I get my hands on him, I will murder his ass in a way that draws out the pain for weeks."
He was saying all the right things, but the one part that was wrong was his flat-out refusal to acknowledge this child could be his. He didn't even ask me if I was sure. He just assumed I was lying to save myself from the embarrassment of admitting I'd been raped. And I knew why he was so adamant in his belief of this: He didn't want to be the father. Bottom line.
"Dylan," I said softly, reaching out to take his hand. "You have to listen to me—"
I was cut off when the man, who I assumed to be Doctor Keller, appeared in the room, looking somewhat harried and out of breath. "Mr. Grant," he said, hurrying to Dylan's side. "Sorry, it took me longer than expected to get here."
It had been all of two minutes, and I was starting to get the idea of what life was like for the filthy rich. "Talk to me about options for saving this pregnancy!" Dylan snapped, not even acknowledging the apology. Someone needed to work on this guy's people skills because they were sadly lacking.
"Uh, sir. As Dr. Mooney explained to Ms. Lawson this morning, there’s nothing we can do at this early stage in the development. The fetus—"
"Baby," Dylan interrupted. "It's her goddamn baby, and she deserves the best care that this city provides."
"The baby is barely eight weeks into gestation," the doctor continued, his hands wringing together. "There's nothing, sir. You can ask any specialist in the world, and I promise the answer will be the same. The best thing Ms. Lawson can do is rest, have minimal stress, and hydrate, and we will continue to monitor the situation. I promise this is a top priority for this hospital."
Dylan opened his mouth, but I reached out and put a hand on his arm. "It's okay," I said softly. "Let the nice doctor go back to saving lives, and I will go back to resting and trying my best to heal myself and our baby."
He flinched, the smallest of movements. I'd deliberately used that word and he knew it, but neither of us acknowledged the why of it again.
"Grace, your nurse, will return in half an hour to check your vitals again," the doctor assured me, before he shot Dylan one final look and then hurried from the room.
"Brooke—" Dylan started to say, and I could already tell by the tone of his voice he was going to try and reassure me again that my fictional incestuous rape was nothing to hide from him.
"Dylan, shut the fuck up and listen to me," I barked, forcing a million times more steel into my voice than I was really feeling. It was enough to shock him, though, and his mouth snapped shut.
I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
"Now. Sit the hell down and quit being an overbearing prick." He did as he was told, and I kinda loved it. "You made an assumption about this pregnancy, and you were wrong. Is that perfectly clear? Yes, Blake abused me. Yes, he used to beat the crap out of me on a regular basis. Yes, he treated me like his property and has done despicable, horrific things to me in the years since our parents died." I needed to pause then and swallow the lump in my throat. I’d blocked so many of those memories out and had no desire to dredge them up any time soon.
Dylan wet his lips, taking the opportunity to speak as I sorted myself out. "Little bird, you—"
"I told you to shut up and listen," I scolded, glaring him into silence. If he gave me that pitying, sympathetic look one more time...
I had to rip the Band-Aid off. "Blake never raped me, Dylan. I was a