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Lindsey stood peering into a vending machine, wanting something sweet to go with the cheez-with-a-Z crackers she’d already purchased, when her cellphone rang. Not many people had her new number—not even her so-called best friend Vanessa or the parents who’d turned their backs on her. Owen had bought her a prepaid phone since her previous number had long since been disconnected for lack of payment. After she’d refused his numerous offers to buy her a top-of-the-line smartphone, he made the important point that she might have an emergency that could put the baby at risk, and she needed a way to contact him and her doctor. That was the only reason she’d relented. She’d insisted he get her the el-cheapo phone at a discount store, figuring she might be able to pay him back sooner if she settled for the least expensive model possible; she didn’t need a fancy data plan to call the hospital. She hauled the little phone out of her purse, but not recognizing the number, she let the call go to voice mail.
She decided on a chocolate bar and inserted coins into the slot, only to press a wrong button and end up with fruit chews. Story of her life—nothing ever went as planned. With a heavy sigh, she sorted through her change and finding she was a dime short, left without anything to satisfy her chocolate craving.
When she returned to Chad’s room, she was surprised to find the Mitchells had left Chad to himself. His gaze shifted from the television, and he smiled the best he could with half of his face taped and bandaged. He looked a lot like Owen—same clear blue eyes, same soft lips, same straight nose—but Chad’s jaw was stronger and more pronounced, which would probably classify Chad as handsome where Owen would be considered cute. Even all bandaged up and peppered with cuts, scrapes, and bruises, he was an attractive man. Strong. Virile. Sexy. So sexy.
Lindsey gulped down the sudden flood of saliva in her mouth.
God, she thought. The man has been through so much and the last thing on his mind is getting it on with some desperate floozy his brother probably knocked up. Get your hormones under control, woman!
The last time she’d let her hormones control her life, she’d ended up pregnant. It obviously wasn’t a good life strategy for her.
“Hello, angel,” Chad said. “My family is having a meeting about me.”
Probably because he refused to talk about what had happened to him to anyone. But Lindsey understood why. She didn’t like busybodies snooping into her business either. Not even her once well-meaning family.
“Families.” Chad rolled his unbandaged eye, though Lindsey knew his family meant the world to him, and he patted the bed beside him. “Did you bring me a snack?”
“Do you like Starbursts?” She wasn’t a fan.
“I don’t think my jaw can handle that much chewing.”
“Of course.” She hid the brightly colored candy behind her back. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
“How about Cheez-Its?” She was definitely a fan of those, and wished the bag wasn’t so damned small.
“Sounds great.”
She settled onto the bed beside him and handed him the yet-to-be-opened package. Her stomach rumbled in protest of her relinquishing her snack. Chad chuckled and squirmed over a bit to give her more room on the bed.
“Are you sure you want to share?” he asked.
“You can have them,” she said, happy to be able to offer him a small kindness.
He gripped the bag in the hand he didn’t move much.
“Oh,” she said, reaching for the bag. “Let me—”
“If you help me open a fucking bag of crackers, I will shove you off the bed.”
Her eyes widened. She wasn’t sure if he’d go through with the threat, but she dropped her hand.
“I can do it.”
It took him several tries to open the small red wrapper, while she clung to the sheet to keep herself from helping him. A moment later, he fished out a violently orange square cracker.
“Here. One for you.”
She popped it into her mouth.
“One, two, three for me.” He tossed three little crackers into his mouth.
She couldn’t stop herself from teasing him. “Selfish.”
He grinned, his smile as disarming as his dreamy younger brother’s, and dropped two more crackers into her hand. “Even Steven.”
To keep herself from staring at him, she turned her attention to the television on the wall across from the foot of the bed. “What are you watching?”
“You.”
Her face went hot—those crazy pregnancy hormones, she was sure. “Not very interesting.”
“I disagree,” he said. “Also a lot easier on the eyes than Arnold.” He said the name in a perfect Schwarzenegger impersonation.
Lindsey giggled.
“Get to dah choppah!” Another great impression of the muscular action star.
Lindsey turned to stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“I eat Green Berets for breakfast.”
She’d seen the movie Commando plenty of times, so she added the next line in her own very poor impersonation of the master of cheesy one-liners, “And right now, I’m very hungry.”
Chad crunched into a cracker and turned his attention back to the television. After a minute, very seriously he said, “Give those people air.” He had Schwarzenegger’s accent down perfectly.
Lindsey snorted and broke into a full belly laugh. “Stop. You’re going to make me pee.”
“There is no bathroom!”
Now he was quoting Kindergarten Cop. “I mean it, Chad. Stop.”
“No problemo.”
They watched the current action film on TV—which had Arnold married to Jamie Lee Curtis—in silence until a commercial came on.
“Have you seen every Arnold Schwarzenegger movie ever made?” she asked.
“About a hundred times each.” He’d reached the bottom of the bag of Cheez-Its and handed her one of the remaining crackers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eat them all. I haven’t had any of these for years. I forgot how good they are.”
“I’ll bring you a whole box the next time I visit.”
“So there’s going to be a next time?” he asked.
She smiled. “I hope so.”
“It’s not because you feel sorry for me, is it?”
“Nope. It gets me out of going on more hopeless job interviews.” Being rejected over and over again was hard on the ego.
“At least you’re getting interviews. What kind of job are you looking for?”
“Finance. Or banking.” She cringed. Being a teller or approving loan applications was not her idea of a good time. “Preferably finance.”
“A numbers girl?”
She nodded. She loved the predictability of numbers in the unpredictable world of the stock market.
“I’m sure you’ll land the perfect job soon,” he said.
“I hope you’re right. The problem is that the second I walk in there all hugely pregnant, my resume looks a bit less impressive.”
“They can’t discriminate against you, can they?”
“As long as it doesn’t look that way on paper, they’re in the clear.”
“When are you due?”
He was staring at her belly as if an alien might burst out at any moment. And as active as the baby was, she was thinking one might. “In ten weeks.”
“I haven’t met Owen’s new girlfriend yet, but I’d have to say he’s a complete moron if he chooses her over you.”
“I think once Owen holds our baby, he’ll have a change of heart.” She jumped when a small foot or fist jabbed her insides. “The sound of your voice makes him turn cartwheels.”
He extended the palm of his uninjured hand toward her belly. “May I?”
She placed his hand over the baby’s roaming foot.
“Wow,” he said, leaning closer. “I’m your Uncle Chad. When you get out of there, I’ll teach you how to make life difficult for my punky little brother.”
Lindsey blamed hormones again for the sudden rush of tears that sprang to her eyes. Chad believed as much as she did that the baby was Owen’s. Of course, he didn’t know the whole story. He knew that the baby might be someone else’s, but he didn’t know that she’d engaged in wild sex with every person on the Sole Regret tour bus Christmas Eve, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wasn’t sure she could handle Chad thinking less of her. It was hard enough knowing that her father thought she was a whore, that her mother refused to speak to her, and that women she once thought of as friends talked about her behind her back. She wanted this man to keep his illusion of normalcy a bit longer. Well, as normal as becoming an uncle to his brother’s unwanted baby could be.
“Have you picked out a name yet?” he asked.
“Liam,” she said, surprised it popped out of her mouth so easily. She hadn’t even shared that with Owen yet.
Chad lifted both eyebrows. “And Owen is okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“He must not have told you about Liam from high school. The jerk that got the entire school calling Owen Oinky McPiggerston.”
Lindsey scowled. “Why would anyone do something so mean?” Especially to someone as sweet as Owen Mitchell.
“High school jerks always pick on fat kids.”
“Fat? Owen was fat?” He sure wasn’t overweight any longer. He looked like some high paid underwear model, which had made it even easier to hop into bed with him.
Chad shrugged. “I didn’t really notice. He was just Owen to me.” He shifted away and turned his attention to the movie that was back on after the commercial break.
“So I guess Liam is out,” she said.
“Liam is out of what?” Owen said, entering without bothering to knock.
“She was going to name your kid Liam.”
Owen licked his lips and gestured to Lindsey. “Can I talk to you out in the hall for a moment?”
“Keeping secrets from your big brother?” Chad asked.
Owen shook his head. “I don’t think she’ll want to discuss this in front of you.”
What could it possibly be? If he didn’t want to name the baby Liam, that was fine. She wasn’t that attached to the idea. Cringing, Lindsey rolled off the bed.
“I’ll be back in a few,” Owen said, leaving the room with Lindsey following behind.
“Bring back more Cheez-Its!” Chad called out.
Once they were in the cool sterile-white hallway, Lindsey said, “We don’t have to name the baby Liam.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what?” Lindsey asked
“I just got a call from the clinic. About the paternity test.”
Lindsey’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t gauge from his expression if it was good news or bad news. Honestly, she didn’t even know what he would consider to be good news. He seemed to be coming around to the idea of being a father. Or maybe she was just wishful thinking again.
“Even though the baby’s not mine—”
Lindsey’s legs went weak, and she would have dropped to the floor if Owen hadn’t grabbed her arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe you should sit down.”
It wasn’t his? But it had to be his. It just had to be.
She was vaguely aware of being led to a chair and pressed into it. She leaned forward, breathing hard, feeling as if she would throw up the few Cheez-Its churning about in her belly.
It had to be his. Those tests weren’t foolproof, were they? It was a mistake. This baby was Owen’s. She knew it was his. She knew—
A sob broke free of her strangled throat, and Owen dropped down in the chair beside her. He rubbed her back.
“I want you to know that you still have a place to stay, Lindsey. If the biological father doesn’t take responsibility, I won’t turn my back on you. Okay? I’ll help you in any way I can.”
And that was exactly why she wanted this baby to be his. This was the type of man she wanted to father her children. This was the type of man she wanted to marry, to love forever.
“Oh God,” she whispered, pressing fingertips to her trembling lips. What was she going to do? “I can’t ask that of you. I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re not asking anything of me. I’m volunteering.”
Why did he have to be so sweet? It made it so incredibly hard not to want him.
“Did they tell you . . .” She sucked in a deep breath. “Did they tell you who?”
He shook his head. “They only told me my own results.”
Was she imagining things, or did he look a little saddened by the news?
Lindsey tried swallowing down her tears; she didn’t want to make him feel even sorrier for her than he already did. She wanted to be strong. To stand on her own feet. To be one of those amazing single mothers who did it all on her own. That was her new goal. It seemed completely impossible and hopeless, but she’d figure it out. She didn’t have a choice if she wanted to raise this child, and she did. She wanted to be a fantastic mother, even if the fantastic father of her dreams—sitting right next to her—was well out of her reach.
Owen lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe at her tears. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re off the hook.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It isn’t your fault your sperm are duds.” She grinned, trying to make light of the situation. Hoping that by laughing, she’d stop crying.
“Hey!” Owen poked her in that brotherly teasing manner of his. And maybe that was all his feelings toward her had ever been—brotherly. “I’m sure my sperm are excellent swimmers.”
After several deep breaths, she sank back into the chair and tried to think. “I figured they’d call me before calling the candidate fathers.”
Candidate. Ugh, what an awful way to think of the father of her child. The sad thing was that the only candidate she’d been willing to accept wasn’t the father.
“Maybe they left a message,” Owen said.
She gasped. “That call I let go to voice mail!”
She’d left her purse in Chad’s room, which meant she had to face him. Tell him he wasn’t going to be an uncle after all. At least not by blood.
“Are you okay?” Owen asked, squeezing her elbow.
“It isn’t the outcome I’d hoped for, but that’s only because you are such a wonderful man. How could I not wish it was yours? I’ll be fine. No matter who the father is, I love this baby. And as shitty as my life has become since I got pregnant, I know this child will be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“I know I don’t have a say in this, but can you promise me one thing?”
“Of course.”
“Please don’t name him Liam. I still plan to spoil him rotten, and I absolutely hate that name.”
She smiled. “I promise, Mr. McPiggerston.” She lifted a hand as if swearing on a bible. “I won’t name him Liam.”
Owen’s mouth dropped open. “McPigg . . . Where did you hear . . . Chad!”
“Don’t forget his Cheez-Its,” Lindsey said. She pushed out of the chair to check her messages, not sure if she wanted the real results. What she’d wanted was validation about her gut feeling that Owen was the father. She looked down at her stomach. “That’s the last time I trust your instincts,” she said to her clueless gut.
The Mitchells had returned to Chad’s room, and they all greeted her when she entered. Joan’s wide and welcoming smile stirred Lindsey’s already turbulent emotions. Joan would have made a perfect grandmother. So warm and so selfless. A wonderful mother and wife and friend. She hoped the woman didn’t hate her for yanking her dream of grand-motherhood away after dangling it in front of her.
“Everything okay, dear?” Joan asked. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
“Saw another one of those insurance commercials,” Lindsey said, waving a hand at the craziness of her emotional state. She’d have to tell them about the baby’s parentage eventually—or Owen would—but she just couldn’t find the strength to do it at that particular moment. “You know they get me every time. I need to make a call.”
“Hasta la vista, baby,” Chad-in-Arnold-mode said.
“I’ll be back,” she teased with another one-liner. She was getting better at the Arnold impersonating.
“Get your ass to Mars!” he returned.
Lindsey laughed, loving how normal he made her feel. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone made her feel so at ease. Even with Owen she was always worried she’d say the wrong thing or act the wrong way and lose her chance with him. Not that any of that mattered now.
She carried her phone out into the hall and listened to her voice mail. Sure enough, the clinic had called. They hadn’t mentioned the results, just instructed her to call them back at her earliest convenience. It wasn’t a call she wanted to make.
She rubbed her belly and spoke to Not-Liam in a calm voice. “No matter what they say, we’re going to be okay. I don’t want you to worry.” Almost the exact thing Owen had said to her just moments ago. She hoped her words and her voice soothed her little one more than Owen’s had soothed her. She knew Owen was just being nice—selfless—but she owed him so much already, and his continued support made that feeling all the more vivid.
“Maybe we should have never come here,” she said. Of the possible candidates remaining, she had a married bus driver, a rhythm guitarist so devastated by the loss of his fiancée that he couldn’t have sex properly unless he tied the woman in literal knots, a vocalist who notoriously screwed any woman, a recovering drug addict of a lead guitarist, and the mostly normal—sans scalp tattoos—drummer, Gabe. Both Shade and Adam had been too busy to bother with her request for the test, but she didn’t think either of them were the father anyway. Guys like that were too cool to be dads. “Maybe it’s Gabe’s,” she said, crossing her fingers. She took a deep breath and called the clinic.
After having Lindsey jump through a few hoops to verify her identity, the polite and emotionless voice on the other end of the line read the results. “Subject one, W. Charles.” AKA Tex the bus driver. “Negative.”
Oh, thank God. She did not need the added agony of potentially destroying a man’s marriage. Though he probably deserved to be dumped by his wife.
“Subject two, K. Jamison.”
Kellen. He’d probably make a good dad. He was the second most supportive of her complicated situation. Not that she’d seen him all week, but . . .
“Negative.”
She took a deep breath. Okay, that was good. It had to be Gabe, then. Gabe was a great guy. His girlfriend had a stick up her ass and wouldn’t even talk to Lindsey, but no matter. He’d do the right thing for his child.
“Subject three, G. Banner. Negative.”
Damn. But that meant . . .
“Subject four, O. Mitchell. Negative.”
Lindsey was still good at math despite having pregnant brain. “So none of them,” she said flatly. “Is there any chance that the results are wrong?”
“I’ve never had a woman need four separate men tested before . . .”
Burn. And ouch.
“. . . but the samples are run twice. Three times if there is an unexpected discrepancy—and basically, no, there isn’t any chance that the results are wrong. Is there anyone else who could be the father?”
She wished she could say no. She wished she could insist that Owen be tested again, because she so wanted him to be the father. Neither wish was her reality. “There are two more,” she admitted. Mr. Man Whore and Mr. Irresponsibility. Fuck her life. The baby kicked her at that exact moment. Probably mad that she was thinking negative thoughts about his father.
Fuck. Just fuck.
“Really?” the woman said in the snarkiest voice Lindsey had ever heard.
Lindsey was very familiar with her tone. She might as well call Lindsey a slut since she was obviously thinking it.
“If I can get samples, I’ll bring them by the clinic or have them sent in. Will you need another from me?”
“Nope. We have yours on file. You can subpoena prospective fathers. Force them to give a sample by law.”
“Hopefully that won’t be necessary, but thanks for the tip.”
“No problem. Have a nice day.” Her signoff was punctuated with the unspoken whore.
“You too,” Lindsey said, but she didn’t mean it either. She disconnected and sank into the same chair that Owen had pressed her into when he’d given her the original news. She rested her arms on her belly and buried her forehead in her hands, trying to figure out her next move.
Shade had recently decided to break up the band—the complete and utter ass—and was back with his ex-wife. He wouldn’t even answer Owen’s or any other band member’s calls. How the hell was she supposed to get a sample from him? And Adam? Adam was the reason Shade had destroyed Sole Regret. He was up in Dallas with his girlfriend, who’d broken her arm by falling off a damned horse. How did Lindsey even get in touch with him? Stalk him down at the hospital? Maybe Owen would help her. God knew he’d helped a million times already.
As if he knew she was thinking about him, Owen stopped in front of her, at least a dozen bags of Cheez-Its dangling from his fingertips.
“Chad better be happy. I had to go to three different floors to find all these. The vending machines are all sold out now.” He handed her the chocolate bar she’d meant to purchase earlier. “And for you, Miss Chocoholic.”
Oh God, he was so freaking sweet. Why couldn’t her baby’s father be him?
Lindsey tore open the wrapper and shoved a huge bite of chocolate into her mouth before she could burst into tears.
