Chapter 22
NICK
I sit in my office at Baine International the next morning, replaying everything that happened yesterday. The ER visit. The relief at hearing Avery and the baby were both all right. The quiet evening she and I spent at home afterward, just the two of us.
Her words have been turning over in my head since she said them. The wistfulness in her voice. The way she looked at me, almost apologetic, when she'd only spoken what has been living inside me for a long time too.
I don't need the big wedding.
I wish we could be in two places at the same time.
She’d confessed it with quiet longing, wanting something she'd evidently already convinced herself was out of her reach. An impossible wish.
She should know me better by now. I don't accept out of reach or impossible. Not when it comes to her.
I left her sleeping in our bed this morning, sheets twisted low around her hips, her hair a pale gold spill across my pillow. Although I would have much preferred to stay and make love to her again, the clarity I woke up with demanded forward motion.
I know what Avery needs. Rest. True relaxation. Time that belongs just to us, away from the chaos and the decisions and everyone who wants a piece of who we are.
The doctor's orders were clear. Minimize stress. Yet I've spent the last few weeks doing the opposite, not to mention feeding a personal vendetta that’s only kept the wound open and invited more rumors and speculation. I’ve been bringing more pressure to Avery’s life when I should have been sheltering her from it.
That ends today.
I have a plan. Several, actually. But one thing at a time.
The intercom on my desk buzzes. "Andrew is here," Lily announces.
"Send him in."
Beck enters with his usual unhurried efficiency. Leather briefcase, tailored suit, the steady demeanor of a man who's grown accustomed to navigating some of my worst impulses and emerged unscathed. He settles into the chair on the other side of my desk.
"The Melbourne development contracts are ready for signature," he says, pulling several folders from his briefcase and arranging them in front of me.
"Legal flagged two clauses in the liability section, but I've handled it. The Chelsea rec center gala is confirmed for the tenth. Venue, catering, security all locked. Everything’s there for your review.” He points to the third folder.
“And I have Rennick's response to our initial filing. "
I glance at it but leave it lying on the desk.
"They're posturing," Beck continues, obviously mistaking my hesitation for uncertainty. "They're running scared. We can accelerate the timeline if you want, start turning the screws. Another week of pressure and they'll—"
"Let it go."
He stops talking. Looks at me in confusion. “What part?”
"The whole thing. Pull the advertising pressure. Drop the suits. Let them keep their debt."
The silence stretches between us. Beck doesn't move, doesn't reach for his phone. He doesn't do anything except study me with those sharp attorney's eyes that miss nothing.
"What changed?"
"Avery was right." The words chafe, but they come out anyway. "Every filing, every headline just keeps the wound open. Feeds the story instead of letting it die. I told myself I was trying to help her, but all I've been doing is adding to her stress."
Beck leans back, exhaling. Somewhere out there, Rennick Media is probably drafting their next legal response, preparing for a war I'm no longer interested in fighting.
"I thought I was protecting her. Protecting myself.
" My right hand curls, scar tissue pulling tight. It’s an old reflex, the instinct to grip harder when control starts slipping.
Dropping this fight with Rennick now means accepting that some exposure is beyond my control.
"Anyway, fuck it. The whys don't matter anymore.
None of it is worth what it's costing her. "
Beck shifts in his chair. The calculated neutrality is gone from his face. Something more honest has replaced it, a respect he usually keeps filed away beneath the professional veneer.
"Avery finally persuaded you to drop it?"
"No. Just the opposite.” I let out a short breath, shaking my head. “She told me she understood why I needed to do it. She gave me permission to protect us however I saw fit."
Surprise lifts my friend’s dark brows. "You sure about this? Once we stand down, the leverage is gone. If they come at you again—"
"Then that’s a fight for another day. I’m only concerned about right now, and about doing what’s best for Avery." I meet his eyes. "So, yeah, I'm sure."
He nods slowly. Once. The acknowledgment is understated, but I know Beck well enough to read what's underneath. Respect for a decision he counseled me toward the night this all blew up, when I was too consumed by rage to listen.
"I'll make the calls this morning," he says. "Consider it done."
But he doesn't move to leave. Just sits there, watching me with the shrewd attention of a man who's known me for too long.
"That's not the whole story," he says, and it's not a question. "What's going on with you, Nick?"
I should have known he'd catch it. A decade of friendship. He can read me the way he reads contracts. Every clause, every implication, everything left unsaid between the lines.
"Avery's pregnant."
“Oh.” Beck goes very still. Not the strategic pause of an attorney weighing variables. Something deeper, more personal. His eyes hold mine with a gravity I’ve seldom seen in him. He settles back in the chair, absorbing. "How far along is she?"
"Just past six weeks. We were in the ER yesterday. She nearly fainted at a dress fitting. She's fine. The baby's fine. But it scared the shit out of me."
"Jesus." He leans forward, concern sharpening his jaw, tightening the set of his mouth.
"Doctor says she needs to rest, eat regularly, avoid stress." I exhale. "That's why I'm finished with Rennick. I'm done adding chaos to her life."
“Understandable,” he says. I watch him processing everything I've unloaded on him in the span of thirty seconds. Then, slowly, the tension in his jaw eases. "You're going to be a father."
A rough sound escapes me, not quite a laugh. "Can you believe that?"
"Nick." He shakes his head, and warmth cracks through his professional composure. "Congratulations. That's… Christ, that's incredible."
The sincerity catches me off guard. Beck doesn't do effusive.
Doesn't waste words on sentiment. But this is real.
He knows what this means for me. I suspect he also knows what it costs me to believe I might deserve it.
The poverty, the violence, the lack of any real home life when I was a kid—Beck knows enough about all of that to understand what it means that I'm sitting here talking about becoming a father.
Hell, I'm still getting used to saying it out loud. Still getting used to the reality that Avery and I are going to be parents, and that eventually this abstract idea will become a tiny person I’ll hold in my arms.
"Do you know the sex yet?"
"Too early, and we've decided to wait. Avery wants to be surprised." The corner of my mouth tugs upward. "One thing we don't need to plan to death."
Beck chuckles, settling back in his chair. "For your sake, I hope it's not a girl. Although watching you deal with some young asshole trying to date your daughter would be amusing."
I scowl at the idea. "Any boy who shows up at my door will need to present a full background check, three character references, and a personal essay on his intentions." I pause. "Minimum."
Beck stares at me, then grins. "You've already given this some thought."
"Extensively."
He laughs. "God help whoever falls in love with your kid."
The laughter fades between us, but its warmth lingers. Settles into something quieter, something that opens a door I wasn't expecting.
I'm already there in my head, living some future that doesn't exist yet, one that includes a daughter with Avery's eyes and my stubbornness.
That fleeting image squeezes my heart and fills me with the absolute certainty that I do anything to keep my child safe.
The same certainty I feel about its mother. About the life we're building.
A family. Mine.
The thought settles into my chest with a weight that's almost physical. I let myself sit with it for a moment—the magnitude, the impossibility, the thing I never thought I'd have.
My mother would have loved this. Elizabeth, who painted flowers, tended her garden, and dreamed of grandchildren. Who used to tell me I'd understand someday what it meant to love someone more than myself.
She would have loved Avery. Would have seen in her the same light I see. The warmth, the strength. The way she loves without reservation and forgives without condition.
And my mother's parents, the Xaviers in Boston with their old money and older pride.
They'll never know any of it. They cut off their daughter when she was young and foolish enough to fall in love with a Florida fisherman.
They chose their reputation over their own blood, and my mother died with a broken heart because of it.
I don't know if they're even still alive. For most of my life, I've told myself I don't care to find out. That they're ghosts to me. Less than ghosts. At least ghosts have the decency to haunt you.
I push the thought away. That old bitterness doesn't belong in what I'm building now.
"I need to go." Beck is gathering his briefcase, checking his watch. "Legal meeting in twenty." He pauses at the door. "Thanks for telling me. And I'm glad you're letting Rennick go. It's the right decision."
"I know."
"Avery's good for you, man. Don't fuck it up."
"Solid legal counsel as always."
He snorts and disappears through the door. I follow him out to Lily's desk. She looks up from her keyboard with a cautious smile.
"Gabe Noble should be here shortly," I tell her. "Send him in when he arrives."
"Of course, Mr. Baine."
I return to my office, but I don't sit. Too much restless energy running through me, too many plans taking shape.
Avery needs time away from the press, the fittings, the wedding machinery that's been grinding us both down.
She needs calm, and space to breathe without the weight of expectation pressing down on her.
I can give her that. I will give her that.
And maybe something more. Something I've been turning over since last night, since she looked at me with that ache in her voice and wished for the impossible.
A few minutes later, the door opens and Gabe steps in. He moves the way he always does, purposeful and confident, his military bearing never fully shed even after years in the private sector. We've been through enough together that he doesn't bother with pleasantries.
"You said it was urgent?"
"Not urgent, exactly. Time-sensitive."
“Is this about what happened with Avery yesterday? Everything okay?”
“Everything’s good. Kelsey was great with her yesterday. Good call putting her on Avery’s detail. I need your help with something else.” I gesture to the chairs and he takes a seat. "How quickly can you coordinate security for an impromptu trip for Avery and me?”
“I’m ready now. Just tell me what you need and when.”
“Day after tomorrow, flying out in the morning and back three days later."
Gabe absorbs this without reaction. "Destination?"
"Key Largo."
His gaze sharpens. A flicker of recognition beneath the professional calm. He knows the Keys mean something to me. Knows there's history there, most of it unpleasant, even if I've never spelled it out for him.
"We'll be taking the private jet," I tell him. "I'll handle coordinating with my pilot."
"Okay. Security profile?"
"Quiet. As in, invisible." I hold his gaze. "All I need your team to do is get Avery and me to the airport without incident. No press, no chance of leaks. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, we're still in New York."
Gabe nods slowly, already running logistics behind those steady eyes. Threat assessments, personnel, transport, the variables he juggles as naturally as breathing. But there's a question there too, one he's too professional to ask outright.
He knows this isn't just a vacation.
"I'll coordinate with the team tonight," he says finally. "Arrange transport to your hangar, keep everything off the books. You'll have a full brief in an hour."
"Good."
He rises, hesitating at the door. "Anything else I should know?"
I consider the question. What I'm planning for Avery. What this getaway truly means. But that's just for her right now.
"Not yet," I say. "I'll fill you in when the time is right."
Gabe accepts this with a nod. Once the door closes behind him, I'm alone with the quiet and the clarity that's been building all morning. Sharp-edged and certain, already in motion.
Avery wished she could be in two places at once. I can't give her that. Not precisely.
But I can give her something she doesn't know to ask for.