17. A Swift Dismissal
17
A Swift Dismissal
OLIVER
Not again.
That was the mantra on loop the moment she walked out this morning.
It wasn’t that I wouldn’t love mine and Leighton’s baby. Of course I would. A tiny Leighton toddling around, running the show the second she found her feet? The idea was enough to bring tears to my eyes. My kids were the purest form of love I’d ever known. Unconditional. Fiercely loyal. The anchor in every storm.
It was just…the timing was shit.
But now that we were here? All I wanted was for them both to be safe.
Somehow, history was repeating itself. Only this time, it was with a woman I loved—who I was pretty damn sure loved me too, even if she wasn’t ready to say it yet. But confirmation that I’d— yet again —completely thrown the plan out the window had my stomach turning.
Grey was going to have at least a dozen ways to say I told you so. And I wouldn’t even be able to argue with him.
Someday, I wouldn’t be the Hart family’s personal PR crisis.
I stared down at the open notebook between us as we sat at my favorite cafe. Leighton cradled her latte. I cradled my guilt.
Mtg. cardio after New Year.
Assess for meds. Heart stabilizers if needed?
Regular EKGs. BP checks.
NSTs after viability. (24 weeks.)
Labor controlled. Induction ideal. Pulse ox. Possible epidural.
My handwriting had started neat and professional. Now it looked like I’d written it on a moving bus.
Because this was real.
This wasn’t a hypothetical. Wasn’t a theory or a dream or even a plan. This was happening. My girls?—
Okay, I didn’t know for sure if it was a girl, but Leighton had been referring to the baby that way so casually that my brain had already accepted it.
She’d been self-conscious about taking a Sunday appointment, but Dr. Swift had assured us it was no problem—he was already in for a delivery. And in reality, there weren’t many people who would risk the wrath of my brother or uncle, framed degrees or not.
Safe . That was the word that wouldn’t leave me.
I had one job—keep my family safe.
Now Leighton was in danger because of me. Yeah, the doctor said she looked great. But fuck if I believed that until we were holding our baby and she was upright and laughing and telling me I was dramatic.
We’d be working with his team, possibly with Maternal Fetal Medicine too. Cardiology would be monitoring her heart closely. The valve repair should hold. We’d know more after her next round of tests.
We’d left with a two-foot long sonogram that she quickly tucked in her purse, after Dr. Swift—the very confident, very quirky, very not -swift doctor—assured us that everything looked great.
The man moved like a personified tortoise. He had too much neck— even on a rather tall body—was fifteen minutes late to the appointment, and crept in through a slow, creaky opening of the door. His steps were methodical, like he aimed not to startle a cornered animal, and he had a handshake that looked forced and a little painful. But for what he lacked in expediency, he made up for in confidence and pragmatism, something we both appreciated immensely.
And thank God for the Hart name. Because the best cardiologist west of Manhattan found a time for Leighton to come in when she got home from Florida.
But the only thing that still had me holding my breath?
Leighton.
Leighton wasn’t quiet . Leighton was chaos in lipstick.
But right now, she was silent.
Still.
A latte—half-caff, because she was already thinking of the baby—cradled in both hands, her eyes distant as she stared out the window.
She looked beautiful. Radiant. She’d always been gorgeous, but this was something else. The calm, the composure, the way she’d peppered Dr. Swift with every smart, grounded question—it left me stunned.
This wasn’t Carly. This wasn’t twenty-one-year-old me flailing to hold it all together.
I didn’t need to hover. I didn’t need to worry she’d disappear for hours or forget to feed the baby because she was too wrapped up in a phone call. I wouldn’t come home to chaos. To crying kids in a locked car under the August sun because ‘she was just running a quick errand’.
Leighton would never opt out.
This was different. It had to be. The hand she’d set protectively over her still-flat belly said so.
It felt almost criminal to interrupt her peace, but after half an hour of peeling my cuticles bloody, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“What’cha thinking, Trouble?”
She blinked, pulling herself back into the moment. “Hmm?”
“You okay?”
She took a breath. “Yeah,” she said dreamily. “I think I am.”
“Think?”
She faced me fully then, setting down the mug. “There’s just been…a lot of change in the last twenty-four hours. It’s a lot to process.”
“Beyond baby?”
Her eyes narrowed. That was more like it.
“First, you take me on the most romantic date of all time.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“ Duly noted .”
“ Then you leave me with a high-strung hoo-ha.”
“Which I remedied, thank you very much.”
“ After telling me you love me.”
“That did happen.”
“And basically admitted you’ve been pining.”
“Also not inaccurate.”
“And then—bam— we’re having a baby . Something that—until this morning—I thought would never happen for me.”
Yikes .
“Yep. That…sums it up.”
“So, yeah.” She bobbed her head. “Processing.”
“Understandable.”
“Isn’t it?” she squeaked. Then she slid me her still-full latte like it was an offering. I accepted without hesitation.
“Wanna blow this popsicle stand?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“I’m craving pajamas.”
“Fair.”
We stood and headed for the door, and just like that, a new fear took root.
What if she left?
What if she woke up tomorrow, decided this life—me, my name, my family—was too much, and disappeared? Back to Mistyvale. Or to Florida. Or anywhere this wouldn’t be front-page news.
Anywhere our baby would grow up safe from the shadow of the Hart legacy.
Anywhere but here.
Fuck, it might kill me.
I hustled to sidestep her, rushing ahead to open the door, and slipped my hand into hers. Relief rippled through me when her fingers threaded into mine without hesitation. We walked the three blocks in a simmering silence, unspoken thoughts bubbling just beneath the surface.
I needed to hit the gym. Or go for a drive. Or call my therapist. Preferably all three.
After helping Leighton into the car, I rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel of the Bentley, the purr of the engine offering a small sliver of comfort. Maybe the road under rubber would help clear my head.
But SoCal traffic had other plans. Within minutes, we were locked in bumper-to-bumper hell, and every inch of me itched to move.
I was drumming out a beat on the steering wheel when she cleared her throat. “Say something.”
“Just... thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice was soft, cautious. The hesitation in her tone only deepened my self-loathing. I forced a smile and glanced her way as the sun glared off the back of a chrome-painted Tesla in front of us.
God, who the hell thought mirrored paint jobs were a good idea?
“ Ollie? ”
I exhaled slowly. “Just processing,” I echoed back.
“Are we okay? You believe me, right?”
I was such an asshole.
“Yeah, baby,” I breathed, shoulders deflating as I finally met her eyes. “We’re okay.”
“You seem... angry.”
“Just frustrated with traffic, Trouble.”
“Okay.” But the way she said it made it clear she didn’t buy a word of it. I flipped through the radio stations, but everything grated on my nerves, so I shut it off altogether. Which, in hindsight, was a mistake—now we were alone with nothing but engine hum and tension.
“Can I do anything?” she asked gently.
“I’m fine.” A lie. I was a goddamn mess . The family fuck-up. The guy Grey would, yet again, have to clean up after. But saying all that out loud sounded like too many words for my brain to relay, so I just forced another smile and kept driving.
“You look like you sat in something unpleasant,” she muttered.
The unexpected laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.
“There’s my man.”
That landed like a balm straight to my chest. “Your man, huh?”
“I mean... unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t,” I said quickly. Because if there was anything I was sure of, it was her. This woman beside me? She wrecked me. In the best possible way.
“Okay, well, that’s good.” Another silence. Heavier this time. “Tuning each other out doesn’t exactly bode well for this whole relationship slash co-parenting thing, though. Can we talk about whatever’s got your face pinched like you bit into a lemon?”
“There’s just... a lot to think through.”
“Okay,” she said, and the disappointment was barely hidden. “But can we think together ? Please?”
“About what?”
“Anything. Start with whatever’s got you white-knuckling the poor Bentley. It’s not his fault.”
I huffed a small laugh and loosened my grip. “I don’t know, Leigh. We’ll meet the cardiologist when you’re back and go from there, right?”
“Right.”
“So there’s not a lot to hash out before then.”
“ I mean ...”
“Just whether or not you want me at your appointments?—”
“ Of course I do.” Her eyes widened, like that was never in question.
“—and at the birth. Carly hated having me there for Mattie.”
“Ollie, you’re her father. Of course you can be there. Not like you haven’t seen everything already.”
“Right. But what if you change your mind?” Because that’s what happened, right? People changed. Said they’d do things one way, then bailed when it got hard. I’d lived that story already. I knew how it ended.
“I won’t,” she said firmly, but I couldn’t stop the next one.
“Will she be a Hart or a Rhodes?”
“Both?” Her brows furrowed. “Ollie, where is this coming from?”
“I’m just—what about school, Leigh? Didn’t your family homeschool? I don’t think I could homeschool. Tutors, maybe? But if the kids are at Emerald Prep, why make the third the odd one out?”
“For a few years, but that’s not—why are we thinking about all of this right now? Can’t we cross those bridges when we get to them?”
“Carly said that,” I muttered. “Then she left before we crossed any of them.”
“ Ollie .”
“I’m sorry,” I said, closing my eyes and gripping the wheel again. “I’m just?—”
“Panicking?” she guessed.
“A little.”
“Okay. That’s normal. But we’re a team now, remember?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, squeezing her hand. The Tesla finally turned right on red, and I crept up to the line, my heart still pounding in my chest. “I’m sorry. I really am. You’re the one going through this—growing a whole person—and I’m spiraling about where baby comes home to.”
“With me,” she said with a crooked smile, trying to joke. But it didn’t quite land. “Obviously.”
“To your apartment?”
“No, to a cardboard box downtown . Yes, to my apartment. It’s way too big for one person, anyway.”
“What about my place?” I asked before I could stop myself. “We’re already set up for everything, and you’re over every day.”
“Like... to live with you?”
“Yeah. That way I can be there—for both of you. For the late nights, the bottles, the sleep regressions. I’m practically a veteran.”
“I know,” she said, soft and sad. “It’s not that, Ollie, it’s just... isn’t all of this moving a little fast?”
I swallowed hard and merged onto the freeway, my grip tightening again.
“I don’t want to miss it,” I admitted. “God, please don’t make me miss it. At least with Carly, I got the kids.”
“Ollie, I don’t want you to miss anything .”
“But if you’re there , and I’m here... I’ll miss everything. First roll, first laugh, first step. How will I even know?”
“I mean, like you said, I’m at your house all the time anyway, and my place is only fifteen minutes away.”
“Forty during rush hour. An hour from the office. What if something happens? You have a heart condition, Leigh. What if something happens and no one’s there?”
“Kaia’s staying until I’m on my feet.”
“Right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That it’s supposed to be me .”
“Ollie, I’m not saying never. I’m just asking for time to process everything before we flip my entire life upside down.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding like it was completely logical. Because it was. But I still couldn’t breathe. “That makes sense.”
“Thank you. And I promise, I hear you. I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“It’s just... it’s a lot. Twenty-four hours ago, we were on our first date. And now, we’re talking about babies and moving in.”
“Why, though?”
When silence was my answer, I glanced sidelong—and sure enough, Leighton’s eyes were wide, her jaw tight, every line of her face screaming don’t push me . That sharp twist of dread in my gut was like watching a car wreck happen in slow motion. I couldn’t stop it. And I couldn’t stop my mouth, either.
“Ollie, be serious.”
“I am.” The words snapped out before I could stop them. “I told you I love you, Leigh, and you didn’t say it back.”
“I…” She faltered. Her voice caught like gravel in her throat.
I nodded once, sharp and resigned. “ Yeah .”
“Ollie, I—it’s not that simple.”
“Of course it is. I love you. Simple .” I swallowed, hard. “You need time. That’s okay. It wouldn’t even bug me if?—”
“We weren’t having a baby together?” Her voice was flat.
“When everything feels this unfinished? Yeah.”
“I get it. But I think you’re projecting a whole lot of your past onto me right now, and I gotta be real with you—I don’t appreciate it. I’m not Carly, and I would never put you through the shit she has. So let’s just take a breath. One thing at a time. Okay?”
“I think we should get married,” I blurted.
A record scratch couldn’t have cut harder.
She sat up straighter in her leather seat, jaw dropped, eyes blown wide. Her hands splayed in front of her like she was checking for incoming debris. Her head tilted to the side like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
And neither could I.
If I could physically grab the words and shove them back down my throat, I would. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry her. God, I did . But it wasn’t supposed to come out like that. Not now. Not like this. It was supposed to be after she loved me back. After we’d built something stable and solid. After we’d earned the smooth part.
“ Wow . Nothing says swoony like fucking damage control.”
“Leigh, it’s not like that?—”
“I’m not a PR fire for you to hand off to Alice, Oliver Hart,” she snapped, voice trembling. And somehow, that was worse. The softness, the hurt. I’d hurt her . “This baby will not be papered over with a shotgun wedding.”
“Leigh, I?—”
“So much for not feeling shame about that night, huh?”
“No—Leigh, I swear I didn’t mean it like that, I just—I meant it.”
“You meant it?” she echoed, laughing without a hint of humor. “Is that your default reaction to a positive pregnancy test ?”
“I didn’t mean to say it like that?—”
“But you did mean to say it ,” she cut in. “Ollie, it’s not 1919. You don’t have to marry a woman just because you knocked her up?—”
“ I know that. ”
“Then what? You think I should feel grateful you’re offering me a ring?”
I shook my head, hating every fucking second of this.
“And for the record?” Her voice dropped, firm and low. “A proposal should be something special. A botanical garden. A rooftop. A heartfelt speech because you can’t imagine your life without me . It should be a memory, not a bandage.”
“Leigh, I…” My throat burned. The words crashed around like a demolition site in my skull, but nothing that came out would fix this. I’d blown it. Again. I was supposed to do it right this time. Be the man she chose, not the man she was trapped with. Instead, I’d let every fear and insecurity fly out of my mouth like shrapnel.
She went quiet, her jaw clenched tight as she stared out her window while we wound up the ramp of her parking garage.
“Look, Ollie,” she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I fucking love you. And I’m trying really hard not to lose my shit right now. Because I have done nothing to make you think I would screw you over. But the last twenty-four hours has been a lot —too much, honestly—and I’m not in the headspace for some life-planning summit. Neither are you.”
I pulled into the spot beside her building entrance and put the car in park. She still didn’t look at me. The red glow of the exit sign painted her profile like a warning.
“Maybe this trip will do us some good,” she added, almost to herself. “Some time to breathe. Process.”
My head screamed no . This wasn’t the time to pull back. But I nodded anyway. Because I didn’t know how to say what I needed to say without hurting her again.
I got out and rounded the car, opening her door. She let me. Took my hand without hesitation. I reached up to thread my fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head as I kissed the crown of it.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Everything’s coming out wrong.”
“I can see that.”
“I know you’re not Carly.”
“Damn straight, Skippy.”
I huffed a laugh I didn’t feel and held her tighter, breathing her in, resisting the urge to drop to my knees and beg her not to go.
“Ollie,” she warned gently.
I opened my eyes and found her looking up at me, stormy and sad and utterly beautiful.
“We’ll talk, okay?” she whispered. “When I get back, we’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, brushing my lips over her forehead before I stepped back and shut the door behind her.
She turned to walk toward the elevator, but paused with her hand on the railing.
“Tell the kids Merry Christmas for me.”
My throat burned. “Yeah,” I said again. Slumped. Wrong . This whole thing was wrong. “Have a Merry Christmas, Trouble.”