Chapter Two
Ellis
I don’t do vulnerability.
My entire identity and reputation are built on highly organized control. As a Renwick, I was raised to handle high-level pressure, media scrutiny, and corporate crises without letting anyone see so much as a tremor in my hands. Panic is a waste and tears resolve nothing.
I sit still in the passenger seat, my Louis Vuitton tote bag on my lap. I stare out the window, watching the skyline blur, my mind spinning at rapid speed.
What the fuck am I doing?
I’m Ellis Renwick, for fuck’s sake. And the man sitting next to me is Brody Vaughn —starting tight end for the New York Titans, a high-profile athlete whose brand I’m involved with, at a very expensive level.
A guy I had checked as a fun, charming player who liked to have a different girl on his arm at every event he attends.
Not that I blame him. I like no-strings relationships too.
Like me, I assumed his reasons were similar; we’re both so focused on our careers.
Even though I’d known him in a friendly way, and definitely enjoy looking at him, I could always tell he was a fundamentally good man.
He’s polite to staff, fiercely loyal to his friends and teammates, and has a naturally warm nature that’s hard to dislike.
But at the end of the day, I don’t know him all that well outside our social circle.
We had never shared any personal information, let alone something this important.
But as I sit in his truck, a strange and disorienting realization settles over me.
I feel safer with Brody right now than I ever had with Dylan.
With Dylan, everything felt almost curated.
He was shallow and deeply invested in appearances.
Even during our six months together, I kept an emotional distance, knowing that our relationship was just casual.
And it honestly didn’t surprise me that he walked away when I told him about the pregnancy.
Brody, on the other hand, is somewhat of a stranger, but there’s an unshakable stability in the way he carries himself. He didn’t ask me for an explanation. He simply stepped up for me when he absolutely didn’t have to. Almost like he knew what I needed before I did.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay calm, though it sounds weak to my own ears.
“Brody,” I say, keeping my gaze on the traffic ahead.
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but his hands adjust on the steering wheel. “Yes, princess?”
I roll my eyes at the nickname. “Why are you doing this?” I turn my head to look at him now.
“Seriously. You don’t owe me anything, and we really don’t know each other all that well.
And let’s be honest, if the press gets wind that you’re going to an OB-GYN appointment with me, your agent would probably have a stroke.
Not to mention my family’s PR team running damage control.
So why are you putting yourself in the middle of… this?” I ask, pointing to my stomach.
Brody is quiet for a minute, then flips his turn signal, smoothly switching lanes before tossing a pointed look my way. The cocky, golden-retriever grin I was used to seeing on Overtime billboards and at various parties is nowhere to be found. His hazel eyes are warm, but intensely serious.
“I know I don’t owe you anything, Ellis,” he says, his voice deep and steady. He looks back to the road. “And I’m doing it because no one should have to sit in a waiting room alone for something this serious.”
I blink, thrown off by the lack of irony in his voice. “Brody, I’m an adult with an absurd amount of resources, financial and otherwise. I can hire an entire security detail and also demand to be the only patient in the office if I wanted to.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he replies softly.
He slows at a red light, rests his elbow against the window frame, and turns to me.
“My dad walked out on us when I was six years old, Ellis. Just packed his bags and vanished. My mom worked double shifts at a diner in small-town Ohio, breaking her back every day to keep shoes on my feet and my sister’s, and secondhand cleats so I could play football.
I watched her carry every hardship, every emergency, and every doctor’s appointment by herself for eighteen years. ”
He pauses, a shadow crossing over his face.
“She’s strong as hell, just like you,” Brody continues.
“She never asked for help, never let us see her cry, and pretended she had everything under control. But I knew how heavy it was for her. And I swore to myself a long time ago that if I ever saw a woman carrying that kind of weight on her own, I wouldn’t turn my back because it wasn’t my problem, or wasn’t convenient for me.
Which is why I got involved with Presley’s foundation.
I help single moms and families in transition not only with the sports side of the foundation, but also with things like child care, education, job training, and providing items like cribs and car seats.
While I know you don’t need those things; you’re going through something pretty fucking big.
And Dylan fucking Boone is a complete asshole for leaving you to handle this alone.
So, princess, I’m sitting in that waiting room. End of discussion.”
A lump forms in the back of my throat, and I look at him—really look—and feel my perception of him shift further. Brody Vaughn is extraordinarily good. This casual friend I thought I knew is showing me a depth of character that eclipses every man I’ve ever dated.
I swallow hard, turning my face back toward the window so he can’t see the moisture in my eyes. “Thank you,” I mumble, the words barely a whisper.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, stepping on the gas as the light turns green.
Ten minutes later, we pull up to the medical building on the Upper East Side. Brody parks in the subterranean garage and throws on a baseball cap, I assume to avoid recognition. Something Dylan would have never done. He loves all the attention.
We ride the elevator up to the fourth floor in silence.
The waiting room is quiet and smells of lavender and fresh linen, with pink velvet armchairs and soft lighting.
I check in at the desk while Brody takes a seat in the corner.
His long legs stretch out, his presence is large in the small area, but also… comforting me.
I sit down next to him once I’ve signed the consent forms, my knees bouncing with nerves. I sit tall, chin held high, looking like a woman in control, like I’m waiting for a board meeting to begin or something. But internally, my heart is hammering against my ribs like a bird stuck in a cage.
This is really happening.
A door opens, and a nurse in teal scrubs steps into the waiting area, holding a tablet. “Ellis Renwick?”
I stand up, my professional armor snapping into place. “Yes.”
“Right this way,” the nurse says with a warm smile.
I take two steps toward her, but my shoes suddenly feel like they’re filled with lead. A wave of anxiety washes over me, making me stop and turn back to look at Brody.
He’s already standing, his eyes fixed on mine.
“Brody,” I say, my voice wavering just enough to betray the nervousness I’m trying to hide. “Would you… can you come in with me?”
I don’t know why I expect him to hesitate. But Brody doesn’t even blink. He immediately picks up my tote bag I didn’t even realize I left behind, steps up to my side, and places a hand on the small of my back, like a steady anchor that immediately eases my nerves.
“Let’s do this,” he says gently.
The nurse leads us down a hallway into a private consultation room after I stop in the restroom to leave some urine in a cup.
“We’ll test your urine to confirm the pregnancy and draw a blood panel to confirm your hormone levels, then Dr. Marsh will bring you into the sonogram suite,” she explains, gesturing to the exam chair, as Brody takes a seat on the extra chair in the room.
I sit down and roll up my sleeve. Brody scoots his chair closer to me and rests his hand lightly on the table next to my leg.
Once the nurse ties a tourniquet around my arm and preps the needle, she glances up at Brody and nods. “Dad, can you hold her hand for support? This might take a few minutes.”
Dad.
The word hangs in the air like a thunderclap.
My stomach drops, and my eyes snap wide open, no doubt showing the panic I’m feeling right now. I open my mouth to correct her, but what do I say?
Oh, he’s not the father. He’s just an NFL player who drove me here. The biological father is an NHL player who wants nothing to do with this baby.
Instead, I look at Brody, silently pleading with him to handle this awkward moment.
Brody doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t look embarrassed or flustered either. He just smiles and steps closer, offering me his hand.
“I got her,” he says easily, seeming completely unbothered.
I stare at his open palm for a second before my fingers grip his. His hand is warm and solid, wrapping completely around mine. When the needle pierces my skin, I squeeze his hand hard. Brody doesn’t even flinch. He just squeezes me back, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over my knuckles.
“All done,” the nurse says, taping a small bandage over my inner elbow. “Let’s head into the sonogram room, and the doctor will come in shortly. Typically, you would see the doctor first, then have the sonogram, but our technician is out today, so we’re going to do both at the same time.”
I nod, my heart beating in my throat as we step into the dimly lit suite. The room feels cold, and the ultrasound monitor mounted on the wall and the exam table seem to take up most of the space.
“Go ahead and remove your clothing from the waist down and sit on the table. Here’s a sheet for you to cover up with.” The nurse hands me a warm sheet from a drawer and leaves the room.
“Uh, I didn’t think about this part,” I say, looking at Brody.
“I can leave the room if you’ll feel more comfortable.” He gestures to the door.