Chapter 4
I’d warred with myself for a week.
Human decency warranted me to keep my distance.
But after seven days of not being able to concentrate on jack shit, I was done.
“You sure about this?” Davis asked as we approached the bookstore.
I glanced up at the sign above the door—a large piece of wood with the word Smutties curved into it at a diagonal.
The hot-pink lettering wasn’t what had my attention.
It was the 1940s pin-up girl reading a book that made me smile.
The store’s tagline was: I like my romance hot.
Seeing as I’d never read a romance book in my life, I didn’t catch the meaning.
“Positive,” I answered.
“What kinda books do they sell?” Davis asked, obviously catching the name.
“Romance.”
“Damn, brother, you sure you’re up for it?”
I was up for anything.
“Up for what?”
“Your woman works here, right?”
My friend was getting a little ahead of himself. But I didn’t bother correcting him, seeing as Brooklyn would be my woman as soon as we found Kiki Welsh.
The moment I’d gotten back to my cabin after the raid, I’d dug into Brooklyn Saunders’ life.
At first, it was a cursory search. I was just looking for her address and phone number, but then I’d found that Brooklyn’s life was intertwined with the Welsh family.
And after I found why I’d talked to the team about approaching the Welshes and offering our assistance in locating Kiki.
After all, that was what Takeback did. We found people.
Wilson had wasted no time contacting the feds and worked a deal. Now that it was official and Takeback had been assigned to the Welsh case, I wasn’t delaying breaking the news to Letty Welsh.
And with any luck, Brooklyn would be at work.
“She does,” I answered Davis.
“A woman who reads romance might have all sorts of ideas in her head.” Davis whistled and shook his head. “Love and heroes. You sure you wanna tangle with that?”
I’d waited five years to find Brooklyn. I was more than ready to tangle with her, preferably in a bed, with her naked.
“Like I said, I’m positive.”
Davis opened the door and a blast of perfumy air wafted around me. I hadn’t recovered from the familiar scent of flowers when I spotted Letty holding a squirming little boy.
One who didn’t look a thing like her.
One who looked a lot like I did when I was a kid.
So much so, I couldn’t move.
The little boy wiggled free and as soon as Letty set him on his feet, he declared, “No way. I’m gonna be an Army man and paint my face and crawl through mud and sneak up on bad guys.”
My heart constricted and my body went solid.
“Jesus,” Davis muttered.
“Whoa. You’re like huge,” the little boy breathed and eyed me from my boots to the top of my head.
“Rhode?”
Brooklyn’s panicked voice hit me square in the heart.
“Rhode? Is that your name?” the boy asked but didn’t wait for an answer before he continued. “Hey, that’s cool. My name’s Remington.”
Remington.
In warp speed, everything clicked into place. The flinch when Brooklyn saw me. Letty’s weird reaction. Tallulah breathing Remington’s name in shock.
What the fuck?
What in the actual hell?
“Remy, buddy, go with Auntie Letty to the office for a minute.”
Auntie Letty.
Well, that confirmed the boy wasn’t Letty’s son. Not that I had much doubt. It hadn’t been Letty I’d spent the night with. It hadn’t been Letty I’d fucked. It hadn’t been Letty I’d tasted. And it sure as hell wasn’t Letty I’d thought about for five years.
“Come on, Remy.” Letty tagged the boy’s hand who still hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
The kid’s head tilted to the side, and with more awareness than any child should possess, Remy studied me.
The boy knew—maybe not the extent of it, but the kid knew something was going on.
All that was left was Brooklyn’s confirmation, which seemed pretty damn unnecessary since I knew without hesitation I was staring at my son.
“Letty, I’m Davis Wright. We met the other night. Why don’t we switch it up and let Rhode and Brooklyn use the office to talk? I can help you out here.”
“Yeah. Um. Actually, that sounds like a better plan. Remy, you can help me clean up the mess your mom made behind the counter.”
Wordlessly Brooklyn handed Remy a to-go cup and smiled down at him. The boy beamed at his mom and put the straw to his mouth.
“I’ll be right back, buddy.” Then she turned those blue eyes to me and smiled. It was shaky and held a good amount of fear, and a part of me was pleased as fuck Brooklyn looked so nervous. “The office’s back here.”
My anger spiked as I started to follow when I realized I hadn’t spoken to the boy.
I stopped and said, “Remington’s a cool name. Much better than Rhode.”
Remy’s smile came quick. Pure and innocent.
He’d seen that same smile.
Identical.
Jesus.
Fuck, yes, I was pissed as fuck.
Not getting Brooklyn’s name before she left my hotel room just got moved to the top of the list—biggest regret of my damn life.
I used the walk through the store to attempt to calm my racing thoughts. But when Brooklyn closed the office door, I was nowhere near calm. Calm was a memory. Irrational anger had taken root. I had a goddamn son I didn’t know about.
I didn’t get a chance to ask a single question before Brooklyn launched in.
“I tried to find you. I swear I did. I called the hotel and asked them for your name. Room one-ten. But they wouldn’t tell me anything.
I even tried to hire a private investigator, but they told me a room number at a hotel wasn’t enough to go on.
I didn’t know anything else about you except what you looked like.
I would’ve told you. I mean, I wanted to tell you.
I mean, I was going to tell you. Now that I know your name, I was going to look you up so we could talk.
But with everything happening with my family and Kiki, I had to wait.
But I swear for Remington—for you—I was going to find you and tell you. ”
“So he’s mine.”
I wasn’t asking.
I knew.
“Yes. But I understand if you need proof,” Brooklyn said, then rushed on, “But I’m not asking for anything. That’s not why I wanted to find you.”
“You’re not asking for anything?”
“Like money. That’s not why I wanted you to know.”
Brooklyn stopped, closed her eyes, and hung her head.
“God. I’m making a mess out of this. I’m nervous.
I wanted this day to happen. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.
Meeting you. Running into you on the street, at an airport, bumping into you somewhere so I could tell you.
But as many times as I’ve thought about it, as much as I’d hoped it would happen, I never thought it would.
And now that you’re standing in front of me, I don’t know what to say. ”
She drew in a breath, lifted her gaze but not her chin, and when our eyes locked, some of the anger ebbed, but the hurt remained.
A hurt that dug so deep it turned to shame.
The shame I had a son I didn’t know about hit so hard it was a miracle I didn’t fall on my ass. The guilt hit harder. I’d knocked-up a stranger, and she’d carried my child and had been raising that child on her own.
My child without a father.
That anger came rushing back, and with it came frustration.
“Fuck,” I bit out.
Brooklyn jolted and her eyes narrowed.
“I know this is a shock.”
“You think?” I snarled, unable to check the agony that had coated my soul. “I have a son. I missed damn near five years with him. So, yeah, I’d say shocking is an understatement. More like a colossal fuck-up.”
The woman in front of me turned to stone. Then she leaned forward, lifted her hand, and jabbed a finger in my direction.
“Not one single thing about Remington is a fuck-up, Rhode. Not one. I’m not asking you to be a part of his life.
I’m not asking you for money. That’s not why I wanted to find you.
We’ve been doing fine on our own—no, better than fine—we’re great.
I wanted you to know because it’s the right thing.
But I won’t let you near him if you’re gonna be a jackass to my son.
He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
He’s a good boy. He’s happy, and I won’t let anyone near him who’s gonna cause him hurt. And that includes you.”
A lot was going on in my mind. The first being I liked the way Brooklyn loved my son. I really fucking liked that she’d keep him safe. I loved that she’d go toe-to-toe with me to ensure Remington’s happiness. What I didn’t fucking like was that she thought I would hurt my child.
“You think I’d be a jackass to my son?”
Brooklyn shrugged. “The truth is, I don’t know you. I’d like to believe you wouldn’t, but you referring to my boy as a colossal fuck-up doesn’t give me warm and fuzzy feelings.”
“He’s not the fuck-up, Brooklyn. Me letting you walk away was the fuck-up.
It was right there on the tip of my tongue to tell you my name, leave it up to you if you wanted to find me.
I was so close to asking you to stay, asking you your name, but I didn’t.
That morning you were looking at me like you were struggling with something.
I didn’t want to push for more than you could give, so I let you leave.
I’ve regretted that for five years. Now it’s more than regret. I lost something I’ll never get back.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
That was the screwed-up part about all of this. There was nothing to say. There was no one to be pissed at except myself. There was no one to blame, no one to yell at or rage at.
All of it, my fault.
All I’d needed to do was ask her name, give her mine, and I wouldn’t have missed out on my son’s life. I wouldn’t have missed my child’s birth. I wouldn’t have missed his first breath. The list was endless—all of the firsts I had not been a part of.
The more I thought about all I’d missed, the angrier I became until it hurt to breathe.
“I need to go,” I rapped out.