EXPOSÉ TOP STORY: BEST SHOCKER!
We see a lot of Branch Best. (Granted, most of our female readership would argue we don’t see quite enough.) Despite the compromising positions we find Number Eleven in, this isn’t usually one of them.
Best was seen coming out of the Standen Hotel late last night with Finn Miller. Eye witnesses say Miller was actually holding up his friend and helping him into his SUV.
We can’t say there’s much Best could do to shock us, but this is very abnormal for him. We’ve seen him in the throes of a bender and it still didn’t look this bad. Not able to stand? There’s gossip there and we’ll let you know when we figure it out. Stay tuned.
“WHO’S MAKING BREAKFAST?” Poppy turns her head to look at me. “You? You’re gonna be a mommy. I feel like it would be good training.”
“Sometimes I hate you,” I laugh, stretching.
“Hate me all you want but I’ll take French toast and bacon.”
“I’m not making you breakfast.”
We lie in my bed, the sun coming through the light blue curtains and filling the room. My body feels like it’s been through the wringer and I’m afraid to move.
Morning sickness has been hit or miss, but that’s not really my worry. I’m worried how I’ll feel mentally once I let the sleep fog roll out and reality fill the void.
Every morning since finding out I was pregnant has been a little rough. Again, not from the nausea, but more from the unknown.
My heart pings with the memory from last night. Remembering his face and the way he looked at me like I was some kind of groupie playing a game is something that might haunt me forever. I’m not sure what I really expected, but I didn’t expect to feel like a piece of trash.
“You’re going to be fine,” Poppy says softly.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and sit up, feeling my stomach settle. Giving myself a few seconds to gather my thoughts, I’m relieved that I don’t feel sad.
I’m pissed.
“I’m going to be better than fine,” I say, getting to my feet. “This was unexpected, but, like you said, it’s a baby. I’m having a baby.” Letting those words wash over my tongue and linger in the air, I absorb them. “I just need a little while to come up with a plan and figure out how I’m going to do this.”
“Have you told your parents?”
“Uh, no,” I laugh. “I want to have answers to the questions they’re going to have before I go in there announcing they’re going to be grandparents.”
“Do you think they’ll be happy?”
“Yes. I’m sure, on some level, they will. But irritated that it’s happening this way.” The doorbell chimes and I glance at the clock. “Who could that be?”
“Maybe the universe heard my plea and brought me French toast,” Poppy says, climbing out of bed. “I’ll get the door in case it’s Branch. He has an appointment with my right hand.”
Laughing, although I’m sure she’s not entirely kidding, I change out of my oversized t-shirt and into a pair of shorts and a cami. By the time I walk into the living room, I spy my brother sitting on the sofa.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I walk by towards the kitchen. “I figured you’d be hungover.”
“I didn’t drink much,” he admits. “Someone had to babysit Branch.”
My footsteps falter. “Oh, really?”
“He got shitfaced as hell. He parties as hard as the next guy, but last night was a little overboard.” Finn looks at me with a lifted brow. “Did you see him last night?”
“Briefly.”
Ignoring further interrogation, I head into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of milk. I’m squeezing in a healthy dose of chocolate syrup when Finn comes in. I see Poppy through the doorway, sitting on the couch and looking nervous.
“What’s going on with you?” Finn asks, sitting at the bar.
“Nothing.” I take in a long, measured sip of the milk and wait for him to change the subject. He doesn’t. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because I’m your brother. Because I know the sound of your voice when you lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
He’s not deterred. Instead, he narrows his eyes. “I’m worried, Lay. Has Callum been bothering you?”
There’s so much concern, so much love, shining in his eyes that it breaks the wall I’ve so carefully erected. It’s what I need right now. It’s a look of protection, of consideration, of compassion that I didn’t get from Branch in any way whatsoever.
My hand shakes as I set the glass down. “I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Before I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t go crazy.”
“I’m doing no such thing.”
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “Then I’m not telling you.”
“I promise I will react proportionately to whatever you say.”
“No deal.”
“Layla . . .”
Knowing I’m not going to get out of this and hoping beyond hope he takes it well and that maybe that will help my anxiety, I take a deep breath. “Finn, I’m pregnant.”
His eyes nearly fall out of his head. “You’re what?”
“I’m having a baby in the spring.”
He watches me, twisting his lips together. “I’m not going to kill Callum.”
“That’s good.”
“I am going to decimate him.”
Avoiding eye contact and scooting to the furthest edge of the bar, I connect the golden sparkles in the granite with my finger. “What if I told you it wasn’t Callum’s?”
The energy radiating off him changes. Instead of lightening, like I hope, it turns darker. Heavier. More foreboding.
“That would be interesting,” he says calmly. Too, too calmly.
“Yeah.”
“Whose is it, Layla?”
The lines I’m drawing on the counter start to incorporate the chocolate-colored flecks, the butterscotch, and the cream. I loop more and more of them together knowing damn good and well that within the next few minutes, he’s going to have a coronary.
“Lay?”
“Branch’s.”
I don’t even get both syllables out before his fists slam on the counter. “What the fuck did you say?”
“Finn . . .”
“No,” he rumbles, glaring at me. “You didn’t say my name. Whose baby are you pregnant with, Layla?”
“Branch’s.”
“That motherfucker.”
“Listen,” I say, hearing the plea in my tone, “stop. There’s nothing that being mad is going to fix.”
“Good thing I’m not mad then, isn’t it?” he says, his jaw flexing. “I’m so, so far beyond mad. I’m livid.”
With movements so calculated it sends chills down my spine, I watch him get to his feet. My palm rests flat against the cool stone as I watch my brother watch me.
“Have you told him?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He nods, like his own little lines are connecting. Still, he is not amused. “What did he say?”
I’m not prepared for this question and the extra pause I take is all Finn needs to turn red. He stares me down, pressures me to talk when I don’t know the best thing to say.
“He was surprised,” I shrug as casually as I can. “I don’t need him, Finn. I can raise a baby on my own.”
“First, you’ll never have to raise a baby on your own. You know that. You have me. Mom. Dad. Poppy. Second, if that son of a bitch doesn’t support you, I’ll ensure he never has more kids. I’ll rip his balls right off his body and feed them to him.”
“I don’t want that,” I sigh. “I don’t. I’d rather him just ignore it altogether if he doesn’t want a part of it.”
“You can’t opt out of being a part of your kid’s life!”
“He didn’t ask for this.”
“And you did? And you’re defending him?” he scoffs. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
Considering this question, I don’t know the answer. What I do know is the little ball of peace that’s settled in my soul is welcome to stick around. I also know I mean what I’m saying.
“I’m not defending him, Finn. Not at all. But will you look at me? I’m capable of raising a child on my own if I have to, and I’d rather do that than have someone not want it or make my life hell. It’s done. I’m pregnant. Now I have to make the best of it for my child, not for me, and damn it if that doesn’t sound like the weirdest thing I’ve ever said.”
Sucking in a breath, I pour over the words that just tumbled from my lips.
“I hate this,” he says, his edge missing from his tone.
“Hate what?”
“I hate that he’s made you feel like you’re on your own.”
“I rolled the dice and I came up short. I’m prepared to deal with that.”
“Me too.” He turns away from the bar and marches into the living room. Pausing at the couch, he bends and has a quiet discussion with Poppy.
I lean against the doorframe and watch them interact. The way she touches his face, the way he smiles softly at her, makes my heart tighten. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever have that.
Finn stands and turns to me. “What’s your immediate plan?”
“I’m going to head to the cabin this afternoon. I need some quiet to sort this all out. I can work from there and just . . . breathe.”
“I’ll call Machlan and have him check on you.”
“I’ll be fine, Finn.”
“I’ll make sure of it. Call me when you make it.”
“All right.”
He kisses Poppy on the cheek and heads to the door.
“Where are you going?” I call out.
“I have some training to do. Call me when you get to the cabin.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I’VE LOOKED BETTER.
My eyes are swollen, the locks of my hair stuck together from sweat, day-old hair gel, and wrestling with my pillow all night. I shouldn’t have drunk anything, let alone as much as I did. But I’ll cut myself some slack and realize I was a little overwhelmed.
Brushing my teeth, I spit out the toothpaste and rinse it down the drain. My mouth still tastes like puke. And regret.
I fucking hate this.
I’m a great wide receiver, which means I can make decisions on the fly. I have to be able to move with the ever-changing field conditions from play to play. Thinking ahead, anticipating calls and defenses are things I specialize at. How I’ve managed to take all those skills and not use them in my real life is astounding.
Looking in the mirror, I don’t like what I see, and it has nothing to do with the eyes or hair or the line running down my cheek from the seam on the couch cushion where I ended the night. It has everything to do with what’s beyond that and the panic that’s sitting there, mocking me, threatening to bust loose.
The doorbell rings. Maybe it’s my hangover, but it sure as hell sounds like it’s not just ringing, but blaring. I head down the hall and wince as it rings again. Then a third time.
“I’m fucking coming,” I shout, grabbing the deadbolt and snapping it . . . just before I look out the peephole. Finn must hear it click because he shoves the door open, almost knocking me into the wall.
I don’t ask why he’s here. He doesn’t bother to say hello. There’s no need for formalities.
I’m not scared of many men. Besides my father, I can’t really think of anyone. But Finn has me taking a step or two back and wondering how in the hell I’m going to diffuse this situation.
Then I realize I’m not.
I’m fucked.
“How long have you known?” he growls, his nostrils flaring as he looks down at me.
“Finn—”
“Answer me!” he bellows.
“She told me last night.”
He paces a circle, clenching his fists, trying to calm himself down. I’ve seen him do this in games and in the locker room and even at a party once where a guy threatened the girl he was seeing. I can never remember him doing it quite like this though.
My quick-thinking skills are gone and I’m left scrambling to figure out how to put this. I force a swallow. “Finn, honestly, I’m sorry—”
The words are ripped from my mouth by a crisp right hand, whipping across my face—fist closed—and rocking my head back. My face moves out of sync, my jaw working to catch up with the rest of me. I see the left coming and roll underneath it and pop up a few feet to his left and out of punching distance.
Wiping some blood off my chin, I glare at him. “Feel better now?”
“No.”
“Go on. Do it again.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“Do it again. See if it helps. Come on, motherfucker.” I stick my chin out, goading him to hit me. My face throbs, already swelling, but I don’t give a fuck. I need this. I want this. I want this pain. “Hit me, Finn.”
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
I don’t see the fist coming. The contact rings me awake, knocks the hangover right out of me. Savagery steels across his face, sinking into my psyche and reminding me of every way I’ve messed up.
“What were you thinking?” he hisses, his eyes narrowed to tiny little slits. “I ask nothing of you but to stay away from my sister and you can’t just stay away from her, you get her pregnant?”
He lurches forward again, but I have my wits about me now and jump out of the way. He crashes into a table with some books and a vase filled with sand from the Wabash River.
Everything crashes to the floor and Finn lies in the middle of it. He falls back to the floor, eyes closed, and doesn’t move.
Tugging at my hair, I look to the ceiling and wish I could just make this go away.
“I know you know I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I say as pacifyingly as possible. “I’d never do this to you . . . or to her.”
His eyelids pop open and he looks at me.
“I just . . . We just thought we’d have some fun, you know? I still don’t know how this happened.”
“Need a biology lesson?” He gets to his feet, brushing dust off his pants. “For fuck’s sake, Branch. Did you do this just to spite me?”
“Of course not.”
“I took you to my family’s home because we were friends. I trusted you,” he says, the anger giving way slightly to a look of disappointment. “I thought you were my guy, my buddy, the one I could trust to bring into my world.” He considers me again. “You’ve disrespected my sister and you’ve betrayed me.”
My spirits fall, spiraling from what little height they had left into an abyss I’m not sure I’ll ever recover them from. The way he looks at me reminds me of the way Layla looked at me last night, and my stomach builds pressure, threatening to be sick again.
Clearing the bile from my throat, I get my bearings. “Layla is a—”
“—an amazing woman,” he cuts me off, “that’s so far beyond your league you shouldn’t even get to fucking look at her, and I’ll blame myself for the rest of my life for introducing the two of you and giving you access to her.”
“Damn it, Finn. This isn’t your fault.”
“No, it’s your fault, asshole. This is all your doing with your hedonistic bullshit and greater-than-thou attitude.”
“Come on . . .”
He glares at me again, the friend I once knew all but gone from his eyes. “I hope she tells you to fuck off but clearly neither of you listens to me. But I want you to know this: if you’re not going to take full responsibility for this baby, get the hell out of her life. Hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“I mean it, Branch. She still has a shot at leading a good, normal life but only if you stay the fuck out of it. You can’t be half in, half out with your bullshit. You can’t be fucking everything that walks and paying lip service to my sister on the side. You hear me?”
“I said I hear you.”
He smiles hatefully. “Consider this your last warning. If I ever show up here again, call the police because I’m here to rip you apart.”
The door jerks open and he slams it behind him. Pictures on the wall rattle as I bend down and pick up a piece of the shattered vase.
Holding it in my hands, the edges of the rough glass prickling at my skin, I feel the weight of the world sitting square on my shoulders. And as broad as they are, they threaten to collapse.