Chapter Eighteen

 

Bree

 

Leaving Milo is agonizingly hard. As I drive home, it's like a physical weight is sitting on my chest. I can't breathe. I can't speak. I can't even think straight. My lips still burn from his kisses and I still feel his hands upon my body. The memory of having him inside of me makes my heart swell and my body tingle. There is nowhere I'd rather be right now than back in bed wrapped up in his big, strong arms. Tears of joy spill down my cheeks as I relive the night in my head.

It had been amazing, in every sense of the word. Everything about it still gives me chills. When he told me he'd felt something for me way back when, the wave of relief I experienced was as deep as it was profound. It validated me like little else in this world has. I wasn't the only one to feel the spark between us that night in the garden. I had felt so incredibly connected to him – it was like a piece of the puzzle that I didn't even know I was missing suddenly snapped into place.

And knowing that he had felt it too, that I wasn't alone, filled my heart with unfettered joy as well as relief.

No man has ever lived up to the fantasy of that night in the gazebo. It remains the sexiest, most erotic night in my life. And truth be told, I didn't think Milo would be able to live up to it either. The fantasy is always better than the reality, right? But he did. In every way, he did – mask or no mask.

As I drive I realize that Milo is everything I want and more. But knowing that only makes the ache in my heart all the more painful. All the sharper and searing. It leaves me wanting to scream. To cry. To bang my fists against the wheel and shout about the unfairness of it all.

And it's because I know that I can't have him. We can never be. Not because of the stupid bullshit between our families. That's only a small part of it. No, we can never be together because I have his son. A son he doesn't know about and must never know about.

I need to protect Owen from the Sheridan clan. Keep him safe from their clutches – as well as from my family’s influence. I need to keep Owen safe and I will, even if it's the last thing I do.

I pull into the driveway of my family's estate and park, inhaling deeply as I prepare for what is sure to be an onslaught of anger, outrage, and shaming. I cleaned myself up a little before leaving the hotel – meaning I had washed my face, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, and put on my bra.

I look about as presentable as possible, given the situation. But, I know it's not going to be anywhere good enough. I can practically smell Milo on me, the sex wafting from my body like the headiest, most intoxicating perfume ever created. And if I can smell it, I'm betting they will be able to as well.

I know it is going to be pure and utter hell for me when I step inside. I just know it.

I have no choice though. My son is in there, and he needs me. Time to face the music. I let out a long, deep breath and try to steel myself as best I can, bracing for the barbed, painful insults I know are coming my way.

I try to open the front door quietly. Some small part of me is hoping that, maybe, no one will hear me slip in. If I can get upstairs before they see me, I can shower and change – make myself presentable – and then make up some story about falling asleep at Elizabeth's house. It seems plausible, right?

But no. Of course, it doesn't happen that way. That would be too easy. And nothing in my life is ever easy. You think I'd come to terms with that by now.

I step into the foyer and our housekeeper, Perdita, smiles at me. She greets me, her voice booming as is echoes around the walls of the foyer.

“Hello, Bree,” she says. “Good to see you –”

I cringe. It's not her fault. She has always been a warm, sweet woman, but I need her to shut up right now. I put my finger to my lips, trying to silence her, and the poor old Perdita stands there, confused, frown lines etched deep across her forehead. Bless her heart. She has no idea that I'm trying to sneak inside without drawing attention.

It doesn't matter though. It's too late.

Loud footsteps come from all directions, and I cringe, trying to prepare myself. My family enters the foyer from different hallways – as if they'd somehow coordinated their entrance. They all wear matching frowns of disapproval, eyes flashing dangerously, as they circle me like a flock of vultures.

Clyde is the closest to me, having come from the kitchen area, his face twisted into a hideous scowl. My heart races as our eyes meet, and I suddenly forget how to speak. My mother comes from the hallway that leads to the spare bedrooms on the ground floor, and my father enters from the living area. My mother's hands are on her hips as she glares at me, but my dad speaks first.

“Bree, where the hell have you been?” he asks.

Before I can answer, Clyde opens his mouth and speaks first. “The better question is, who have you been with all night?” he sneers. “Or should I hazard a guess?”

I lower my eyes, looking at the parquet flooring beneath my feet. “I fell asleep at Elizabeth's,” I reply softly.

“Why, that's funny,” my mother says in a tone of voice that is absolutely lacking in humor. “She was the first person I called when you didn't come home. Given that she's your one and only friend and all. Isn't that what you told me?”

“She said I wasn't there?”

There is no way Elizabeth would rat me out. I know her better than that. She knew where I was and who I was with. If my mom called her because I wasn’t home, she knew better than to spill the beans.

“No, she said you were there, but when I asked to speak with you – well – the line suddenly went dead,” she replies. “And then she stopped answering my calls, curiously enough.”

“Yeah, apparently some cell lines were down,” I lie.

“I called her landline as well,” she presses.

Oh. I didn't even know Elizabeth still had a landline. My bad. I decide that at this point, there's nothing I can do that will appease them. No explanation they'll find satisfactory. So, like the old Collin Raye song says, “Well that's my story and I'm sticking to it.”

“I went by there,” Clyde says, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Your car wasn't there.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Geez, you guys, I had a little too much to drink at dinner and Elizabeth drove me to her place. We left my car at the restaurant,” I lie. “Can we please stop with the inquisition, so I can go upstairs and shower now?”

My parents are blocking the way to the stairs, neither one moving. Both of them continue to scowl and look at me like the broken, diseased thing they perceive me to be. Finally, in a huff, I push my way past them and head for the stairs. I'm holding it together better than I thought, all things considered. Brownie points for me.

I have my foot on the first stair and my hand on the railing when Clyde's voice makes me freeze in place, my heart stuttering and the knots in my stomach twisting painfully.

“Tell me, dear sister,” he says. “Your sudden disappearance last night doesn't have anything to do with a certain Sheridan being back in town. Does it?”

I snort and try to quickly compose myself and turn to face him, my eyes narrow, trying to burn holes through him. My hatred for my brother has never been greater than in this moment.

“No,” I snap. “Like I'd be caught dead with that asshole.”

My acting impresses even me. Clyde stares me down, boring holes in me with his icy glare, before nodding, a condescending smirk plastered on his face.

“Good,” he says and then issues a subtle warning that cuts deep. “Better for all of us if you stay far away from that man.”

I nod. “Don't worry. I have no intention of –”

The doorbell rings and cuts me off. Both Clyde and I look into the foyer and through the glass panes on the front door, I see an all too familiar face standing there.

Milo.

Oh my God. What is he doing here?

My father moves quickly across the foyer and disappears out the front door, confronting Milo. My heart is in my throat and adrenaline surges through me like a raging river as I rush across the foyer and make it out the door to find Milo engaged in a heated argument with my dad.

The two men are yelling at each other, and my father looks prepared to throw a punch. Not that he could do much damage to someone as fit and experienced in combat as Milo. But my dad, red-faced, his expression distorted with dark rage – and never one to back down from a fight – has his finger in Milo's face, screaming at him.

“Dad!” I screech.

I don't run to my father though. No, I unconsciously run to Milo's side. And when I realize where I'm standing, it feels as if I've chosen my side already. Without even really thinking about it. I put a hand on each of their chests, trying to keep them separated.

“Stop it, you guys,” I say. “Just stop.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Clyde asks as he steps out onto the porch, his eyes on me. “Thought you said you –”

“Listen,” Milo says, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I'm not here to fight. I don't want to cause any problems. I'm just here for Bree. I've been thinking a lot and it's about time I came clean about a few things. And I need you all to listen. Please.”

“Milo, please –”

“Go on,” my father commands.

Milo doesn't listen to me. He just keeps talking, my heart sinking further and further into the abyss with each word that falls from his lips.

“That video from Bree's eighteenth birthday party? That was all my fault. Not hers,” he says. “I came on to her with the intent of ruining your family name. It was some stupid plan my brothers and I cooked up. I know it was stupid. Malicious. That video though, was never meant to get out. And now that I see how bad it has impacted Bree's life, I can't even begin to tell you how awful I feel. Or how sorry I am.”

My body tenses up. What in the hell is he doing?

My dad goes takes a step toward him, his expression growing darker by the minute. This time though, mom grabs his arm, and keeps the two separated.

“Let him finish, Senior,” she says. “I'd like to hear this.”

Clyde steps up and stands beside our father, his face a mirror image of the rage and hatred upon my father's

“Yeah, I really want to hear this before I beat the shit out of him,” Clyde growls.

“Bree was a good girl. A sweet girl. She didn't deserve that. Doesn't deserve anything she's still getting because of me,” Milo continues, ignoring all of the threats and posturing. “If anyone deserves getting their name dragged through the mud, and to be treated like shit, it's me. Not her. She didn't do anything wrong.”

“Like hell she didn't,” my father growls. “She slept with a Sheridan –”

“She didn't know who I was,” Milo replies softly. “I tricked her.”

My eyes fill with tears, knowing the effect this is going to have on Milo – not the least of which is with his family. I know he's risking so much, including his personal safety, to clear my name. I take hold of his arm, holding tightly to it, and his hand rests on top of mine. I can't help it. It just feels so natural.

My father's eyes nearly bulge out of his skull at his words, and his face is deep crimson red as he watches me stand beside Milo. His fists are balled up at his side, and Clyde is right there with him, eager to pounce at my father's word. My mom simply shakes her head as Milo continues speaking.

“If necessary, I'll go to the local press. I'll tell them my side. I'll tell them everything and get this goddamn stigma off your daughter,” he says and then looks over at me. “Unless, of course, you think that would make things worse for you, Bree. I'm only trying to do right by you here.”

“Milo, I – I don't know what to say,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

From inside the house, I hear small footsteps in the foyer, and it takes me a moment to register what's happening before the panic sets in. A moment later, I hear Matilda's voice call out from deeper in the house. She's not going to be able to get to him in time. Oh shit.

“Owen, come back here!”

Matilda's voice sends a dagger of ice straight through my heart. And tears well in my eyes when my little boy – our little boy – rushes out of the foyer and onto the porch, his eyes lighting up when he sees me.

“Mommy's home, Matilda!” he says, grinning as he rushes over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Yes, baby,” I whisper, stroking his dark brown hair as I turn away from Milo. “I'm home now.”

Milo pulls his arm free from my grasp and turns to me. There's an inscrutable look on his face as he looks at the boy next to me. Owen smiles up at him, his blue eyes as bright as his father’s. Owen may be oblivious to who the man standing beside me is, but Milo quickly puts two and two together. And when I see the pieces falling into place in his mind, I feel myself begin to tremble. A current of fear, more frigid than an Arctic blast, flows through me.

Matilda rounds the corner and starts to apologize but cuts herself off. She knows the secret too. She knows who Owen's father is. And when she sees Milo standing there, her eyes grow wide. There is a very pronounced silence on the porch and the warm air of the new day positively drips with tension. Nobody dares to speak a word. At least, not at first.

My parents didn’t have a clue to who Owen's father was, but having the two of them standing there side-by-side, they would have to be blind not to see it.

“Bree, please tell me –” Milo says, speaking slower than usual. “You didn't tell me you had a kid.”

“It never came up,” I whisper, tightly closing my eyes to stop the tears from falling.

Matilda, being the saint she is, tries to head things off before the unfolding disaster gets any worse than it already is. Though, truthfully, I don't know how it could get much worse.

“Hey, why don't we give them a few minutes?” she says.

“I won't leave my daughter alone with this – man,” my father grumbles.

It's my mom, surprisingly, who takes his arm and whispers something in his ear. My mom knows what's happening and what this means. It must be taking my dad a little longer to grasp it.

“Come on, Clyde,” she says. “You too. Let's go out back.”

I can't believe my mother of all people, stepped in and stemmed the tide. It's the last thing I would have ever expected, but I'm beyond grateful. Mom ushers everyone but Milo, Owen and me off the porch, walking inside and quietly closing the door behind them. Owen stares up at Milo, and Milo stares down at his son, a knowing look in his eyes.

“How old is?” Milo asks.

“Seven,” Owen answers for me. “I'm seven, I mean.”

I kneel down and softly kiss the top of Owen's head. “Why don't you go out and play with Tux, sweetie?”

Owen nods, but Milo says, “Wait.”

I keep hold of Owen, hoping that maybe the joy of seeing his son for the first time will make Milo forget that I lied to him. That I kept him from him. He stares into Owen's eyes and touches his cheek, before giving my boy a smile.

“It's nice to meet you, little guy,” he says softly. “Really nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, mister,” he says, giving Milo a gap-toothed grin. “Whoever you are.”

“Go on now,” I pat Owen's back, nudging him back inside. “Go find Matilda and play out in the back. I'll come find you in a bit.”

Owen does as told, completely oblivious to what is going on around him. Oblivious to the fact that his father is standing right in front of him. His entire world has just turned upside down and he has no clue. I wish I could be that blissfully ignorant.

When Owen closes the door behind him and I hear his footsteps fade into the distance, I turn and look at Milo. My heart is hammering loudly in my chest and my eyes are burning with unshed tears. Milo is staring at me, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, an angry, but thoughtful expression, on his face.

He scratches at his beard and says, “You sure as hell have some explaining to do.”

“I know,” I say, my voice cracking.

“Is he mine?” Milo asks.

“Do you think he is?”

“That's not what I fucking asked you, Bree. I asked if he's my kid,” he says. “The time for stupid games is over. Long over.”

His voice rises, and I cringe, quickly looking away. There's so much anger behind his words and so much rage in his eyes.

“Yes, Milo. He is,” I say at last. “He's your son.”

“Son of a bitch,” he growls. “God damn it, Bree. How could you do this?”

Milo balls his hands into fists and glances around, looking for something to punch. He paces the porch for a second before turning to me again, his eyes filled with fury and his face red with anger. He steps closer to me and I can see the veins popping out in his neck and wrinkles creasing his forehead. The rage in his face terrifies me, and it's all I can do to keep my back straight and my feet planted. I can't back down. I won't.

“You had no right to keep him from me,” he hisses.

“Can you blame me, Milo?” I say. “After what you did to me? After what your family did to me?”

“That's no excuse,” he says. “That's my son.”

“Yeah, well, look at your brothers,” I say, throwing my hands up in disgust. “I didn't want him to turn out like that--”

“I came out just fine, didn't I?” Milo growls. “And besides, it's not like your brother is exactly the best fucking role model around, is he?”

“You and your brothers ruined my life, Milo!” I cry. “What did you want me to do? I had no one.”

Before I can stop the tears, they fall. And I curse myself for my weakness. It's the last thing I want to show him. But, my body is racked with tears as I sob.

“I had no one,” I say, my voice choked with sobs. “You ran off to God knows where. Your family continued to torment me after you left. I just wanted to protect him. I hardly knew you. Hell, I still barely know you –”

“I wore a condom though,” he says, sounding genuinely puzzled. “How could it –?”

“The condom didn't work,” I snap. “Obviously. And you were the only person I'd been with at the time. You are the only person it could have been and come on – he looks just like you.”

“I'm not denying he's mine, it's just – I wasn't expecting this. I can't do this right now,” he says. “I can't, Bree.”

Milo turns and heads for the stairs that will take him down to the driveway and to his car before I can stop him. He quickly descends the stairs and I follow close behind him. I reach out and grab hold of his arm, but he pulls it away, turning on me with pure anger and contempt in his eyes.

“I can't deal with this right now,” he growls. “You fucking kept this from me. You lied to me. After what happened last night and everything we shared, you still kept it from me. And if I hadn't stopped by today to try and do right by you, I would have left town none the wiser. And you wouldn't have said a fucking thing. You have my son and you would have continued keeping that from me. What the fuck, Bree?”

“I was scared, okay?”

“That is not an excuse,” he growls. “I can't deal with your bullshit right now. I have a dead brother I have to put in the ground.”

He stalks off but stops just before getting to his car. He turns back to me, the fury in his face unabated in the least.

“I'll still give you the money we talked about. And pay child support,” he says. “I will want to know my son and be a part of his life. But, God help me, I'm not sure that I ever want to see your face again.”

He climbs into his car and guns the engine, the sound of it drowning out my cries. I scream his name at the top of my lungs, but he drives away anyway, leaving me standing there in front of my family's estate.

Alone.

I fall to my knees, then backwards, into a sitting position. I draw my knees to my chest and bury my face in my hands, crying harder than ever before.

God help me, my heart is completely shattered. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to put it back together again.