Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

I walk out the door, and I’m not proud of it. I’m not. But I can’t stay in there another second. I’m too close to the edge, and Sorel needs and deserves better than that. I slam my fist into the button for the elevator and look toward Stone’s door. I could go there, but I can’t. It’s too close to home. The elevator comes, and I climb on. The moment the doors close, I explode.

I kick the wall and scream and pull my hair. But nothing makes it better. Nothing takes this out-of-control feeling away. I keep cycling back to one thing. Why does Brody get this with her and not me?

The moment my feet hit the sidewalk, I take off at a full sprint. The press is long gone by this point, having already moved on to the next drama. People give me double takes and smiles and try to catch my attention, but I run and run and keep my head down. I debate running to Owen’s. He’s a dad and older than me and likely the wisest guy I know. But I don’t want to interrupt his family time, and I don’t want to see how happy he is with Estlin and Rory.

Rory is his.

That knocks Katy out of this too, because she has Bennett, and they have Willow.

Instead, I find myself running to my parents’ place, my fist pounding on the door of their townhouse.

My mom opens the door and gasps when she sees me. “Are you okay? What happened?” She grabs me by my sweaty shirt and hauls me inside. “Asher!” she calls out. “Get down here.”

I hear my dad’s heavy footfalls on the stairs. My mom is standing before me, watching my face, but she’s not pressing me for answers. Not yet. She knows me and can see that I can barely breathe, let alone speak, and that I need a minute. I may look almost identical to my father, but I’m like her in a lot of ways, and when things get overwhelming, sometimes we just need a moment before we can think rationally.

“Mason?” my dad asks and then signs, What’s wrong?

My dad signs a lot with me. My mom does too. Growing up, I learned to speak both English and ASL simultaneously, and old habits die hard. No one knew what would happen with my hearing, but my deficit has been stable since I was about twelve or so. I wore hearing aids on and off through school, and even now I wear them on occasion. I have the most trouble hearing conversations in a loud space like a restaurant and with dialogue on the TV. I can’t wear my aids in my helmet, and since I’m almost always in a helmet, I’ve gotten used to not wearing them.

“Sorel is pregnant, but the baby isn’t mine. It’s Brody’s.” The words tumble past my lips, but I don’t feel any relief at setting them free. If anything, they burn worse now that they’ve passed my lips.

My parents are silent, and I can feel them exchanging looks with each other.

My dad takes me by the arm and leads me upstairs to his office. My mom says something about getting me some water, but she’s giving me time alone with my dad. I know how they work. He sits in his chair, and I collapse on the sofa, dripping sweat everywhere, though he doesn’t comment about that.

“Did she end it with you to be with him? Is that why you’re so upset?”

I shake my head. “No, and she’s not moving back to New York either. She told me she didn’t want to end it with me.”

He nods and rubs a hand along his smooth jaw. “How far along is she?”

“Seven weeks.” My head falls into my hands, and I stare down at the floor.

“Explain to me what you’re thinking.”

I blow out a slow, even breath. “I’m thinking that I want that baby to be mine and not his.”

My mom comes in with a towel for me and sets a glass of water on the coffee table. I wipe my face and head and take a sip of the water. It’s cold and feels good, and I set it down instead of chucking it across the room because my mom is here, and I don’t want to be the guy who is a loose cannon. That’s not me. It’s never me.

I hate feeling out of control.

“So you’re not upset that she’s pregnant, just that the baby isn’t yours.”

It’s a statement and not a question, and I look up at him. “No. I mean, that part is a shock, yeah, but I love her, and I think once I got over that shock, I’d be happy. Really happy. We’re technically married, and I didn’t balk at that. Not for a second. I want this life with her, even if I didn’t plan for it to start immediately. But that doesn’t change the reality. The baby is not mine. It’s Brody’s.”

My parents look at each other again, and part of me knows what they’re thinking. My dad accidentally got my mom pregnant after a one-night stand, but neither knew who the other was, and my dad didn’t know I existed until my mom moved up to Boston and accepted a job that put her as the Rebels’ orthopedic surgeon. But I was his, not some other guy’s.

“But she wants to stay with you?” my mom shoots back at me.

“Yes. She said she was asking for whatever I was willing to give her.”

I pause as something hits me. Does it matter that it’s not mine if she wants me regardless? Suddenly, I don’t know.

As if answering my unspoken question, he says, “A lot of men choose to raise children who aren’t theirs. Callan did it with Katy.”

“Katy is his niece,” I retort.

“Do you love Willow?”

“What?” That catches me by surprise, and I tilt my head at my dad. “What does Willow have to do with this? Katy is like my cousin.”

“Ah, but she’s not actually your cousin. She’s not blood at all, and neither is Willow. But you were there for Katy when she was pregnant. Even before she got pregnant and was trying. You love them, right?”

“Of course,” I answer easily.

“And Willow?” he persists. “If Katy came to you and said I need you to help me raise Willow and be a father to her, how would you respond?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to. But…” It’s not the same thing. Is it? I loved baby Willow even before I knew she was baby Willow. I loved her when Katy was pregnant with her from the moment we found out she was pregnant. I loved feeling her move in Katy’s stomach, and when I heard Katy was in premature labor, I dropped everything and ran to the hospital. And when Willow got sick and needed surgery, it was the same deal. No, she’s not mine, but she’s Katy’s and⁠—

“I know this hurts,” my mother offers, placing her hand on my forearm and drawing me out of that reverie. “I can’t imagine it for you. But Sorel’s giving you a choice, yes?”

“Yes. I think so. We didn’t get that far. I left. But she said she didn’t want to end what we have.”

“You don’t want to lose her?”

“No.” I meet her gaze. “I don’t want to lose her.”

I get a soft smile in return. “Then I guess the only question is, can you love her baby because you love her?”

I blink at my mother and blow out a breath. Sweat continues to slide down my face, but I don’t care. I hardly notice it. Can I love her baby because I love her? The way I love Willow because she’s Katy’s? Nice move, Mom and Dad.

My head falls to my knees, and I close my eyes, letting that question flow over me. I think about Sorel being pregnant. Going to doctor’s appointments and getting ultrasounds. I think about her belly growing and buying furniture for a nursery.

I don’t know what Brody said to her. I don’t know if he’s going to be involved or not. He’d be the dad. I’d be… I don’t know what. What would I be? Sorel and I are barely together. It’s been only a few days. We may be married, but she views it as fake and doesn’t want us to stay that way. She said she’d try with me, and now this happened.

So what would I be to this child?

It’s mother’s boyfriend? That feels wrong. So inadequate. Not nearly enough for me. I’d want to be more. If I’m in something, I’m in it. I don’t half-ass. I’d need to be more than that. Is that even what she wants from me? She didn’t come right out and say that.

But she also didn’t not say it.

Sorel isn’t a single mom with a kid that I met and got to know after it was born. This is taking on everything from the start. Somehow that feels different. But is it? Being there is being there, and loving the child is loving the child.

Could I do that? Love her baby because I love her?

Hell, Sorel doesn’t even know how I feel about her. Not fully anyway.

I sit up and look at my dad. “Would you have loved me if I hadn’t been yours?” It’s an impossible question to ask, but I do it anyway. “If Mom had shown up with a ten-month-old who wasn’t yours, would you⁠—”

“Yes, Mason. I would have loved you.” He stares me down, not even a hint of reservation. He means it. “I would have been your stepfather and raised you as my son. Loving your mom meant loving all of her, and initially, I would have loved you for being a part of her. And then, I would have loved you for you.”

I swallow and fall back against the couch, my fists digging into my eyes. Could I do that? Could I be part of this pregnancy, this child’s life as its stepdad, or even as its dad if Brody doesn’t want any part of it?

Yes. The word chimes through my head like a bell.

Yes, I could. What difference does it make if the baby is biologically mine? I’ll love it because it’s part of Sorel. I’ll love it because she’s mine, and that makes her baby mine. It’s not what I would have wanted for us, but it’s what’s in front of me, and I don’t quit. I don’t give up. I don’t fail, and I won’t fail Sorel now. Not when she needs me. But more than that, I can’t lose her. I can’t walk away or let her go.

If Sorel wants me, she has me.

I stand and sign I love you to both of them and walk out. The front door slams behind me, and I sprint all the way home. By the time I reach the elevator, I feel like I’ve got this. That I can do it. It won’t be easy, and I’ll be jealous of Brody at every turn. I know I will be.

But Sorel doesn’t want Brody.

She wants me.

And I want all of her, baby included.

I open the front door and go for the kitchen. It’s empty, and the apartment is quiet. She wouldn’t have left, right? Shit. She could have. She could have thought I was rejecting her. I told her I’d be back. That I just needed to think.

I jog from room to room. She’s not in our bedroom or watching TV. She’s not in the study, the gym, or the media room. I run down the hall and, without knocking, open the door to her old bedroom.

My lungs empty with relief when I find her sitting in her bed beneath the covers. She’s holding her phone up in front of her face like she’s watching something or FaceTiming someone. Her eyes well with more tears as she sees me, and I take a step toward her.

“I love you, and I want you, and I want the baby.”