"You and I will face it together," he said seriously when he pulled away.
The tension between us eased. Dylan pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the bed from where the doctors were working. I changed into the gown, leaving my underwear on for now, and then got back into the bed. Dylan immediately took my hand.
"Okay, Brooklyn. Let's start with an ultrasound," the doctor said, wheeling one of the machines closer. He lifted my gown, and I stared down at my perfectly flat stomach, trying to comprehend that there was a life growing in there. It was still so early—so many chances of miscarriage. But I had to have faith.
The squirt of liquid was cold, but I didn't even flinch. I'd been tortured by worse shit than that. My eyes were locked on the screen, and as he started to wave the wand over my stomach, I desperately searched for signs of life, even though I had not a fucking clue what I was looking for.
"Ah," he said, and there was a smile on his face. That had to be a good sign, right? "There you are, little one," he said. He froze the screen and started pointing shit out to me and Dylan, but the only important things I got from him were that the baby had a strong and steady heartbeat and was what looked like a perfect example of an almost eight-week gestation. It was literally a black dot, but he seemed pleased.
That machine went away after that, and Dylan was pulling my gown down before the doctor had even taken a step away. "Mine," he murmured in my ear as he got me situated again. "You get naked for no one but me, Brooklyn Lawson."
Damn him and his caveman attitude. And damn me for liking it.
"Let's check those ribs next." Doctor Joseph was back.
He did have to move my gown around again, much to Dylan's annoyance, but the doctor was completely respectful. "Your pain seems to be fairly manageable?" he asked when he was done examining all my injuries, including my face. "A few of these will take a while to heal, but I'm happy with your current progress."
"I'm managing the pain just fine with the pregnancy-safe painkillers from the hospital."
He looked through the medication and all the other notes and, satisfied with it, left an hour after he’d arrived.
"I'll get him back to check on you in a few days," Dylan said.
I shook my head. "No."
He paused, confusion on his face. "No?"
I took a deep breath, knowing this wasn’t going to go over well. And while Dylan and I’d had a few lovely bonding moments together this evening, I had already made a decision about my next move. It was a step I had to take for myself.
"As much as I appreciate your help and everything else you've done for me, I need to get back to my own life." I needed a little independence from Dylan while I sorted it out. "I have to deal with Blake's death. Has his body even been discovered? The police, no doubt, will want to question me. It's a hot mess, and I can't just escape and hide here."
His eyes darkened, and it was clear he wanted to rage about my decision. "Brooke, you're injured. You're pregnant—with my fucking child. You will stay with me so I can protect you, keep you safe."
I shook my head, refusing to engage in an argument. "I respect you for taking responsibility. I will never keep you out of your child's life, but I'm not an obligation you need to handle. I'm a real person, a real person who has never had a chance to live my own life free of fear and able to make my own choices. I won't exchange Blake's cage for yours, Dylan, no matter how fucking good we are together in bed."
His expression clouded, and it was pretty damn obvious I was in for a fight on this one. But it was a fight he'd lose. I was done being pushed around like a weak, broken bird. I was done being treated like a possession for powerful men to own and play with at their will.
Thankfully, I wasn't in this argument alone, not here, not in the Delta Five’s shared house.
"Let it go, D-man," Riley snapped, pushing the half-open door with her toe and stepping inside. "You don't own her, and you can't force her to stay if she doesn't want to."
Dylan whirled on his friend, his body language screamingwhat the fuck?
Riley raised her chin, her whole body radiating more strength and stubborn determination than I'd ever possessed in my whole life. "It's simple, Dylan," she told him in a cool tone, then shifted her gaze to me. "Brooke, do you want to stay here with us?"
I shook my head, trying to emulate her strength. "No. I want to go home to Mary."
As soon as those words left my lips, I knew I’d never felt so sure of anything in my life. Mary was the one person on this whole planet who I truly felt loved me unconditionally, but then... she was an employee of the Lawson household. Did she really care?
I needed to go home and find out for sure. She was like a second mother to me; the idea that she had only been doing her job was too painful to consider.
"Who the fuck is Mary?" Dylan barked, his glare like laser beams.
I blinked at him, fumbling for words. But once again, Riley had my back.
"Her housekeeper," she snapped back at him. "Which you'd know if you’d eventriedto look into the real Brooklyn Lawson instead of sticking your head in the sand and believing theSerenalie."
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw ticked in anger. "Itried," he growled, but she just scoffed.
