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And Brett standing next to a blond woman holding a baby.
“I thought maybe you decided to no-show,” Doug says in a tone that makes me want to hide behind Austin, but after reading his words scrawled down on the paper, I don’t want him to have to shield me when he is the one who needs support.
That’s why I put the dress on. Why I literally ran here. Because he’s about to rip open his chest and expose the truth to total strangers, and I want to be there for him when the inevitable blowback comes. I still don’t know all of what happened, but I think I can understand the gist of it.
Doug Ashwood is a terrible person, an even worse father, and Austin deserves to say his piece. He deserves to be open about his experience and find solace from those who would choose to treat him as less-than. I don’t blame him one bit for wanting to give the speech he will tonight. In fact, I’m proud of him, and I wish I could be there for him.
That’s what hurts. After today, after we agreed we were together and he called me his girlfriend, he still doesn’t want me here. He still doesn’t want to let me in.
“What’s going on?” Brett asks, and I force myself to step up next to Austin, my arm against his, fingers brushing. So he knows I’m not going anywhere.
But all three of them standing there clock it—Brett, Doug, and the woman.
“I was just about to go in,” Austin says, and in the silence that follows, the crackle of the paper in his fist might as well be an earthquake. The baby squirms, probably uncomfortable in the tiny suit they have him wearing, and the woman readjusts her hold, but that only makes him more upset, and he lets out a cry that is not unusual for babies.
I wouldn’t think anything of it except Brett reaches for the baby and places him on his shoulder, totally natural, and Austin goes rigid next to me.
Could be a robot for how he nods when Brett says, “This is my son.”
I turn to watch Austin’s reaction. He has none other than a blink.
Then Brett adds, “Glad you could finally meet him since you don’t return my texts.”
That earns a tick of his jaw that is barely noticeable with his beard, but I spot it. The lift of his throat when he swallows. The quiet inhale through his nose. The tension radiating off him, and I know in my bones that they are the reason he has anxiety attacks.
These people and whatever has happened, they have beaten him down so thoroughly, he doesn’t even feel like he can accept help when it’s offered.
“We call him DJ for Douglas James,” the woman says, and finally, Austin cracks. He lets out a loud guffaw.
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“Watch your mouth.” Doug steps toward Austin, and I unthinkingly leap in front of my boyfriend, ready to protect him.
“Mills,” Austin whispers, his hand on my hip, nudging me to the side, but Mr. Ashwood sneers down at me, keeping me in place.
“And who are you?”
“Millie Sheehan.”
“My assistant.” Austin pushes me behind him once more, and the heart that formerly resided in my chest drops to the floor. I’m surprised it’s not lying next to my toe that’s now black and blue.
I didn’t think it could get worse tonight, but that right there stuns me into immobility. He isn’t only refusing to trust me enough to be honest with me, he’s also relegating me to a meaningless job. One that’s a complete farce. I don’t know why, but I don’t particularly care.
I don’t want to hear his excuses or explanations, when I came here for him. I came here to help him, was willing to stand up for him, yet he clearly doesn’t have the same desire.
He doesn’t love me.
At least, not like I love him.
And I don’t want to stand here while he figures it out. So, I clear my throat of the emotion there, make sure my eyes are dry, and slap on a smile. “I came to drop something off for him, but I was just leaving.”
“Millie, wait.”
I don’t. I ignore Austin completely and exit the same way I entered: running.
CHAPTER 25
AUSTIN
