Page 2 of The Decoy

“How could you let this happen?! We used protection! And fuck, I’m in a contract year!” he says, his voice screeching like a spoiled brat losing his toy. “I’m set to sign the biggest contract of my career at the end of this season. I can’t be tied down to this. I can’t be playing house!”

“I’m sorry, what? Playing house?” I keep my voice completely controlled, in contrast to his rising hysteria. “Dylan, I’m not asking you to move in with me or pick out nursery furniture. I’m telling you a factual reality. I’m having a baby. Your baby.”

“This is a mistake!” he snaps, his hands gripping the table so tight his knuckles turn white. He glances around the room to make sure no one is listening to our heated conversation. “A stupid, careless mistake. You live in some trust-fund land where you can just wave a magic wand, hire nannies, and pretend life is all sunshine and roses. But my entire life is built on my reputation, my focus, my game. I’m not dealing with this right now.”

His sheer selfishness is almost fascinating to me. The guy who is an absolute god on the ice is turning out to be an absolute pussy. But I don’t flinch. I don’t cry. And I certainly don’t lower my gaze.

I just pick up my glass, take a slow sip, let the ice-cold water run down my throat, and set it back down on the table.

“Well, sweetie, the decision is already made,” I tell him, matching his angry stare with my own. “I’m having this child. You can be as involved as you want or not involved at all. But let me be exceptionally clear. I’m not changing my life just to keep your career clean and your agent happy.”

Dylan stares at me, his handsome face shifting into an expression of unfiltered narcissism. There’s no internal conflict in his eyes. No regret. Just simple, self-preserving calculation.

“You understand that I’m out, right?” Dylan asks, his voice dripping with venom. “Completely out. Don’t call me. Don’t send your daddy’s legal team after me for any kind of support. I will sign away every parental right I have the second I can.”

“Fine by me,” I reply instantly. “I don’t need your money, and I certainly don’t need you. In any way.”

“Don’t even think about trying to drag me into court,” he adds. “I will walk away from the endorsement deal, break confidentiality, and drag your family’s name through every tabloid in the country. I’ll spin this so people think you set me up.”

I really want to laugh in his face. The fact that he thinks he could even get that far is hilarious.

He stands from the table, smoothing his sweater, an act I assume to gain composure. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a tacky gold money clip, and slaps three hundred-dollar bills onto the table next to my untouched meal.

“We’re done, Ellis. Have other people in your company contact me about the endorsement deal. But you,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Ever again.”

He turns on his heel, walks toward the doors, and steps out into the cold streets of Manhattan without looking back.

I glance down at the money sitting in front of me. A sharp flare of disgust surges through me. Not because my heart is broken, but because I wasted six months letting a spineless coward into my life.

I signal the waiter and hand him my Black Card to settle the bill. Then I put on my coat, pick up Dylan’s pathetic cash and hand it to the server, before walking out to my waiting car.

Outside, the sky is grey and icy rain still falls. But when I pull up to Renwick Tower, I don’t bother with an umbrella and make my way into the building.

Once I reach my office, I shed my wet coat and hang it on the rack next to my door. My office is warm and smells like freshly brewed coffee that my assistant must have made for me when I texted her to hold any meetings I had this afternoon. I usually live off coffee all day long.

I take a seat behind my desk after grabbing the coffee off my credenza and start to review a folder of endorsement drafts to clear my head when my door swings open.

“Have you revised the Vaughn contract? I want to get him locked in for a renewal.” My brother, Bryan, marches into the room and flops down in the chair in front of my desk. “Whoa. What’s going on with you? You forget your coat and get caught in the rain or something?”

Bryan is two years older than me and extremely protective. He’s the Chief Operating Officer of Overtime Sports, and while we bicker from time to time, there’s no one on earth I trust more.

“I’m fine, Bry,” I say smoothly, shifting my eyes back to the computer screen. “Just putting in the extra hours to get the next quarter ready to roll.”

“Nope. Not buying it,” he says, standing and stepping around my desk, leaning his hip against the edge, folding his arms over his chest. “Something’s up with you. You don’t show up for Sunday dinner at Mom and Dad’s this week and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been living off coffee. Did you finally toss Dylan or something?”

At the mention of Dylan, my jaw tightens, but my voice, thankfully, remains steady. “We’re definitely not together. Let’s just say I saw his true colors and he wasn’t as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside.”

Bryan snorts, shaking his head. “Good. I told you he was a fuckin’ prick. It was just sex though, right? You’re not hurt by it, or anything, are you?”

“I mean, pretty much,” I say, forcing a smile. “I just wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

“Happy to hear it. You need someone who isn’t obsessed with their own reflection.” He pauses, his gaze lingering on my face. “Is that all it is, Els?”

I turn my chair toward him.

These past few days, I’ve been in a state of panic without anyone to talk to about it. I dealt with the queasiness, reviewed legal implications, and mentally prepared myself for a potential fallout. I’m confident and more than capable of raising a child on my own.

But as I look at my older brother, the one who has backed me up in every fight I’ve ever been in, my armor cracks. Just a little.