Page 3 of The Decoy

“Bryan,” I say quietly.

He bends down to look me in the eye. “Talk to me, Els. What’s going on? Are you sick or something?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Bryan stays completely still. So still, it seems like the room freezes. “What?”

“I'm pregnant,” I repeat, holding my chin high. “It’s Dylan’s.”

“Dylan’s,” Bryan says, the word sounding like a threat. “And where is he?”

“Probably at home,” I say plainly. “I told him at lunch. He threw a temper tantrum, said he’ll sign his rights away, threatened to sue us if I tried coming after him for child support, and leak stories about our family to try to ruin our reputation or something.”

Bryan’s face turns red, then he barks out a laugh.

“Wait, I’m sorry. He said what?”

“It’s fine. Honestly. I don’t want anything to do with him. I certainly don’t need him, and the threats were just comical.” I sit up straighter. “I’m keeping my baby. I don’t need his permission. I don’t need his money. And I certainly don’t need a douchebag in my life. I have plenty of support.”

Bryan stares at me, probably looking for the truth in my words. Then slowly, his eyes soften, and he reaches out, pulling me up from my chair and into a hug.

“We’ll be right there with you,” he says. “Do you hear me, Ellis? You have me. You have Mom and Dad. You have our entire family behind you and those crazy friends of yours. And if that jackass wants to run, let him. But let me be clear: if he ever steps foot in this building or near your home, or if he even thinks about opening his mouth to the press, I will personally ruin his life and his career before he can even lace up his skates. We’ll handle any contractual obligations with him outside this building. And like hell we’ll even consider renewing his contract.”

A laugh bubbles out, the heavy tension in my shoulders releasing. I rest my head on my brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Bry.”

“Always,” he says, fiercely.

“Can we maybe hold off on telling Mom and Dad, though? Let me see the doctor and get confirmation and all that stuff that goes along with this before I tell them.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.” He squeezes me once, then lets me go.

I nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“I got you, sis. Now let’s get back to work.” Bryan always knows how to read me. He knows I’ve had enough of this today and need a distraction.

I have no doubt I’ll be lying in bed thinking about it tonight. But for now, I need to be a boss bitch.

I’m Ellis fucking Renwick. I’m smart, confident, and fiercely independent. Dylan Boone thinks he’s leaving me stranded, but he’s severely underestimated me.

I’m going to bring a baby into this world and raise them with all the love and strength I possess. And I will build an incredible life for us on my own terms.

CHAPTER ONE

DECEMBER

Brody

“Hold it right there, Brody. Keep that smile locked in. Give me that ‘I just clinched the division on a forty-yard touchdown pass in overtime’ look.”

I hold the condensation-dripping bottle of Overtime at chest level, keeping my grip firm while the flashbulbs go off in rapid, blinding succession. The studio lights hang from iron rafters of the Brooklyn soundstage and are hot enough to melt plastic, and I can feel a bead of sweat running down the back of my neck, threatening to ruin my perfectly styled hair that their team spent forty-five minutes doing before the shoot.

It’s all good though. I’m completely in my element.

Six-six, two hundred and thirty pounds, starting tight end for the New York Titans and the current face of the biggest sports hydration campaign in North America… yeah, I’d say my life is going pretty good. Actually, it’s fan-fucking-tastic. I spend my Sundays running over linebackers and dragging cornerbacks into the end zone, and my days off with my friends and teammates, signing endorsement deals and posing for multi-million-dollar ad campaigns. Not too bad for a guy from a tiny town in Ohio.

Before this season, my reputation off the field was just as loud as my stat sheet. The tabloids love to throw my face on page six next to models, New York socialites, or heiresses. I’m not proud of every headline, but I can’t lie and pretend I haven’t enjoyed the personal perks that my career has given me. I love women, and I respect the hell out of them.

Growing up with a single mom who worked double shifts at a diner just to keep secondhand football cleats on my feet and food on the table for me and my younger sister, Lauren, walking into this level of wealth feels like playing with house money. My mom, June, broke her back to give Lauren and me a chance at a normal life. She worked late nights, skipped meals, and sacrificed her own comfort so I could play in summer leagues and catch the eye of college recruiters. Now that I have achieved my dreams by doing what I love, I’ve made sure my mom hasn’t had to work another second in her life. I paid off her mortgage, put a brand new car in her driveway, and sent my sister to college debt-free, so I figure I’ve earned the right to have a little fun along the way.