Page 6 of The Decoy

“I have a driv⁠—”

“I’m taking you, Ellis,” I repeat, keeping my tone soft, but backing it with absolute refusal to fold. “I’ll sit in the car, or the waiting room. I won’t ask questions, and I won’t tell a single soul; then I’ll take you home whenever you’re done. But you’re not going to this appointment alone.”

Ellis stares up at me, searching my face for any sign of a joke or other motive, I’m sure. But all she’ll find is sincerity.

Her lip trembles. The fierce, independent resistance in her shoulders finally gives way, as she lets out a shuddering breath, her fingers relaxing in my grip.

“Okay,” she whispers, leaning her head back against the wall for a second, as unexpected relief crosses her face. “Okay.”

I give her hand a squeeze, letting her know I’ve got her, before picking up my duffel bag with my free hand.

“Come on, princess,” I say, guiding her down the hallway toward the other exit.

“Princess? I’m not a princess.”

I look down at her and smirk. “Let’s go take care of you.”

CHAPTER TWO

Ellis

I don’t do vulnerability.

My entire identity and reputation are built on highly organized control. As a Renwick, I was raised to handle high-level pressure, media scrutiny, and corporate crises without letting anyone see so much as a tremor in my hands. Panic is a waste and tears resolve nothing.

Yet, as the passenger door of Brody’s matte-black Ford F-150 clicks shut, locking out the sound of traffic and the crisp late fall air, the silence inside the cab feels…loud.

Brody climbs into the driver’s seat and tosses his duffel bag into the back. He starts the engine, and the rumble of the V8 engine vibrates the floorboards; then he pulls out of the loading bay onto the congested West Side Highway.

I sit still in the passenger seat, my Louis Vuitton tote bag on my lap. I stare out the window, watching the skyline blur, my mind spinning at rapid speed.

What the fuck am I doing?

I’m Ellis Renwick, for fuck’s sake. And the man sitting next to me is Brody Vaughn —starting tight end for the New York Titans, a high-profile athlete whose brand I’m involved with, at a very expensive level. A guy I had checked as a fun, charming player who liked to have a different girl on his arm at every event he attends. Not that I blame him. I like no-strings relationships too. Like me, I assumed his reasons were similar; we’re both so focused on our careers.

Even though I’d known him in a friendly way, and definitely enjoy looking at him, I could always tell he was a fundamentally good man. He’s polite to staff, fiercely loyal to his friends and teammates, and has a naturally warm nature that’s hard to dislike. But at the end of the day, I don’t know him all that well outside our social circle. We had never shared any personal information, let alone something this important.

But as I sit in his truck, a strange and disorienting realization settles over me. I feel safer with Brody right now than I ever had with Dylan. With Dylan, everything felt almost curated. He was shallow and deeply invested in appearances. Even during our six months together, I kept an emotional distance, knowing that our relationship was just casual. And it honestly didn’t surprise me that he walked away when I told him about the pregnancy.

Brody, on the other hand, is somewhat of a stranger, but there’s an unshakable stability in the way he carries himself. He didn’t ask me for an explanation. He simply stepped up for me when he absolutely didn’t have to. Almost like he knew what I needed before I did.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay calm, though it sounds weak to my own ears.

“Brody,” I say, keeping my gaze on the traffic ahead.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but his hands adjust on the steering wheel. “Yes, princess?”

I roll my eyes at the nickname. “Why are you doing this?” I turn my head to look at him now. “Seriously. You don’t owe me anything, and we really don’t know each other all that well. And let’s be honest, if the press gets wind that you’re going to an OB-GYN appointment with me, your agent would probably have a stroke. Not to mention my family’s PR team running damage control. So why are you putting yourself in the middle of…this?” I ask, pointing to my stomach.

Brody is quiet for a minute, then flips his turn signal, smoothly switching lanes before tossing a pointed look my way. The cocky, golden-retriever grin I was used to seeing on Overtime billboards and at various parties is nowhere to be found. His hazel eyes are warm, but intensely serious.

“I know I don’t owe you anything, Ellis,” he says, his voice deep and steady. He looks back to the road. “And I’m doing it because no one should have to sit in a waiting room alone for something this serious.”

I blink, thrown off by the lack of irony in his voice. “Brody, I’m an adult with an absurd amount of resources, financial and otherwise. I can hire an entire security detail and also demand to be the only patient in the office if I wanted to.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he replies softly. He slows at a red light, rests his elbow against the window frame, and turns to me. “My dad walked out on us when I was six years old, Ellis. Just packed his bags and vanished. My mom worked double shifts at a diner in small-town Ohio, breaking her back every day to keep shoes on my feet and my sister’s, and secondhand cleats so I could play football. I watched her carry every hardship, every emergency, and every doctor’s appointment by herself for eighteen years.”

He pauses, a shadow crossing over his face.