Page 7 of The Decoy

“She’s strong as hell, just like you,” Brody continues. “She never asked for help, never let us see her cry, and pretended she had everything under control. But I knew how heavy it was for her. And I swore to myself a long time ago that if I ever saw a woman carrying that kind of weight on her own, I wouldn’t turn my back because it wasn’t my problem, or wasn’t convenient for me. Which is why I got involved with Presley’s foundation. I help single moms and families in transition not only with the sports side of the foundation, but also with things like child care, education, job training, and providing items like cribs and car seats. While I know you don’t need those things; you’re going through something pretty fucking big. And Dylan fucking Boone is a complete asshole for leaving you to handle this alone. So, princess, I’m sitting in that waiting room. End of discussion.”

A lump forms in the back of my throat, and I look at him—really look—and feel my perception of him shift further. Brody Vaughn is extraordinarily good. This casual friend I thought I knew is showing me a depth of character that eclipses every man I’ve ever dated.

I swallow hard, turning my face back toward the window so he can’t see the moisture in my eyes. “Thank you,” I mumble, the words barely a whisper.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, stepping on the gas as the light turns green.

Ten minutes later, we pull up to the medical building on the Upper East Side. Brody parks in the subterranean garage and throws on a baseball cap, I assume to avoid recognition. Something Dylan would have never done. He loves all the attention.

We ride the elevator up to the fourth floor in silence. The waiting room is quiet and smells of lavender and fresh linen, with pink velvet armchairs and soft lighting. I check in at the desk while Brody takes a seat in the corner. His long legs stretch out, his presence is large in the small area, but also…comforting me.

I sit down next to him once I’ve signed the consent forms, my knees bouncing with nerves. I sit tall, chin held high, looking like a woman in control, like I’m waiting for a board meeting to begin or something. But internally, my heart is hammering against my ribs like a bird stuck in a cage.

This is really happening.

A door opens, and a nurse in teal scrubs steps into the waiting area, holding a tablet. “Ellis Renwick?”

I stand up, my professional armor snapping into place. “Yes.”

“Right this way,” the nurse says with a warm smile.

I take two steps toward her, but my shoes suddenly feel like they’re filled with lead. A wave of anxiety washes over me, making me stop and turn back to look at Brody.

He’s already standing, his eyes fixed on mine.

“Brody,” I say, my voice wavering just enough to betray the nervousness I’m trying to hide. “Would you… can you come in with me?”

I don’t know why I expect him to hesitate. But Brody doesn’t even blink. He immediately picks up my tote bag I didn’t even realize I left behind, steps up to my side, and places a hand on the small of my back, like a steady anchor that immediately eases my nerves.

“Let’s do this,” he says gently.

The nurse leads us down a hallway into a private consultation room after I stop in the restroom to leave some urine in a cup. “We’ll test your urine to confirm the pregnancy and draw a blood panel to confirm your hormone levels, then Dr. Marsh will bring you into the sonogram suite,” she explains, gesturing to the exam chair, as Brody takes a seat on the extra chair in the room.

I sit down and roll up my sleeve. Brody scoots his chair closer to me and rests his hand lightly on the table next to my leg.

Once the nurse ties a tourniquet around my arm and preps the needle, she glances up at Brody and nods. “Dad, can you hold her hand for support? This might take a few minutes.”

Dad.

The word hangs in the air like a thunderclap.

My stomach drops, and my eyes snap wide open, no doubt showing the panic I’m feeling right now. I open my mouth to correct her, but what do I say?

Oh, he’s not the father. He’s just an NFL player who drove me here. The biological father is an NHL player who wants nothing to do with this baby.

Instead, I look at Brody, silently pleading with him to handle this awkward moment.

Brody doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t look embarrassed or flustered either. He just smiles and steps closer, offering me his hand.

“I got her,” he says easily, seeming completely unbothered.

I stare at his open palm for a second before my fingers grip his. His hand is warm and solid, wrapping completely around mine. When the needle pierces my skin, I squeeze his hand hard. Brody doesn’t even flinch. He just squeezes me back, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over my knuckles.

“All done,” the nurse says, taping a small bandage over my inner elbow. “Let’s head into the sonogram room, and the doctor will come in shortly. Typically, you would see the doctor first, then have the sonogram, but our technician is out today, so we’re going to do both at the same time.”

I nod, my heart beating in my throat as we step into the dimly lit suite. The room feels cold, and the ultrasound monitor mounted on the wall and the exam table seem to take up most of the space.

“Go ahead and remove your clothing from the waist down and sit on the table. Here’s a sheet for you to cover up with.” The nurse hands me a warm sheet from a drawer and leaves the room.