Page 72 of The Decoy

“I mean, come on. Brody Vaughn,” Dylan spits out. “A football player. A guy who likes getting hit in the head for a living. Yeah, I saw your little public statement. He’s gonna play daddy. How pathetic is that? Taking my sloppy seconds and covering up my mistakes for me because he’s too stupid to know any better.”

“Say one more word about my girl or my son, Boone,” a voice rumbles from the shadows near the stage entrance, “and you won’t walk out of this studio on your own two feet.”

The air in the soundstage evaporates instantly.

Dylan goes completely rigid, the smug, arrogant sneer freezing on his face as he turns toward the voice.

Brody walks toward us wearing his team training hoodie, the sleeves pushed up past his forearms, exposing his thick muscles. He looks intimidating. Six-foot-six of dense athletic power, built to shatter defensive fronts. His jaw is set, his chest heaving with restrained rage, his eyes dark with a lethal intensity that makes Dylan look like a child playing in an adult’s world.

Brody doesn’t rush to us. He walks to me in slow, deliberate strides.

Dylan takes two steps backward, his hands coming up defensively. “Vaughn,” Dylan starts. “This is a private conversation⁠—”

Brody doesn’t give him the chance to finish.

He reaches me in a single stride, stepping between us and directly into Dylan’s personal space, looming over him like a beast. But he doesn’t lay a finger on Dylan. He’s too smart to give an asshole like Dylan grounds for a lawsuit or complaint, but his size is intimidating, even to another athlete like Dylan.

“You don’t talk to her,” Brody growls, his voice terrifying. “You don’t look at her. And you sure as hell don’t mention my son ever again.”

“Your son?” Dylan hisses, trying to muster up his usual bravado, though his shoulders are visibly tense. “That kid is⁠—”

“That kid is mine,” Brody interrupts, his words cutting through Dylan’s like a razor blade. He leans down, eyes locking onto Dylan’s, their faces inches apart. “I’m the one who’s been with her from the very first appointment. I heard the first sounds of his heartbeat. I felt his first kick. I’m giving him my name, my home, my love, and protection. His heart beats because of the life Ellis and I are building together. He might not be my blood, but he is my son in every single way that matters.”

Brody pushes against Dylan’s chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“If I ever hear your mouth open disparagingly against Ellis, if I ever see your face near my family, or if you ever breathe a single word of my baby’s paternity,” Brody says, his eyes dangerous looking, “I will personally make sure you never step onto a sheet of ice again. Do you understand me?”

The tension is thick enough to suffocate on. A few crew members in the distance have stopped working entirely, glancing over at us and whispering to each other.

Dylan swallows as he looks up into Brody’s stone-hard face. I can practically see when he realized that Brody wasn’t lying. He’s a man who would gladly burn down his own multi-million-dollar career to tear apart anyone who dares to threaten his family.

“What the fuck ever,” Dylan mutters bitterly, backing away, trying to salvage whatever pathetic shred of pride he has left. “She’s all yours. Keep her. Keep the kid. But the same goes for you two. You better make sure my name never, ever comes out of your mouths or anywhere near that baby in the press. I don’t want a fucking thing to do with any of you.”

“Fuck off, Boone,” Brody says, his tone flat and final.

Dylan stalks off toward the exit, his PR team trailing behind him, and slams the doors shut as he walks out.

What an asshole.

The sounds around the soundstage continue on when he leaves.

Brody turns his back to me, his shoulders rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths. I can literally see the tension in his back.

I don’t hesitate. I step forward until I’m behind him and reach out to place my palms against his lower back.

“Brody.”

He stiffens for a second at my touch, but then he turns to face me. His eyes are still a little wild and burning with anger. His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“Did he touch you? What else did he say before I came in?” His gaze roams over me, checking my body, looking for damage.

“No,” I say, a smile touching my lips as I reach and wrap my hands around his. “He didn’t touch me, and he didn’t say anything that matters.”

“He called him a mistake,” Brody sneers, his teeth grinding together so hard I can see the muscle flexing in his jaw. “He looked at you…at our boy…like you were nothing. I wanted to put him straight through that concrete wall.”

“I know you did,” I whisper, unclenching his broad fingers one by one, lacing mine tightly through his, and bringing his hand up to rest on my stomach. “But he’s nothing, Brody. He’s completely insignificant in our world. You and I both know who this baby’s father is. It’s the man who takes care of me every day, the man who’s been with me at every appointment. It’s the man who’s sharing his home with me and making it ours. His words have no weight.”

Brody looks down at our joined hands resting over my stomach.