Page 9 of The Decoy

A wave of pure awe washes over me, so intensely that I can actually feel the oxygen rushing into my lungs. That fast, rhythmic sound is no longer a complex variable or an abstract image on a digital test.

It’s a life. My baby’s life.

A gasp escapes me, and tears flood my eyes, blurring the monitor, but I can’t stop it. My stoic demeanor completely collapses with one little sound.

“Heart rate is moving at one hundred and forty-two beats per minute,” Dr. Marsh says with a smile. “I think you’ll have a healthy pregnancy, Ellis. Everything looks good so far.”

I bring my free hand to my mouth, as the tears continue to stream down my face.

Beside me, Brody hasn’t said a word, but I feel his hand tighten around mine, his thumb softly stroking the back of my wrist.

When I look at him through my tears, I see him staring at the monitor, his jaw set, and his eyes shining with emotion that nearly takes my breath away. He’s not looking at the screen like he’s fascinated, and definitely not like a casual acquaintance.

In this small room, with the sound of my baby’s heartbeat, I realize that Dylan walked away from this miracle because he’s a small, shallow man. And Brody—who is just a friend—is standing right beside me, holding my hand and keeping me calm when I need it most. I’d known Dylan for six months, yet in less than two hours, Brody had offered genuine support, trust, and safety that Dylan was simply incapable of providing.

Dr. Marsh pulls out the wand and hands it to the nurse, who wipes away the gel and turns off the speakers; then the doctor pushes the extension back into the table. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone to collect yourselves before we print out your photos.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Brody answers her.

The door clicks shut, leaving us alone in the room.

I sit up slowly, wiping the wetness from my cheeks with the back of my hand. My heart still feels like it’s hammering in my chest, but the anxiety I’d been feeling has been replaced by a fierce but quiet strength in knowing I can absolutely do this.

Brody steps between my legs, never letting go of my hand, and reaches up with his free hand to tuck a stray curl behind my ear.

“You doing okay?” he asks, his voice rough but tender.

I look at him and take a deep breath.

“I’m going to be a mom,” I whisper, the reality settling into my bones, bringing a smile to my lips.

Brody looks at me with a gorgeous smile spreading across his face. It’s a real smile, not a camera-ready smile, that reaches all the way to his eyes.

“Yeah, you are,” Brody says, squeezing my hand. “And you’re gonna be incredible at it, Ellis.”

I look at our joined hands, curiosity swirling in my chest. I know now why he offered to drive me after he explained his mother’s struggles and his sense of honor. But as I sit here with him, watching the way he looks at me, I can’t help but wonder what else lies beneath the surface of Brody Vaughn.

Why didn’t he hesitate to follow my lead when the nurse called him dad? Why is he holding my hand like he never intends to let go? Why do I trust him more than I trusted the man who actually fathered this child?

I don’t ask these questions out loud, though, because today has been a lot. I’m sure these thoughts are spinning because of my hormones, and maybe just simply because we just shared something incredible.

So instead, I let the moment happen, tighten my grip on his hand, and lean my head forward for a second until my forehead rests against the cotton of his hoodie.

“Thank you, Brody,” I murmur. “For being here with me today.”

Brody brushes his free hand over the top of my head, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm under me.

“Anything you need,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

It had started to rain again by the time we stepped out of the elevator into the parking area. The cool, damp air hit my face, pulling me out of the emotional whiplash of the past few hours.

Brody opened the passenger door for me, holding his hand above the frame so I wouldn’t hit my head. Once he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key, he didn’t pull out onto the street immediately. Instead, he set his hand over the top of the steering wheel and turned to look at me.

“You hungry?” Brody asks, his eyes assessing me. “There’s a quiet, low-key Italian place in the Village. It has private booths in the back to avoid prying eyes. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner, Ellis?”

A week ago, I would have immediately declined. I would have used my calendar, professional boundaries, or the simple risk of being seen with another athlete as an excuse. But looking at him and thinking about how he held my hand steady today and was there for me…my defenses dissolve.

“Okay,” I say, resting my head against the headrest. “Dinner sounds good, and I actually have an appetite right now, so I better take advantage.”