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Chapter Twenty-One
Cade
Nine Weeks Later
It’s the final day of filming, and I’m excited as fuck to get it over with. We just have two short scenes to reshoot and then it’s homeward bound for me.
Dylan’s due date is this Sunday, the timing couldn’t be more perfect, and I can’t wait to get home to her.
It’s been a crazy two months, that’s for sure.
Shortly after Dylan’s statement was made public, I stood by her side as she made a statement to the courts in a hearing against Grant Maxwell. It was that day that we learned that it was Grant who forced himself on her.
The tapes left little doubt; the bastard brought her to a room that was being recorded, knowing it was being recorded. Turned out, Grant and his wife got off on their own personal porn tapes. It was the piece of testimony that I wished Dylan didn’t have to hear; she didn’t need to be likened to porn.
Other than that first weekend after we took that step into a relationship, where I couldn’t make it back home, I spent every weekend with Dylan at her little apartment. My place was collecting dust, but for the few times I stirred it up when I ran over to grab more clothes. I was unofficially living with Dylan O’Neill.
I was also rarely without my phone these days. I may not be able to do anything for Dylan whenever I was actually on set, but I refused to not be mostly available for her, if she’d need anything.
“That’s a wrap!” the director yells from his seat, and the set erupts in cheers.
My cheers are for a whole different reason.
I get to finally go home.
For good.
***
The moment my feet touch carpet at LAX, my phone is buzzing with an incoming call.
I pull it out of the side pocket of my backpack, frowning at Charleigh’s number. Her timing is great. It’s as if she was waiting for my plane to—
Shit.
Immediately, I answer. “Is she okay?” The only reason why Charleigh would call me right away, would be Dylan.
“She’s okay,” Charleigh says, her voice oddly calm. “But she’s been in active labor for ten hours.”
That stops me.
Dead stop, in the middle of a walkway.
“Thanks a lot, asshole,” a man mumbles as he narrowly misses colliding with my back.
“Ten hours? How come no one called me?” I start moving again, quicker this time.
“You wouldn’t have been here any sooner, Cade. She’s fine. Crystal is here, and everything is progressing just fine.” I officially met Dylan’s midwife four weeks ago, and I liked the woman. She was kind and good to Dylan.
Most importantly, Dylan liked her.
“Put her on the phone.” I follow the masses toward baggage claim, but only because that’s the way to the lot I’m parked in. With my traveling back and forth every week, my backpack has everything I’ve been traveling with.
“Crystal?”
“Don’t be dense, Charleigh.”
My friend laughs in the phone, but she must do as I ask, because the next voice I hear is Dylan’s. “Hey, Cade.” Her words are said strong, but I’ve grown to know Dylan well enough to hear the pain interlacing them.
