A. Zavarelli - Stutter (Bleeding Hearts Book 2) Read online

  “How did you get in here?” I whispered.

  “Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could get in here,” he roared. “And you’re fucking pregnant! How could you not tell me this?”

  That was anger in his voice. Definite anger. And anger equated to disappointment. Right? My eyes burned, but I wouldn’t let him see me cry.

  “It’s none of your business,” I bit out.

  “None of my business?” he growled. “I’d have to disagree, Brighton. I’d say this is very much my fucking business.”

  “I knew you’d react this way!” I yelled. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  He laughed darkly, and the cold Ryland was back, just like that. No more apologies, no more sweetness.

  “No, you didn’t tell me because you wanted to punish me. You wanted to take this away from me. Well, I’ve got news for you, Brighton. That’s not going to fucking happen.”

  “What are you saying?” My lip wobbled.

  “Get your things together.” He walked towards the door. “You’re moving out of this shit hole. Today.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ryland

  Have you ever had one of those moments where you felt as though time itself had suspended? Where you had to drag your sorry ass out of bed every morning with a mental pep talk you knew was complete drivel? Even the simplest gestures robbed you of precious energy. Dignity notwithstanding, I took comfort in the robotic voice inside my head instructing me what to do. How to perform the most basic of human functions.

  Time to brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Should probably feed yourself something between shots. Gym? Meh…

  How about jacking off in the shower instead? Nada. Not even energy for that. Ladies, we had a crisis on our hands.

  The last thirty something days of my life had been a perpetual merry-go-round of this bullshit. People moved and spoke around me. Even to me, probably. Couldn’t say for certain. The silence in my ears was deafening. The colors in my world had evaporated into a haze of gray. Nothing made a lick of sense anymore.

  My company. My life. My purpose.

  For me, success wasn’t measured by the sum in my bank accounts. It was a welcome side effect, sure. But I had the drive and ambition to succeed in any chosen field. It wasn’t cocky, just fact. When you want gravely enough, you make it happen.

  I had wanted more than anyone.

  Now that my ruthless plotting had bled away, only scabs remained. I’d never given it much thought, what success meant to me. Many people believed my father to be successful. I still recall how cruelly I’d laughed at the mockery of the word after tragedy befell him. A tragedy of his own making, nonetheless.

  If you’d asked me six months ago, I would have stood by that arrogant proclamation. I was too attached to the notion to let it go. My father had not been successful in his business. That was sorely obvious. But as I watched the clouds swirl and disintegrate outside of my high-rise window, unsettling clarity descended upon me.

  He had everything he ever wanted. Two ostentatiously beautiful houses, boats, cars, family holidays in Europe. Plenty of materialistic things. But it was family. The thought was so simplistic, and yet it struck me down with the weight of its importance. My father had everything that couldn’t be measured with gold. The most exceptional wife and mother a man could hope for. The perfect children he’d always boasted of. When I pictured his face-before his financial troubles-I remembered how blissfully fucking happy he was. A fool’s paradise, as they say.

  Only now did I grasp that the successes I’d thought mattered amounted to jack shit.

  I swiveled around in my chair and edged closer to the window, pressing my palm against the glass. The sky was overcast and foggy, pouring down big fat tears of misery on the city of San Francisco. I fixated my attention on the tiny people milling about on the streets below, wondering if any of them could relate to how I felt in this moment.

  Probably not.

  The Jane and John Doe’s down there lived in another existence. By all outward appearances, they seemed content, but were they really? Husbands worked their fingers to the bone and whisked their mistresses off to hotels for afternoon trysts. Trophy wives racked up credit card bills in the hunt for the next best item that would fill their vacuous lives. Children splashed in puddles with their Wellies while their nannies scolded them and smiled. I couldn’t actually see these things of course, but it was how I imagined it in my head. Let me run with it, will you?

  This was not the way I was raised. My parents were legitimately and freakishly happy. But there were times when I’d caught a glimpse of my father’s worried face as he hunched over his desk with a glass of bourbon late at night. There were signs. We’d all just chosen not to see them. He'd taken the weight of the world on his shoulders, as that’s what fathers do, right? And we were all happy to let it continue on without a hiccup.

  Perhaps if I’d done something, said something. Things could have been different. It was a quandary I’d faced many times in my head. I’d picked it apart and dissected the remnants so many times nothing but bone dust remained.

  It was easier to hate my father for what he’d done than to acknowledge I’d failed him. To admit I should’ve stepped up to the plate and showed him what I was capable of back then. It’s funny how these little blips in life can change everything. How now, six years later, I questioned everything I thought I knew about my parents. The utterly terrifying news of being a father would do that to a man.

  My child was inside her.

  A tangible and very real slap in the face.

  Why, you may ask? Did you take me for one of those men who wouldn’t own up to his responsibilities? Because I may have been many things, but I wasn’t a goddamn scoundrel. If you must tar me with any particular brush, don’t let it be that one.

  Brighton did.

  She’d given me no choice in the matter. Deemed me unfit the moment she found out, from the gist of it. Slapped me with the sperm donor label and sentenced me to a cardboard box, only to rot in a storage unit somewhere for the next eighteen years.

  I couldn’t see past my anger this time. Rational thought was of little consequence when it hissed and popped inside of me, sizzling about like grease inside a frying pan. It was only a matter of time before I caught fire.

  Like a bad movie reel, the words played on in my mind. She hid this from me. She could’ve plunged a stake through my heart and it would’ve hurt less. As it were, it felt like she’d unloaded an entire clip of hollow points inside my gut.

  I’d be the first to confess I had questionable morals. My track record wasn’t the best, probably. I wasn’t proud of all the things I’d done. I hated what I’d done to her. Knowing now she was pregnant when it happened? It gutted me. GUTTED ME.

  These words weren’t for show. I hadn’t been this fucked up since fate punched a ticket to a front row seat at my family’s death. I didn’t get the feels often. Maintaining a balance of carefully numb and indifferent was a coping mechanism. My cavalier fucking attitude worked for me. Shutting the door on grief, I let it fester deep inside of me like a cancer.

  That cancer almost destroyed Brighton instead of me. Now I’d learned it was also my unborn child too. How do you think I felt?

  Like a giant fucking worthless prick that’s how.

  But she should’ve known how I’d feel about this. How much it’d mean to me, or how much I’d want to be a part of it. She snatched it away from me without so much as a second thought.

  Did she think I’d be a shitty father too?

  The better question was, could I even blame her if she did? I didn’t know the answer to that. But what I did know was I had a right to prove myself if she’d given me the chance. But she didn’t.

  And that said everything I needed to know.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brighton

  Ryland had really gone to the mattresses on this one.

  Not only had he brought Matt, who was now in the corner
arguing with Nicole about our ‘shitty apartment’, but he’d called my landlord too.

  “Sorry.” The guy shrugged. “But there’s been a violation of the lease.”

  Ryland was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, watching the entire interaction. This had him stamped all over it, and I knew my landlord was full of shit. Money talks, and he didn’t blink twice when Ryland paid him off.

  “What kind of violation?” I argued. “I want to see proof.”

  “You can take that up with my lawyers.”

  “Lawyers?” I frowned. This guy couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t afford a fresh coat of paint, let alone lawyers.

  “That’s what I said.” He slapped the papers down onto the counter and headed towards the door. “You have three days to vacate the premises.”

  “That’s illegal!” I shouted.

  I was pretty sure, anyway. But the landlord didn’t seem to care. He just stomped out, humming a happy little tune as he went. I expected to see a victorious smile on Ryland’s face, but there was no such thing. His eyes were still ice cold, his expression flat.

  “I’ve been more than patient, Brighton,” he said. “I let you have the upper hand because I was sorry for what happened.”

  I shot him a scathing look, but it didn’t even faze him. “And I’m still sorry about that. But the games stop, right here, right now. You’re having my baby, and I’m done playing. You and Nicole will move back into your apartment. Today. I will not have the mother of my child living in a place like this, and that is not up for debate. Do you understand?”

  “You’ve given me no choice.” I glared.

  He didn’t even look remotely sorry about it as he continued. “Ted will be at your service, should you need to go anywhere. And I will provide everything you need, financially.”

  “And what else?” I snapped. “Is there some sort of agreement you’d like me to sign in blood while you’re at it? My life and body belong to you for the next eighteen years?”

  “No,” he responded flatly. “No contracts, no agreements, no us. You’ve made it abundantly clear that isn’t what you want. So this is just about the baby now.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed, and it felt like there was glass in my throat.

  He didn’t want to be with me anymore. Why the hell did that hurt so much? It was what I wanted, but hearing him say it cut me to the bone.

  “And what happens when the baby is born?” I rasped. “You aren’t taking it away from me.”

  “You mean like you took it away from me?” he shot back.

  God, he was really upset about this. I honestly didn’t understand why. The first time I’d asked him if he was trying to get me pregnant, he’d sounded so horrified by the idea. And he was the one who insisted on getting birth control right away. It was only logical to believe he’d still feel the same. But I guess I was wrong. And I worried that he wouldn’t ever forgive me for it.

  “You know I would never do that to you, Brighton,” Ryland said, his tone softening a fraction. “But I will have equal rights.”

  “Of course,” I whispered.

  “And when the baby is born, I’d like you to consider staying home. I think it would be best. And, of course, I’d take care of everything for you.”

  “Right.” I nodded, my eyes burning with unshed tears. He sounded so detached. Like this was some kind of business arrangement he was making as if I had suddenly ceased to exist. It fucking hurt.

  “Ted’s waiting downstairs to drive you to the apartment,” he informed me.

  “I haven’t even packed yet,” I said.

  “Let the movers do it,” he insisted. “I don’t want you lifting anything heavy.”

  I would have protested, but I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. I barely had the energy to muster up a fake smile for him. “Okay, Ryland.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ryland

  The days bled together in a repetitive stream of work.

  How this hadn’t bothered me before, I haven’t a clue. Now it all seemed tedious. Day in, day out, the dull fucking thud of my fingers on a keyboard. Tapping out texts and emails and squaring away things of a monotonous nature.

  Hello hamster, meet treadmill.

  Lately I’d taken up reading to fill the mindless drat. Baby books, if you could believe that. In one of my drunken stupors I’d apparently purchased a whole shit load of them on Amazon, with express delivery. I wanted to learn everything there was on the subject if only to prove to myself I could do this.

  A knock at my door sounded, and I glanced up to catch Matt lingering there. Since our talk the week before, he’d been visiting me often. Frankly, I didn’t know what to make of it. I hadn’t a need for a friend since I was in college, but it appeared that was his end goal with these little visits.

  He was a good friend to Jackson. The two of them were thick as thieves from the time they began building Lego kingdoms in middle school. Truth be told, I liked Matt. Begrudgingly, perhaps. I wasn’t in the habit of liking anyone for longer than what they could do for me.

  Brash?

  A little, maybe, but necessarily so. A man in my position was more accustomed to making enemies. You see, all the players in my world had their own selfish agendas. Quick to ask for a favor and even quicker to disappear when you needed it to be reciprocal. The moment the flash of the cameras went off, they were out the door and onto the next big fish.

  The friends I did have made themselves scarce after my family died. They didn’t know how to handle it either. I hadn’t seen the need to replenish such trivial relationships. Now I bartered in tit for tat. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. The situation with Matt was a little out of my emotional league if I was being honest. I was trying to do something out of the good of my heart. Heh.

  I’d seen the error of my ways. Nicole’s fragility could no longer be denied, and I took responsibility for that. I’d played a role in keeping her in such a dark emotionless pit. What could I say, hell was a lonely place, and I didn’t want to be alone.

  But now, I was trying to make good. Absolution and all of that. Was there any amount of holy water that could make me clean again?

  “Hey man.” Matt took a seat without invitation. “How’s it going?”

  I tossed the baby book aside and opted for the bottle of whiskey on my desk instead.

  “Who knew the many things that could go wrong during childbirth?”

  “Brighton’s tough as nails,” Matt replied. “She’s going to be just fine, Ryland.”

  Easy for him to say. That wasn’t how I saw her. All I saw were potential disasters at every turn. Things that would take her away from me. Not that she was mine anymore.

  I took a shot and wiggled the bottle in Matt’s direction in offering. He nodded, and I poured us both a tumbler before leaning back in my chair.

  “What do you want?”

  Blunt and to the point, my words were far past the point of shocking Matt anymore. He’d seen my descent. He knew this was all that remained. He expected nothing more. In a way, it made me feel at ease around him.

  “I need some advice about Nicole,” he mumbled.

  “And you’re asking me?” I arched a brow at him. “Have you seen the train wreck I’ve made of my life recently?”

  “Okay.” Matt shrugged. “So maybe it’s not really advice I’m after. More like a favor.”

  One of my least favorite words. I had the distinct impression I wasn’t going to like it in this case either. “What kind of a favor?”

  “You need to tell her yourself, Ryland. She’s never going to buy it if you don’t.”

  “And how do you propose I do that when she isn’t speaking to me?”

  “Since when have you ever shied away from persistence?” Matt cajoled.

  I shrugged. He did have a point there. Also, I’d been planning to chat with Nicole anyway. But I didn’t want Matt to think I was doing it for him.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

>   He grinned, and I pointed at the door.

  “Now get out of my office.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Brighton

  “It’s so strange being back here.” Nicole furrowed her brow as she looked around the apartment.

  “I know,” I agreed.

  “Maybe we could redecorate,” she said thoughtfully. “Get ready for the baby.”

  “Sure.” I slumped further into the couch.

  I didn’t know how we were going to do that since Ryland had moved all of my stuff down here. He’d set up my sewing room in the spare bedroom, erasing all parts of me from his own apartment. I couldn’t even go in there. I didn’t know how I was supposed to set up a nursery.

  “Brighton?” Nicole placed her hand on my arm. “Are you okay? I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I’m fine.” I smiled weakly.

  “You’re not fine,” she protested. “Please don’t be sad. What can I do to cheer you up?”

  “You could call Matt and make up with him,” I teased.

  Her face soured, and she shook her head.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Will you look at us?” she snorted. “A couple of sad sacks moping around because of the bastard men in our lives. We need to get a grip.”

  “Fair point.” I laughed.

  “We should do something fun today. Let’s go shopping for the baby. This is supposed to be a happy time for you.”

  “I don’t have any money,” I argued.

  “That isn’t true,” she smirked. “You have Ryland’s card. And I do remember him telling you to use it. C’mon, you could shop for years and still not even put a dent in his bank balance. This is for the baby. We need to get prepared. Do you even know how much stuff babies need?”

  I shrugged, because I knew she was right. I still hadn’t bought anything yet. And it did sound kind of fun.

  “Alright,” I relented. “But let’s not go too crazy.”