The Good Father

He was a good guy. He’d be a friend.

But he didn’t want children of his own, let alone another man’s child.

And that other man—the one whose child this was—didn’t want anyone.

* * *

SHE ENDED UP at the beach. She’d driven by The Lemonade Stand. Needing to go in. To see Chloe. The place was crawling with compassionate women and she needed someone to talk to.

She’d even settle for Lila McDaniels. Would prefer the older woman, actually, with her quiet, but firm, motherly way.

Ella’s nerves needed a firm talking-to.

But she couldn’t tell anyone else until Brett knew.

She’d already made an appointment with an obstetrician she knew from the hospital for Monday—having explained her situation. Her hormonal imbalance. The loss of her first child. The woman had worked her in.

She’d had a doctor’s confirmation. She was pregnant.

At the moment, all that made her feel was fear.

She was all alone.

What if something happened and she lost this baby, too?

Shaking, she stared at the ocean. Jason had assured her that if her body had reversed itself, there was every chance she could carry this baby to term.

This baby. She was pregnant.

She, Ella Ackerman, was going to be a mama.

If all went well.

And...Brett...

She had to tell him. Right away. But she wanted nothing from him. And was clear on one thing. She wasn’t going to give him the chance to reject their baby a second time.

* * *

BRETT HAD NO idea why Ella wanted to see him. But he didn’t ask her any questions, either, when she texted him on a Friday afternoon eight weeks after their weekend at the cabin and asked if she could see him right away.

He assumed it had to do with Chloe. She was supposed to be taking Chloe to Palm Desert to meet with Jeff the following week. But hadn’t liked the idea of a meeting so soon after Jeff’s explosion. Maybe she’d talked Chloe into waiting.

Still, a phone call would have done in that case. What could she have to talk about that had to be done in person? Ella had asked if they could meet at his place. Out by the pool. She’d said it made her feel good out there. Peaceful.

He was expecting her at six. By quarter to he was pacing. The tea was freshly brewed. With lemon. But there was a bottle of wine chilling, too.

For the first time in history, he’d cut out of a board meeting before its conclusion when her text had come through late that afternoon. The meeting was continuing the next day, and there’d be a full video transcript. He’d wanted time to change out of his suit into khakis and a polo shirt. He always ended up acting like a stuffed shirt around her.

Probably made her uncomfortable.

Was she coming to tell him she was ready to have a purely physical relationship? That it hadn’t worked out with her doctor friend?

Or that it had and she was getting married again?

Maybe it had nothing to do with them at all.

She hadn’t bought a house yet. Had she decided not to stay in Santa Raquel after all?