Getting Played

“Oh, you’ve processed it? That makes me feel so much better.”

“It’s fine, Dean. I understand. I get it.

“What do you get, exactly?”

“We can be friends.”

“Fuck friends. I don’t want to be your friend.”

I want to be her everything. Because somewhere along the line—Lainey, Jason, our baby—that’s what they’ve become to me. Everything.

Her stance changes, she leans forward breaking out of whatever shell of passive acceptance she’s retreated to. Her eyes heat up—sparking with anger.

“You’re a player. Self-admitted.”

“I’ve never played with you.”

“You’ve lied. Cheated. That’s what you told me.”

“I was trying to be honest.” Boy, was that a fucking mistake. “I’ve never lied to you, or cheated.”

“This wasn’t ever supposed to be anything.”

“But now it is. And it’s so good, Lainey. Christ, it’s so good between us and I want it so bad, sometimes I can’t stand it.”

She pokes my chest, fully fired up now—and I’m glad. I want her to get it out—the hurt, the doubt—so we can fight it out and then move on. Move past this.

“You kissed Kelly Simmons! While she was in her underwear!”

“She kissed me!”

Lainey’s eyes dart between mine, and then she laughs—and now she sounds bitter too.

“Do you hear yourself? Are you serious right now?”

I step closer, standing over her. “It’s the truth. You want to hear another truth? You’re just scared. That’s what all this is about.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Bullshit! You’re so scared you can’t see straight. So you go through life, telling yourself you’re easygoing and a free spirit and it’s fine—everything’s fucking fine. I want to walk away, I don’t want to be in the baby’s life—that’s fine. I’m screwing around on you, you can’t trust me—that’s fine too—we’ll just be friends. And it’s all because you’re too fucking scared to take a chance. Jesus, Lainey—you’ll pull an ugly, broken table out of the garbage because you can see how beautiful it could be . . . but you’re so goddamn eager to throw us away. And it’s because you’ve convinced yourself it won’t hurt if you’re the one who walks away first.”

I move forward, lean in toward her, close enough I can feel her panting breath against my throat. And my voice turns aching and desperate.

“But I’m not going anywhere. I’m not walking away from you, ever—why can’t you see that? I’m a chance worth taking, I swear to God.”

When I open my eyes and look down at her, her skin is bleach-white and she’s stone-still—like she’s about to pass out.

“Lainey?”

I brace my hands on her hips.

“What’s wrong?”

She takes a step back, holding her stomach with one hand and lifting the hem of her floral maternity dress with the other—high enough to expose her thighs.

“Dean?”

And my heart, my stomach, my whole being plummets. Because she’s bleeding.

Chapter Fifteen

Dean

There’s a special kind of hell when your child is hurt or in danger—even if they’re not born yet. I didn’t know that, didn’t understand it—one of the many things I didn’t know until I met Lainey Burrows.

But I know it now.

There’s a four-alarm fire burning in my brain as I get Lainey in my car and tell her sisters I’m not waiting for an ambulance, that it’ll be faster to take her to Lakeside Memorial myself.

I’m not panicking. That won’t do dick. Lainey needs me to step up—help her, save her . . . help our baby. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Garrett’s brother, Connor, is a doctor in the ER and I ask for him when they take us in. They whisk us into a curtained area, get her in a gown and take her vitals, a nurse hooks her up to a monitor that measures contractions, and another runs a Doppler, which detects the fetal heart rate, across her abdomen.

The strong, steady, swooshing sound that fills the room calms me more than I ever thought any sound could. A few minutes later, Connor Daniels walks into the room in full-out doctor mode—white coat, solid demeanor, warm and confident.

He meets my eyes. “How’s it going, Dean?”

I swallow hard. “I’ve been better.”

He gives me a nod that says he understands. Then he turns to Lainey.

“Hi, Lainey, I’m Dr. Daniels.”

She smiles weakly, her face streaked with quiet tears.

“You’re Garrett’s brother.”

“His older, smarter, better-looking brother, yeah.”

The smile that rises on Lainey’s lips is less forced.

“You have the same eyes.”

Connor glances down at Lainey’s swollen abdomen.

“So it seems this one is already giving you trouble, huh? Have you been having contractions?”

“Um, yes, there’s been pressure. I thought I was just sore—” she looks at me, like she thinks she owes me an explanation “—from working around the house. Muscle spasms. But now, yeah, they were contractions.”

Connor nods. “I’m going to take a look—see what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay,” Lainey answers, looking scared out of her mind.

I take her hand in mine, holding it tight.

Connor sits on a stool and a young dark-haired nurse in glasses gives him a pair of latex gloves, then spreads gel on his fingers.

And maybe it should feel weird that the guy who’s like a brother to me has his hands between my girl’s legs—but it doesn’t, not even a little. There’s no one else in the world I’d rather have taking care of Lainey and our kid.

Lainey flinches as he examines her.

“Sorry,” he says in a kind voice.

Lainey shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

“How many weeks along are you?”

“Um . . . twenty-five. It’s early.” And then she starts to lose it—her eyes swell with tears and her face crumples. “Dean, it’s really early.”

I brush back her hair, and make a promise I know I can’t keep—but I do it anyway. “It’s going to be okay, Lainey. The baby’s going to be fine, I swear.”

Connor stands and removes the gloves, then moves to the sink to wash his hands.

“Okay, Lainey—you’re about two centimeters dilated, and it looks like you’re in preterm labor. But we’re going to give you somet

hing to stop that.”

Connor writes on a clipboard and tells the nurse to administer medication. She nods eagerly, looking up at Connor with idol worship in her eyes, hanging on his every word, like he’s a doctor god. But Connor doesn’t notice.

If was in my right mind, I’d tell him he should give the pretty young nurse a second look. But at the moment, my only focus is on the woman next to me, so Connor’s on his own.

“Then we’re going to send you up to OB and they’re going to take really good care of both of you there. All right, Lainey?” Connor smiles reassuringly.

And Lainey’s head bobs in a jerky nod.

“We’re going to get the IV started with the medication and I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit,” Connor says.

“Okay,” Lainey answers. “Thank you.”

When Connor steps out through the curtain, I kiss Lainey’s hand.

“I’ll be right back.”

Then I leave her with the nurse, following him out.

“Connor.”

He’s already waiting for me. My voice is raw and hushed, because I don’t want Lainey to hear.

“They’re going to be okay, right? I need you to tell me they’re going to be okay.” A lump swells in my throat, threatening to strangle me. And my eyes burn hot behind my eyelids. “But if they’re not—I need you to tell me that too.”

Out of all Garrett’s brothers, Connor was the one we went to when things got serious—when we really screwed up. When we were all in my car, when we were seventeen, and I hit a curb and blew out the tire because I’d had a few beers before getting behind the wheel—we called Connor. He reamed my ass out, and then he helped us fix it. When Garrett, Callie, me and Debs missed the last train home from New York City—when we weren’t supposed to be anywhere near New York City—it was Connor who came to pick us up.

He’s a rock—more than a big brother, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a hero. So if he tells me Lainey and the baby will be okay, I’ll believe him.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “The contractions aren’t ideal, but she’s healthy and her water hasn’t broken and the baby is good—there’s no signs of distress. Those are all positives.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Good, good.”