One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)
One Big Little Secret: Chapter 21

It feels strange waking up in my own bed alone again.

My place has never felt smaller and it’s always been mouse worthy.

I take a minute to stretch, my fingers brushing the wall and my toes scraping the end of the bed. There are a few shirts strung up by the heater to air dry and a suitcase on the floor I haven’t put away yet.

Arlo isn’t awake yet, and it’s quiet as a tomb without Patton around.

Of course, he’s never stayed over here.

My choice, mostly—I didn’t want him hanging out in my crappy apartment when we could slum it in his mansion in style. But I also wanted a safe environment for Arlo, just in case things go sideways.

It always comes down to Arlo when my own selfish feelings aren’t in the driver’s seat.

He deserves better, but he also shouldn’t get too used to nice things when it could all come crashing out under us.

But if Patton walks out on me, he won’t abandon his son. Whether I like it or not, the Rory wealth is part of Arlo’s life now, and it could easily sideswipe his future. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

Ugh, why is this so hard?

I drop my head in my hands, jamming my fingers into my eyes until I see stars.

I’m doing what I do best.

Worrying.

The great family dinner, our big relationship reveal, it was all just a few days ago. How does it already feel like half a lifetime ago?

His whole family knows we’re a thing and I haven’t seen him since he took us home.

My fault. Partly.

But after the way he left me outside, I decided we needed some time apart, and he didn’t argue. Probably because he was frustrated I turned him down again.

Probably because I was a little thrilled he said he loves Arlo—and a lot let down that he wouldn’t say the word to me.

Also, we need boundaries.

Space. Borders. Walls.

Time in our own homes where we aren’t changing too much, too soon, and I don’t have to freak out about how it’s influencing my son. It’s just crazy unsatisfying.

I roll over angrily, jerking my phone from its charging cord.

He still hasn’t texted.

Fine, whatever.

I wasn’t expecting him to and he has no obligation. But every morning since that night, I’ve wanted to wake up to a message.

In a single frenzied month with barely any time alone and so much mind-blowing sex, Patton Rory has changed me into the unthinkable.

Spoiled.

That’s what I am.

He’s submerged me in kindness and stability I don’t know what to do with. I’m inexperienced, acting like a lovestruck teen when I should be handling an adult relationship.

One where we don’t talk for days at a time because we’re busy.

And I know better than anyone how busy Patton is.

His job is his life and right now, even on a Sunday, he’s probably working. Or getting coffee from that fancy place down the road.

Never mind the fact that he sometimes gets me some coffee.

Groaning, I toss the phone aside and try to muster up the energy to climb out of bed.

It’s better that Arlo spends some time in his old home and old life. Patton’s fairy-tale palace is a dream, not a reality for us.

Don’t get me wrong. I want Arlo to have the world, but that’s not the world—that’s a parallel universe no five-year-old should have to digest.

He’s awake when I get up, though, sitting at the kitchen table with an overflowing bowl of cereal I left out last night.

“I did it, Mommy!” he tells me proudly as he digs in. There’s milk splattered around his bowl.

“Have you got enough there, big guy?” I ask, grabbing a dishrag. It’s still so early the sun has barely risen, though that just means it’s around seven this time of year. “I was going to make you pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” In his excitement, he hits the spoon and cereal flies everywhere.

I stare at the milk slowly dripping on the floor, trying to shoot him a scolding look before I break down and laugh.

If we were at Patton’s, in his gleaming modern kitchen, he’d just chuckle and wipe it away with a damp cloth and a joke. Here, on my own, it feels more like I’m on trial.

Another chore.

Another mom dilemma where I have to pretend I’m a shining example of a human being and not an immature gremlin.

Another cute, stinging moment alone.

What else is new? Rinse and repeat.

“I love pancakes,” Arlo tells me, like I’m not well aware. They’re at the top of the list for bribing him to start a good day, up there with pizza and ice cream. “Are you gonna make them now, Mommy? Can we have banana and choc-lit chip?”

“First, I need to clean up the mess you’ve made. Then we’ll see.”

He has the grace to look a little ashamed, but he perks up quickly. “That won’t take you long.”

No, it won’t, but it sure as heck would go faster with another person here to ease the burden.

I hate these thoughts.

I hate my brain for having them.

Just like I hate the way I’m constantly comparing my past mistakes to Patton’s life on a gold pedestal.

Deep down, I don’t think I’m worthy.

And I also have the awareness to know I’m not because I’m the only one thinking it. The Rorys were incredibly nice to me, or else money taught them to hide their mean streak way better than my parents ever did.

Still.

It feels like it can’t last.

Someone or something has to come along the minute I’m settled in and burst the bubble—and there’s a good possibility that something is me.

It’s not like I’m new to self-sabotage.

“Where’s my tablet? I can’t replace it!” Arlo asks loudly as I wipe down the chair leg and catch the last milk splattering the floor.

“I don’t know, sweetie.”

“Help replace it, Mommy. Please?” The please is tacked on as a question, but at least it’s there. That took long enough to get him to memorize.

“I can’t do both right now. I only have two hands,” I tell him. “Have you checked under your bed?”

While Arlo pops up and zooms around the house, searching high and low, I get started on the pancakes. I really hope the tablet turns up. He’ll be sad and bored out of his wits for days if it doesn’t.

If Patton was here, he’d help with the cooking or the tablet hunt, I’m sure.

Instead, I’m tripping over my son and his zoomies while I crack eggs into a bowl.

“We’ll look again later, hon,” I say after he’s given up. His bottom lip juts out, endearing and frustrating at the same time. “So do you think Patman’s your favorite superhero?”

“He can’t climb buildings and he doesn’t have laser eyes… but he’s still cool.”

I smile. “What’s so cool about him?”

“He’s rich! He sails around the world and fights bad guys. He’s named after a famous general.” He strikes a karate pose and chops the air. “His car’s pretty cool too.”

I’m not sure what he means by fighting bad guys. But there’s no denying the rest is true, and it pours out of my little boy in a hero-worship rush.

God.

“Some great heroes have sad stories, you know,” I say, smoothing the batter. “Like Batman. His parents died when he was young, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Arlo shrugs, unbothered.

I need to be more blunt, so I set the bowl down and ask, “Arlo, do you ever wish you had a daddy?”

His face snaps up to look at me and he frowns.

“Oh. Uh.” He chews on the question for a second, watching me with ferocious intent.

Holy hell, he looks just like Patton when he’s focused.

Then he smiles up at me, but he still doesn’t answer.

“Arlo?”

“Don’t worry, Mommy. You’re better than ten dads. I don’t care.”

Yeah, I think that spilled milk from earlier has nothing on my heart exploding.

“I love you, kiddo.” I give him an impulsive hug he doesn’t try to wiggle out of for once. “But it’s okay to want a dad, too. I know the other boys at school have them.”

“But I don’t need a dad, Mom. It’s okay if he’s gone. I dunno.” He’s so calm, his voice light and easy. Unlike his mother, who’s having a nervous breakdown over starting this conversation. “Are the pancakes almost done? The banana smell’s making me hungry.”

He sniffs the air like a starving raccoon.

Laughing, I try not to let my vision blur and heat the pan to start cooking. With all the emotional distractions, I added too many chocolate chips. But they’re going to be good. My stomach growls right along with his.

I cook silently while Arlo hums to himself, drawing on his notepad. The instant they’re done, he runs over and grabs the sprinkles from next to the stove.

“Thanks, Mommy!”

“Hey, hey, not too many! This is already like having dessert for breakfast.” I wag a finger at him.

He laughs at me mischievously. “What if it’s both?”

“You need breakfast before anything else. No arguments, young man,” I say, cutting a banana into discs to throw on top.

In response, he shakes a whole pile of sprinkles on top of my handiwork once he has the plate.

“There’s banana right there on top. It’s healthy!” he proclaims through a mouthful of pancake.

Oof.

What if he inherited Patton’s sweet tooth and his fighter logic?

“I have a question before you stuff your face,” I say, abandoning any hope of being subtle. “What if your dad came back one day? How would you feel?”

Arlo shrugs, more interested in his food than adding another parent to his life.

“What if? We’re friends with Grumpybutt.” Knowing he’s said something he shouldn’t, he sends me a wicked glance. “No one’s cooler than him. If we’re gonna have a guy around, he should be the dude.”

The dude.

Yeah, I’m dead.

If there ever was a flashing neon sign from the universe, this is it. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry hysterically, so I settle for scooping him up and kissing his face, which is already covered in chocolate and sprinkles.

“Mom!” He squeals and this time really does try to wiggle free, smacking the back of his head into my jaw as he goes. But he’s laughing, and so am I, because it’s like a weight I never knew existed has been lifted away.

I’m free.

We’re free.

And I need to tell Patton that I’m sure the big confession won’t be a disaster.

This could fix everything if I just screw my head on and do it.

He always wanted me to tell Arlo from the beginning. I just kept looking for reasons why it could shatter everything.

Peering into darkened corners and unspoken words and the gaping distance between Patton’s lofty life and mine. But maybe what I actually needed was trust all along.

My phone buzzes from the other room and I head back through to grab it. Maybe it’s Patton calling to offer me the coffee I know he’s almost certainly gone out to buy.

Only, it’s not his name on my screen.

Unknown number.

I chew my lip, staring at the phone as it buzzes in my hand again before I swipe and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Salem?”

“Yes?” The voice is familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“It’s Delly, Delly Rory. Sorry to bother you so early, but it turns out a certain little someone forgot his new toys and his tablet when you were over. I wondered if you’d like some brunch with me?”

Now isn’t the best time to point out Arlo just wolfed down three mini pancakes. If there’s one thing I know about little boys, though, it’s that they have a bottomless stomach for being spoiled.

“Sure, that sounds lovely,” I say, doing a victory dance around the room. “When would you like us over?”

This time when I approach Delly Rory’s enormous house, I don’t feel like it’s going to swallow me whole.

Patton wasn’t invited to this little meetup. It feels more than ever like I’ve been accepted into a secret little club.

Girls’ club. Mothers’ club. The Rory women club, maybe.

After our near-fight a few days ago before dinner, I didn’t think meeting up with Patton’s mom could create this sort of champagne-bubbly feeling in my belly, but here we are.

A brunch invite with Delly.

“Remember, big guy, you’ve got to be on your best behavior,” I remind Arlo as we walk up to the huge castle-like door, hand in hand. “Be polite, like last time.”

“I like Delly. She’s pretty nice.” He also looks like he’s fizzing with excitement.

“She’s a nice lady,” I agree.

The door flies open and Delly, with her immaculate white pantsuit and pink scarf, beckons us in. The woman has a knack for always looking runway stylish and regal, and today is no exception.

“So glad to see you again!” she gushes. Unlike when I’m talking to Kayla, it doesn’t sound forced. “Hi, Arlo. I bet you were missing your tablet, huh?”

“Yeah! I couldn’t replace it anywhere.” He launches into telling her about his hunt with a dramatic style that could rival Indiana Jones. Delly gives me a pat on the arm as she leads me to her dining room.

Evelyn is there, too, clasping a mug of coffee in her hands as she nods at us warmly. She’s a little more casual than Delly, but there’s no doubt some of her best friend’s charm rubbed off, or she’s just a natural at looking poised and stylish too.

There’s never any doubt she makes a good impression, anyway. It’s the way she holds herself, I think.

But is she always like that or is it just the added pressure to blend into this fine house for her extended stay?

Not that I’d blame her one bit.

Just breathing the air here makes me obsess with the infinite ways I don’t fit in. Not that it stops either woman from acting like I’m an honored guest.

I give Evelyn a wide smile as I sit. We’re in the same boat, her and I—outsiders to the Rory court, even if she’s so much closer to being a regular than I am. Still, we should stick together.

“Salem,” Evelyn says, sipping her coffee. She smiles over the rim, just enough to show a flash of teeth and a soft crinkle of her eyes. “So lovely to see you again. You must have some of that orange cake. We just whipped it up yesterday with a little help from Junie. Delly, could you grab me another piece?”

Sure enough, there’s fresh cake on the small coffee table that smells like citrus heaven as Delly starts carving slices.

Arlo grabs his plate like a hungry little ghoul and devours his piece before plugging in his headphones and watching one of his favorite animal YouTube channels on his tablet.

“It’s a huge relief to have it back,” I say, nodding at the boy. “He would’ve been so disappointed if it hadn’t shown up. It’s like the nicest thing we own.”

No exaggeration.

I had to pull long hours flipping secondhand junk online just to scrape together enough for that Christmas present, an iPad with a durable case that can handle his abuse.

“Ah, I wish I had one of those. I could use it for the airport today.” Evelyn’s smile deepens. “He’s a good boy. I’m sure there was someone watching over him and his little toys.”

She sets a tall glass of orange juice in front of him.

He looks up, offering her a smile and a mumbled, “Thanks.”

Better than nothing, I guess.

“Boys,” Delly says fondly, glancing over at him and his tiny, puckered frown of concentration as a man on the screen lets a nasty-looking centipede crawl up his arm in some tropical environment. “I imagine he was a little nightmare this morning.”

“Only a little.” I laugh. “Honestly, I think he was sure I took it and misplaced it.”

The cake is downright decadent—Juniper’s expert baker touch for sure—and I eat my slice in about three big bites despite my best intentions to seem ladylike.

“Patton was a Tasmanian devil as a child,” Delly says, glancing at Evelyn with a conspiratorial smile. There’s something so pleasant about them, two old friends. I can’t wait to have her as Arlo’s grandma, and maybe Evelyn as a great aunt of sorts. “Remember that time we visited you in Minnesota, Evie?”

“How could I forget?” Evelyn laughs cheerfully. “Right in the middle of summer, the sticky dog days. You were staying in one of the lakeside cabins.”

I wonder if she means one of the cabins Higher Ends is looking at refurbishing. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, wondering if I’ll learn anything useful from a business standpoint I can recommend to Patton and his brothers.

There’s value in knowing a property’s history, the lives and laughs that have happened there over time.

Also, though I hate to admit it, I’m curious about any and all stories of young Patton. There’s so much of his life I still don’t know.

So much about him that’s a mystery, and I want to learn every little detail.

“He must’ve been about seven on that trip,” Delly says with a faraway look in her eyes. Her gold bangles clink dully as she links her fingers across her knee. “He was just learning to swim properly, and it was a hot summer. Terribly hot.”

“Those were the days, out in the sticks. Back then, the cabins didn’t have good air-conditioning, so we spent all our time by the lake, hoping to catch a breeze,” Evelyn explains.

I think I know where this is going, but there’s something compelling about hearing them feed it in little bites.

“He was a brave boy, always wanting to swim. I told him not to go in too deep, but he wasn’t the kind of boy to listen to his mom. Or his dad. Or his older brothers. Or even me.” Evelyn smiles. “So, when we weren’t looking, guess where he swam. I think Lake Mesabi must be around eighty feet deep. The little beast didn’t even bring his lifejacket…”

Evelyn moistens her lips, looking at Arlo. My heart tightens, knowing she’s probably imagining what might happen if Arlo swam out that far. They were a similar age—it must feel like looking back in time.

Has she noticed their similarity yet?

But then she glances back at me with a flat stare.

“He disappeared,” Delly says. “We were beside ourselves. My husband and Evelyn’s, they threw themselves in the water, swimming after him.”

“Poor Archer wanted to go in, too,” Evelyn reminds her. “But you told him to stay on the shore.”

“He was too young and that lake was deep. I wouldn’t dare risk another son. But between them, they got Patton out. His little lungs coughed up so much water.” Delly’s face looks white as she remembers it.

Evelyn nods glumly. “A tragic reminder of how fragile life can be.”

I glance at Arlo, but he’s oblivious to the scary story, chewing his lip as he remains glued to his animals.

My heart won’t stop racing and I wasn’t even there.

To me, my son doesn’t seem so fragile, but that’s because I’ve seen him jump down stairs and patched up countless scraped knees.

But really, he’s small.

His hands, clutching the tablet, are tiny. If something were to happen—

No, not today.

Not ever.

I’m being ridiculous.

Nothing’s going to happen because we’re not by a lake, and after that story, I’m not sure I want to take him to one until he’s in middle school.

“You know,” Delly says, leaning forward and placing her hand on my arm, grabbing my attention. “It’s been great getting to know you. These old stories aren’t half as interesting without any new ears.”

I smile.

“It’s been nice, Delly. So is bringing Arlo around for company. He could use the practice with his social skills. School just doesn’t cover every situation.”

“Of course. He’s a lovely boy, isn’t he, Evelyn?”

“To die for,” Evelyn agrees.

“But I appreciate your honesty, Salem,” Delly continues. “Patton hasn’t brought any girls home since high school. It’s a hard thing being sincere and authentic.”

“I mean, I can’t be anything else,” I say.

An eyebrow quirks as she smiles. “You’d be surprised how many others try. I’m a little protective of my sons—not that they need it when they’re grown men. Until Dexter got engaged, I feared they’d stay allergic to dating forever. And Archer? You don’t even want to know.”

That actually piques my curiosity, but I laugh along with them.

“Some women get funny ideas. They see this big old house and think they know what we want to see and what my boys expect.” She laughs and the tension drains from her shoulders. “They aren’t great at it when they try to go through me, always playing up their looks and eggshell personalities. Patton, though, he knew how to pick them when he was younger, or so I thought. Then the truth would come falling out, whether he screwed things up or not.”

I take a long pull of coffee, hiding the way my stomach pinches at the thought that I’m being compared to his old dates, even if it’s favorable. And how fast will that change when they figure out the truth about Arlo?

“Well, I’m an open book. What you see is what you get, like it or lump it.”

Well, mostly.

Delly’s face splits in a grin.

“We already knew that, honey,” she says, that hint of Southern drawl she has making its way into her words. But all that does is make me feel guilty.

Soon, soon.

The whole truth and nothing but.

After I’ve told Arlo first.

But it feels like that moment is coming too soon, bearing down on me like a bison stampede, wild and inescapable.

Part of me wishes she’d take a good long look at Arlo and figure it out right now. I can’t wait for all the lies and deception and half-truths to end.

Once everything is finally out in the open, we can move forward, whatever that looks like.

Is this how Patton’s been feeling ever since he found out? It’s pretty rotten, like insects crawling under your skin.

Enough.

Today’s the day, I decide, standing abruptly. I need to tell Arlo and show Patton I’ll do what it takes to make this work.

“Come to think of it, I should see Patton,” I say. “I just remembered there’s something important I need to tell him.”

Delly trades an indulgent smile with Evelyn. “We understand. Say no more, dear.”

“Absolutely,” Evelyn says eagerly, clasping her hands. “Young love makes me jealous.”

I’m grateful they’re so kind.

One step at a time. Let’s not get too carried away.

“Come on, Arlo. You can watch more later,” I say. Delly picks up his empty glass, and he reluctantly pauses his video. “Say goodbye for now.”

He submits to a happy hug from Delly and a pat on the cheek from Evelyn, and finally I make my escape. I’m hoping it doesn’t look rude to run away so fast, but the sooner I do this, the better everything will be.

“Mommy…” I’m a little distracted as I throw on my coat.

Where are you? Are you free this evening? I text Patton on our way out the door.

“Mommy,” Arlo says, tugging on my arm. “My lips feel funny.”

“Funny how?” I ask absently.

“Itchy.”

I look at him and smile.

“It’s all that orange juice, I bet, on top of the cake. Do you know it had pieces of real candied oranges in it?” A little reaction around his lips to a citrus overload wouldn’t be new.

“Why are we rushing?”

“I’d like to see Patton this evening,” I explain.

Arlo doesn’t protest as I strap him into his car seat and we set off, only to be stuck in late morning traffic five minutes later. I lean on the steering wheel, tapping against it impatiently.

“Mommy,” Arlo says from the back. “Mommy, I don’t feel good.”

I barely have time to turn around to see before orange spray bursts from his mouth, covering him in a complete mess. He lurches, more cake coming out, almost undigested.

Holy shit!

I look for a way off the road, but there isn’t one.

We’re stuck.

God.

“Hang on, sweetheart.” I keep my voice calm, unshaken, though panic sweeps through me.

I might have to put the big reveal on hold if he’s getting violently sick. He’s only had a few stomach bugs over the years, and they always hit hard and fast.

I’ll be lucky if I don’t get it. Last time, I spent two days hunched over a toilet, regretting everything I’d ever eaten for the last year.

The traffic inches along. I swing into a parking lot for a gas station, knowing I can start cleaning him up there.

“Stay calm, big guy.” My fingers are too tight on the steering wheel. “It’ll be okay. I’ll just get out, replace the wipes, and get you all cleaned—”

I stop cold as I look at him again.

He doesn’t say anything.

His eyes are half-closed.

His lips are too pale and his eyes are drooping and glassy.

Is he breathing?

Panic.

My own breathing becomes a deafening roar in my ears as I fling my door open and run to his side. There’s too much sick everywhere, and the only time he moves is when he keeps convulsing, heaving himself dry.

Oh my God, no.

I start using my fingers to clear his airway, holding his head, trying not to shake.

All I can smell is rancid orange.

“Arlo?” I shake his shoulders, but his head lolls loosely. “Arlo!”

He’s still breathing, yes, but he’s not responding.

He barely seems conscious as he groans.

My hands shake like leaves, fluttering around his face. I’m probably supposed to do something to help right now, but all I can think of is the fact that he’s not freaking there.

He’s dying in front of me!

“Arlo, Arlo,” I beg, my voice choked. “Arlo. Please.”

By the time I have the wits to grab my phone and hit emergency, I’m screaming into it.

Soon, he isn’t moving at all.