One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)
One Big Little Secret: Chapter 22

The weathered brick building looks uninspiring from the outside.

There’s a balcony on the third floor with twisted iron railings that have seen better days. I let myself inside with the key and frown, taking it in.

The plan is to convert the place into a luxurious house with rustic charm, but right now, it’s a tumbledown three-story house. The hall shows off the tall ceilings, at least, with stairs leading up to the second and third floors, and the kitchen is straight ahead. I check that out first.

Dexter was the one who suggested we look at this property, and after Archer took a second look, he agreed. This is my first time here, and I bring up the floor plan on my tablet, making notes.

The kitchen seems roomy enough with plenty of counter space, but we’ll be gutting it and overhauling everything with high-end finishes and appliances.

As I move through the house, I can see why it caught their eye. The bones are good.

The place is also a steal at its current price, and although there’s a lot to do cosmetically, the structural issues are minor for a building this old.

A basic gut and renovate job.

About as good as it gets in this business.

The only thing left to decide is the décor and style, which our usual experts can help with.

The location is a unicorn. It’s a nice neighborhood, close but not too close to the city center, which means the interior should feel inviting.

My instinct pings on soft white with Japandi style finishes. Or maybe old-world black frames and hardware with a rubbed oil look. Salem might have a point about my natural tastes.

Wood, then. Archer will agree in a heartbeat.

A nice pale wood like beech or white oak or pine.

Yes, pine.

That will lend a light homey feel and pair with the modern bright lights and ceramic lamps that feel like natural additions.

Another home away from home in the making.

This isn’t the extravagant escape some of our other properties are. It’s a roomy, practical place for a couple or an entire family looking to enjoy a few nights away in affordable luxury without being right downtown. A hidden sanctuary oozing history from its pores.

I make a few more notes on my tablet and step onto the balcony. The back of the property opens up to a park, and in the late morning light, the city looks especially vivid.

Salem would like it here.

Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about her.

Even at work.

Especially at work when it’s painfully inconvenient.

Double fuck.

I haven’t replied to her latest texts from a few minutes ago, hating that they’re already burning a hole in my pocket.

When the hell did I get so soft?

Then my phone rings and my heart does this annoying leap when I see it’s her.

I’ve been avoiding her, yeah. Deliberately, ever since that moment at Mom’s.

Not because I don’t want to talk to her, but because I don’t know what the hell to say.

What else can I say to convince her to let me be Arlo’s dad? Obviously, I can’t go behind her back to tell him. Even if I understand it abstractly, it still hurts like an iceball to the face.

So what if I’ve been spending the last few days at home, missing her and drinking too much and hating the fact that her absence makes me self-medicate, brooding in front of my fish?

Stupid.

Messy.

Dumb.

Pure jackass, and yet I’m doing it anyway.

I inhale sharply and accept my fate as my finger swipes the call.

“Hey, Salem. I’ve been meaning to call—”

“Patton.” My name feels like a gunshot, the word sharp, panicked. My grip on my phone tightens as it rips through me. “Something’s wrong. Arlo, he just—he won’t wake up.” A sob rattles her voice.

What. The. Fuck.

It’s a gut punch, so swift my lungs deflate.

I have to lean on the old railing to stay upright.

“What happened? What do you mean he won’t wake up?” I try to keep calm, my voice clipped like I haven’t heard since my Navy days. She needs strength right now, not this roaring frustration surging up that threatens to blow me into a thousand pieces and scatter me to the winds.

“I don’t—I don’t know. I was just driving. He started vomiting everywhere. I called an ambulance as soon as I could pull over.”

There’s no siren wailing in the background. They must’ve already reached the hospital, I hope.

“Where are you? The university hospital?”

“Y-yes,” she strangles out, choking on the words. “He’s with the doctors now. They took him straight in.”

“Okay. Salem, sweetheart, I need you to breathe.” I can’t think straight enough to give her better advice. I’m just barreling through this damn house until I’m back outside, fumbling with the keys to lock the door. “I’m on my way. Is anyone else with you?”

“No, no, it’s just me.”

Of course it is, you idiot, I tell myself bitterly.

She has no family here. The closest thing she has to a friend is a vapid Instagram girl who cares more about her looks than human decency.

I close my eyes for a furious second before getting in my SUV and starting the engine.

“I’ll be there soon,” I promise. “Stay put and wait for me. It’s going to be okay.”

I hope like hell I’m not wrong.

Nothing about this makes sense.

I hate that I can’t make any big promises and she knows it as well as I do.

But Arlo should be fine. Kids don’t just up and die for no reason, do they?

Then again, if he’s out like she’s saying, if he won’t wake up—

My throat burns, the same acid feeling clawing at my eyes.

Goddammit, my son is hurt.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

Still, I can’t fall down that abyss or I’ll wind up paralyzed.

The boy might be my son and a damn good kid, but I’ve only known him for a whisper. Barely a couple months. Such a tiny portion of my life for a little human who’s become a bigger piece of my world than the sky.

No fucking crying now.

No rough words.

No freaking out and flying fists.

You need to be there for her.

You need to be there.

The traffic is god-awful thanks to some big concert downtown, plus the usual stream of latecomers running their errands.

Arlo must be okay.

For me, for Salem, for our family.

My mind reels, wondering if we’ll have to tell my mother that Arlo was my kid and that she never had a chance to know him.

What if he never replaces out I’m his dad?

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until I think I’ll tear it right off.

When I finally arrive at the hospital, parking is atrocious. I slam my way into an empty space, not bothering to make sure I parked straight, and sprint for the entrance through the vast garage.

Upstairs, the receptionist directs me to the waiting room. I take the stairs three at a time, leaping through the last corridor until finally I see her.

Salem.

She’s tucked away in the corner of the waiting room, her legs crooked under her. She’s just staring at the wall.

It’s like someone picked her up and poured her soul out.

“Salem,” I call, and her head jerks up. Some of the emptiness drains from her face, replaced by relief, and she uncurls herself, holding out a hand.

Then her face crumples.

“Salem,” I growl again, pulling her into my arms.

Awkwardness forgotten—everything but this, the painful knowledge that our son is seriously sick and there’s nothing either of us can do.

She wraps her arms around me and buries her head in my shoulder. I cradle her closer, wishing I could whisk her away. There’s nothing more depressing than a waiting room filled with worried souls, just like the woman in my arms.

This is where people go to wait for miracles. Waiting and hoping because no one can guarantee life, not even if they have an MD behind their name. What else is there to do in a hospital waiting room but quietly scream at God and the universe?

Salem’s hand pulls me closer, just for a second, before she shrinks back.

I slide a hand through her hair and smooth it down her cheek, though she isn’t crying. Her red eyes say there’s been too much of that already.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you,” she whispers, one hand gripping my wrist like she’s scared I’ll disappear into thin air if she stops.

Fuck.

It’s so easy for her to say that, and it unlocks something in my chest.

“Missed you, too, Lady Bug. I wouldn’t be anywhere else. How are you? How’s Arlo?”

The question I need to ask and almost don’t want to know.

It feels like Schrodinger’s cat. If I don’t ask, he might be fine. He might be recovering. The ugly truth doesn’t have to exist if I don’t call for it.

But dammit, I need to know.

She doesn’t cry, but her chest heaves. For a second, I wonder if she’ll have the breath to tell me.

Her hair falls limply around her face. She takes a strand and pulls it roughly, twisting it around her delicate fingers.

“Salem?” I tilt her face up so I can read it properly, searching in her eyes for answers the way astrologers watch the stars.

She releases a shuddering breath.

“I… I don’t know,” she says, still twisting her hair around. “It just doesn’t make sense. We were out and it was a normal day, Patton.”

Fear grips my chest and I inhale deeply, all I can do to keep my voice level.

“Look at me,” I tell her, and finally she focuses, two pinpricks of awareness gleaming through the shock. “What did the doctor tell you? What happened?”

She presses her lips together so tightly I can’t see them.

I grit my teeth with effort.

It’s not that I want to rage at her—hell, I want to wipe the sadness from her eyes and make sure she never feels it again—but there’s this jagged vibration in my chest that needs to come out.

She inhales and wipes her dry, red eyes.

“It was a normal morning,” she says quietly. A whisper, really. I pull her closer so I can hear her. “I swear he didn’t eat anything awful. He didn’t have anything I didn’t.”

“So they think it’s food poisoning?”

“No, it’s…” She swallows so hard I see her throat dip. “More like regular poisoning.”

“What the fuck?” I barely remember to keep my voice down as other people look at us. “What do you mean, regular poisoning?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know! One minute, he was fine. The next, he’s throwing up everywhere and I couldn’t—” She tears at her hair. I catch her wrists to hold them still, pressing them gently to my chest. “I should have known something like this was bound to happen,” she says, more quietly this time.

“Salem—”

“We know I’m bad luck. It follows me everywhere. I just thought it would hurt us, not Arlo. I didn’t think it would ever come after him.”

I resist the urge to shake her.

“Salem,” I say gently. “That’s crazy talk, all right?”

“Is it?” Her eyes are damp and she shakes her head. “Then how did this happen? Tell me.”

Not because of some crazy bad voodoo curse bullshit, that’s for sure.

But she’s upset.

I’m upset.

The last thing we need is to give in and make this whole situation worse.

What I need to do is replace out what the hell happened before I go insane.

Before anything else happens to Arlo.

“It’s not bad luck, so stop saying that,” I tell her again. “You’re not bad luck. You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me. We just need to replace out how the hell he wound up poisoned.”

“I can’t leave him, Patton. I can’t—”

“I know. I’m not asking you to. Let me do it.” I will rip the world apart piece by piece to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll call my mom. She’ll—”

Salem grabs my arm and pushes it away from my pocket.

“No.” Her voice is tight. “Don’t call her.”

Huh? I’m officially going to lose my shit.

“Sweetheart,” I say, freeing myself from her grip. “She needs to know. She can be here with you while I figure out what happened.”

“We were over there for brunch.”

My heart stalls.

“You were?” My eyes narrow. “But so what?”

“I just don’t want your mom worrying about it or thinking she had anything to do with this. That’s impossible.”

“It’s her grandkid, Salem. Even if she doesn’t know it.” Even if Arlo doesn’t know, either. “Please. I need to tell her.”

Salem paces away from me, her shoulders hunched, and I grab my phone. Then she turns, her mouth hard. “So you’re going to call her anyway?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I bite out. “Hell, if anything, that’s where I need to go. What if he got into something at her house?”

“But what? He was with us the whole time!” she hisses.

“I don’t fucking know. A plant, a chemical, something.” I’m no expert on poisons, that’s for sure.

But there must be something.

“He wasn’t anywhere near any plants. He was with us in the room the whole time and he had the same cake we ate!” Her voice is so urgent and she wraps her fingers around my arm as she pleads. “Please don’t. You can’t tell her.”

“Why? Because she doesn’t know Arlo’s mine?” I shake her off. Now isn’t the time and place to argue about that, but I can’t just sit here and wait. “This is bullshit, Salem, and you know it. You need support, and I need answers.”

This is the worst time in my existence to start an argument, but if I stay here, I’m going to go insane. “Listen, I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“Staying with me isn’t nothing.” She takes my hand, her fingers so tight. “Please, Patton. Stay.”

God fucking damn.

If they were with Mom, that means there’s something at the house. Whatever happened wasn’t deliberate, I’m sure, but the sooner we figure it out, the faster we can fix this.

If something nasty jumps out and I can just tell the doctors—

Hell, maybe there’s an antidote or something if I can just replace out what caused this.

“I need to go,” I say, “and I need you to understand.”

“I don’t understand. He didn’t go near anything poisonous.”

Clearly, he did if he was poisoned. My jaw tightens as I hold in a hundred stinging emotions I can’t release. Not without making this worse.

She stares at me, her long eyelashes clumped and her mouth quivering. I don’t know what any of this means for our relationship if I walk out right now.

But I can’t stay while my son’s life is on the line and we’re fighting in the dark.

I hate that she doesn’t want me to replace out what happened.

“Call me,” I say, turning on my heel.

She doesn’t say anything at all after that, and though I’m glad she’s not trying to stand in my way, it feels like she’s giving up.

The darkest day of my life dims a little more and it’s not even evening yet.

So I just climb back in my vehicle, which is miraculously still where I left it without a ticket on the windshield, and set off for Mom’s.

Mom looks just as shell shocked as I thought she’d be.

“What do you mean, poisoned?”

“I mean poisoned-poisoned, Mom.” I rifle through the cupboards in the kitchen, tossing everything on the counter in frantic handfuls. “He’s in the hospital now.”

“But I don’t understand.” Her hands flutter helplessly and she loosens the scarf around her neck. “What could he have eaten?”

“Don’t know, Mom. But it must’ve happened here.”

Unless it was at her apartment, but a poison this violent would probably be too fast-acting for that. They were here for a while. The ones that hit your system and make you vomit up your lungs generally aren’t slow and creeping.

I hope.

Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m desperate.

“What did he eat?” I ask, pulling out the glass container with the cake inside for a look. “Did you make this?”

“Yes. Just yesterday with Evelyn and Juniper.”

“And you all had a slice?”

“Yes, Patton,” Mom says, her voice wilting. But her eyes are wide and flashing with concern. “I swear, we all had a slice from the very same cake. We all ate it off the same clean plates and as far as I know, the rest of us are fine. We had coffee and little Arlo had orange juice.”

Damn. Just like I feared, that doesn’t tell me much.

I need to hear from another witness, just in case there’s something Mom overlooked.

“Where is she?” I growl.

“Evelyn? Oh my, probably at the airport by now. Archer took her after Salem left.”

Wretched timing.

She won’t be around to ask, though we’d probably know by now if she suddenly became deathly sick before her flight.

“What else did he drink? Water?” I demand.

“Just the orange juice. I’m sure of it. The same brand I had for breakfast, that fresh-squeezed stuff they sell down at the river market, and I’m fine.” She breathes roughly, her eyes closing as she shakes her head. “I just don’t get this. I need a moment, Patton. I just need some air, I need…”

She trails off. We both know she doesn’t have to say it.

She needs the same thing we all do—for Arlo to be okay.

For the millionth time, I hate this shit.

The front door slams hard enough to rattle the house then. I look up.

Footsteps come thumping down the hall. There’s only one person I know with that angry elephant walk.

Archer. He has this way of stomping around like he wants his feelings to reach the center of the earth.

“Goddamn,” he grumbles when he sees me in the kitchen. I open the fridge to replace the orange juice, almost empty now. “Been a real bastard of a day. First Colt stayed up too late playing his Xbox after I told him twice to get the hell to bed. Then the traffic, taking Evelyn to the airport—Christ. I was stuck listening to her sob story for almost an hour.”

I’m barely listening, too busy sniffing the open juice carton.

Smells like orange. Everything seems normal.

But a second later, as I turn to him, his words sink in.

“What sob story, Arch?”

“Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it.” He folds his arms, deflecting like he shouldn’t have said anything.

My eyebrows snap up.

“Goddammit, Arch, this isn’t the time to play stupid.” I slam the carton on the counter so hard juice sprays out. My heart shouldn’t beat like this when it’s probably nothing. “What sob story?”

“I told her I wouldn’t say anything,” he grumbles.

“Funny,” I say, my voice heavy, “because I told her the same thing.”

He stops scowling and studies my face. “What? What are you talking—”

“Archer, what story?” The harshness in my voice surprises even me.

Then he sighs.

He tells me the same thing Evelyn told me—she’s neck-deep in debt and she can’t make the deal we offered her work—so he offered her a private loan. A hundred and fifty thousand in his case, softie that he is.

“Shit.” My gut clenches. A brutal possibility hits me like a brick. “She played us, Arch.”

“Evelyn Hibbing? Hell no. There’s no way she’d ever—” He stops, his face souring. He prides himself on being the kind of guy who doesn’t get played, especially not by a little old lady who’s been around for our whole lives.

I don’t wait for his response. I’m already texting Dex, asking if she told him the same thing.

Yeah. How’d you know? he replies a minute later. She pulled me aside when I came to pick up Junie, after they baked a cake.

My head’s about to pop right the fuck off.

I still don’t understand how it could be related to what’s happening to Arlo, but I know it reeks.

I dive into the trash can, pawing through it like a demented rat, the dread in my gut turning to solid lead.

Something isn’t right here.

“Hi, Archer,” Mom says as she comes back in. She attempts a weak smile. “Did Evelyn make her flight okay?”

I swing around to face her. “We need to do a sweep.”

“If there’s any poison in this house, it won’t be in the kitchen,” Mom says, frowning. Archer glances between us.

“Poison? What are you guys talking about?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I snap. “I don’t mean obvious poison, Mom. We need to look for what’s missing. Is there anything out of place around here?”

Archer catches on immediately, but instead of agreeing, he frowns. “Do we need to call the cops?”

Mom stares between us, bewildered.

“Please, Mom. Trust me, just have a look around,” I urge.

“What are you boys not telling me?” she demands.

If I tell her now, it’ll bowl her right over.

Evelyn Hibbing is her oldest friend.

Her oldest fucking friend who just played us like a fiddle.

“I promise there’s a reason,” I say. “Please, hurry.”

She nods and heads out of the room. Then Archer rounds on me.

“You want to tell me why the hell you’re upsetting Mom like that? So Evelyn squeezed us for some money before she heads to Miami—so what? And what’s this about poison? It’s frustrating, yeah”—his jaw clenches until his temples pop—“but it’s not like we can’t afford it. We can settle this bullshit later.”

The lead in my gut turns to ice now.

“Miami? What the fuck? She told me she was going home.”

“Nope, she was definitely headed to Miami. I dropped her off at the airport. She joked about sprinting off to the Bahamas after catching some sun. I guess she took a long trip there with her husband, back when they were young.”

I think back to my last conversation with Evelyn, about how she wasn’t looking forward to heading home because it would be a couple more months before Minnesota would defrost enough to do much in the garden.

My vision starts swimming.

It’s almost my turn to be sick.

Something is gravely fucked up here, and we need to unravel it ASAP.