Page 13 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

I hang up, sighing. She's too observant for my own good. And the worst part is, she might be right. But it's just a fling. It has to be. What other choice do I have if Lara is avoiding me?

Chapter Seven

Lara

Home sweet home.

I inhale a deep breath of the calming scent of my home. The place isn’t as big as we need it to be, but I’ll fix that as soon as I get my business off the ground. Which won’t be long, now.

“Morning, Damon,” I call out. The sun catches the spokes of his wheelchair as he rolls in to meet me. He’s quick to throw his arms around me, and I pat his shoulder.

“I missed you,” he says. “Did you have fun?”

I nod. There’s only three years’ difference between us, but he’s almost childlike some of the time.

“Tea?” I ask, moving toward the kitchen. He grunts as he follows me with an ease that belies the strength it requires. His hands grip the wheels, fingers calloused, his arms more powerful now than they ever were before.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room, and I decide I’d rather have the hit of caffeine, even though I might regret it later. Who wants mid-afternoon jitters? Me, I guess.

“Sure.” His voice is bright and there's a gleam in his eyes—a spark of that old mischievous brother I know lurks beneath the surface.

I watch him for a moment, the determined set of his jaw as he positions himself by the window. While his attention wanders, I can’t help but feel inspired by him. He’s resilient, not willing to let the past define his future or stop him from living life to the fullest. He's not just sitting; he's claiming his space in the world, refusing to let the chair restrict his life.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he says, and I nod, pouring hot water into one mug and coffee into the other.

“It’s too beautiful to stay cooped up inside.” He knows I like it when he goes out and gets some fresh air and sunshine.

“Got plans?” he asks, thanking me softly as I bring him tea and sit at the table opposite him with my coffee.

“Maybe.” It’s a half-truth. My heart shivers, betraying the secret I'm not ready to share.

“Spill,” he says, without looking at me. It's eerie how he can read my silence.

“Later,” I say, deflecting as I burn my mouth on boiling hot coffee. Inhaling a breath through my mouth to cool the burn, I avoid his gaze as if that’ll make him believe nothing is going on.

We're more than siblings; we're allies in a world that hasn't always been kind to either of us. This is home, this is my family. And nothing will change that—not even the secret I’m afraid to vocalize for fear that’ll make it come true.

We lapse into silence, then I realize things have been quiet for far too long, and I look over at him. Something isn’t right. I recognize that look in his eyes, and it’s one that chills me to the bone.

“Damon,” I whisper. “Talk to me.”

He turns, lips pressed into a thin line. “Just… old ghosts,” he says.

I know what he’s talking about – the boys who ruined his life.

Anger fills his expression. “They got off scot-free while I'm...” He gestures to his legs, a bitter laugh escaping him.

“Hey.” I walk over to him and crouch by his side, taking his hand in mine. “You're so much more than what happened to you.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Am I?” There's defiance there, and pain—poison emotions I can't swallow for him.

“Always,” I say. “You're the bravest person I know. Probably the strongest, too.”

“Bravery didn't keep me on my feet, did it?” His words are sharp, but they don't cut me. They’re not intended to hurt me. They’re his outlet, a way to come to terms with what happened to him and vent the unfairness of it all.

“No.” I know better than to remind him that bravery wouldn’t have saved him anyway. “But it keeps you rolling forward. That counts for a hell of a lot.”

“It doesn't feel like it some days.” He looks away, the pain in his eyes still so fresh and raw.

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