Page 94 of Broken

“Fuck you,” I mutter.

Elijah shoots our younger brother a warning glare. “And she told you this today?”

“Yeah, said she didn’t want anything from me and she’d prefer me to not be involved, but she thought I had a right to know and I could be part of the kid’s life if I wanted to.”

He nods. “That tracks.”

I scowl at him. “What do you mean, that tracks?”

He swallows hard. “She signed the divorce papers today. They were couriered to your office this afternoon. I asked Helen to let me break the news to you. I was going to tell you tonight. She’s not contesting the divorce or the prenup. She’s walking away without a dime.”

Mason scoffs. “Yeah, because she’s carrying his kid. Doesn’t that guarantee her money?”

I turn my scowl on Mason now. Are we all as cynical as he is?

“That guarantees her child support, but that’s for the child and not her. Certainly not for her family,” Elijah clarifies.

Mason shrugs and downs his Scotch.

“The important thing is how you feel about this.” Elijah rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to be a part of the child’s life?”

My heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. I stare into my older brother’s eyes, and I swear I couldn’t lie to this man if I tried. “Yeah.”

He nods and raises his empty glass. “So you’re gonna be a dad. We should celebrate.”

“Yeah, well…” I blow out a breath.

Elijah gives me a knowing look. “What did you do?”

“I asked her if she was sure it was mine, and she walked out.”

Mason slaps his hand over his heart. “Ouch!”

“Will you stop?” I snap. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

He pours me another Scotch and hands it over with a wink. “I am.”

Elijah holds up his glass too. Mason refills it along with his own, then he holds it up. “To the first of the next generation, bro.”

Elijah lifts his glass in a toast. “Congratulations.”

I down my whisky, savoring the burn of the liquid in my throat.

Elijah wraps an arm around my shoulders. “She’ll come around.”

I sure fucking hope so.

Sittingin the back of my car on the way home from the office, I dial Mel. Like she has the past six times I called her, she sendsme to voicemail. I curse under my breath and dial a different number.

“Nathan!” Her excited voice fills my ear. At least someone is pleased to hear from me.

“Hey, Jessie.”

“Do you have another job for me?” she asks.

“Yup.”

“Who is that, sweetheart?” Shane, one of her husbands, asks in the background.

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