Page 83 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"You abandoned Liam when he was just a kid." My voice is steady, fueled by a mix of daring and determination. "That stops now. Because if you ever want to meet your grandchild, you're not going to do that again."

Stunned silence.

Rick's eyes widen, and his mouth opens and closes with no sound coming out. He looks helpless, like a robot that's suddenly lost power.

"Grandchild?" he finally manages to croak out. For the first time, I see something other than anger in those depths—confusion, regret, maybe even fear.

Liam, who had taken a few steps away, pauses and returns to stand beside me. His presence is solid and reassuring.

"Yeah, Dad," Liam adds softly, his voice carrying a weight that wasn't there before. "We just found out."

"Shiloh..." Rick begins, his usual bluster deflated, leaving behind a man I barely recognize—one who seems small and uncertain. "I had no idea."

His gaze flickers between Liam and me, and for a moment, the tough, uncompromising exterior falls away, revealing a glimpse of the father Liam must have once known. A father who might still care beneath all the pride and stubbornness.

“We just found out ourselves,” Liam says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “And I thought we were keeping it to ourselves.”

I shake my head, unable to let this moment pass. "No, he needs to know the harm he's caused." The words spill from me, raw and unfiltered. "Liam is a good man, an exceptional attorney, and a businessman, and he's going to be an incredible father." My eyes lock onto Rick's, willing him to understand the gravity of my words. "You've been wrong to reject him all these years."

There’s a flash in Rick’s eyes, like the first spark of a firework before it explodes into rage. He shakes his head, lips pressed tight, and for a second, I fear he might lash out again and cut Liam off for good.

But then something shifts. His gaze lifts to meet Liam's, and he takes a step forward. He reaches out, placing a firm hand on Liam's shoulder.

"Congratulations," Rick says, his voice gruff with unspoken emotion. "You don’t have to come to these dinners anymore… not with Darla and Chris. We can get dinner on our own ifyou’d… forgive me." His eyes search Liam's face, seeking some kind of absolution.

Then, with a deliberate motion, Rick extends his hand—a peace offering hanging in the cold Thanksgiving air.

Liam's eyes meet mine, and in them, I see the hurt child overlaid with the strong man he's become. I nod slightly, a silent nudge. His lips press into a thin line, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

"Thank you," Liam says, voice barely above a whisper. He reaches out, his hand enveloping Rick's. "I'll have to think about it."

The handshake lingers, filled with a heavy mix of hope and history. Liam lets go and steps back, looking once more at me. I offer him a small smile, my heart aching for him—hoping this is a step toward healing those deep wounds.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Dad," Liam adds. There’s a weight to that word—‘Dad’—like it's both an anchor and a life preserver tossed into turbulent waters.

We turn together, walking away from the house that holds so many shadows. The crisp air bites at our cheeks as we make our way to the car parked under a streetlight's halo. The engine hums to life, a soft purr against the silence of the night.

As Liam drives us away from the Walton household, I reach over and lace my fingers through his. We don't need words; the squeeze of his hand says everything.

We're going home.

Chapter thirty-four

Liam

The steering wheel isan icy anchor under my hands as I navigate the silent streets back to Beacon Hill. The rearview mirror shows nothing of interest, yet I can't help glancing at it, half expecting Chris and Darla's disapproving faces to materialize there.

"Should have been different," I mutter, more to myself than to Shiloh. She turns her head sharply, her expression clouding with surprise and a touch of hurt.

"Sorry, I just... I wanted to make sure you were okay," she replies softly.

I press my lips into a thin line, fighting against the frustration bubbling up inside me. "I know, Shiloh. But it was ours, you know? Just for us, my mom, and your parents. Not for him."

Her hand hovers near mine, uncertainty clear in her eyes. "Liam," she starts, but the words hang unfinished between us.

We pull up in front of my house, the grandeur of it doing nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. My dad might wantback into my life, but does he deserve it? Can I trust him with our future—a future that now includes a child?

I exhale, a long breath that seems to carry the weight of the evening with it, and then I reach over to take Shiloh's hand. My grip is firm, my other hand still bracing myself on the steering wheel.

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