Page 34 of Sweet Escape
“What do you mean it’s not Jake’s? Olivia Bennett-Sullivan, who’s baby are you carryin’?”
“Mine.” The entire world slows as Wilder Hayes steps up behind me and places his steady hands on my shoulders, his thumb stroking a soothing pattern on my skin as that single word scorches itself onto my soul like a brand.
Mine.
His.
Ours.
“Wilder Hayes, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand, but the gesture goes unreciprocated.
Dad’s nostrils flare. If I weren’t standing in front of Wilder, I’m not entirely certain he wouldn’t throw a punch. “I know who you are,boy. What I don’t understand is why my Livie would be gettin’ mixed up with the Hayes family after what y’all did to us. That son of a bitch Russell?—”
I open my mouth to defend Wilder, but Grammy gets the jump on me. “Shame on you, Nick Bennett. I will not stand idly by while you punish the son for the sins of his father. You aren’t innocent in this either, and this feud has gone on far too long. How would you feel if Wilder’s family treated Livie this way, hm?”
“With all due respect, Rosie, my family wouldneverspeak to Olivia with anything but kindness and respect,” Wilder says. “Mama’s already a little bit in love with Liv, I think.”
Before I can give my two cents on the situation, Dad swoops in. “And areyou? In love with my daughter?”
Mortified. That’s the only word to describe what I’m feeling—completely and utterly mortified. I’m not sure what’s worse: Wilder’s silence or my father’s intrusive question.
Of course, the man isn’t in love with me. We’ve spent what amounts to roughly three days together in the entirety of the time we’ve known each other. But Dad doesn’t know that, and I’m not sure how you explain away our current situation without brutal honesty.
No, Dad. I’m not in love with this mere stranger who looks sexy as fuck in a backward hat and knows how to wield his dick with expert precision. So much so that his swimmers managed to hit their target within the first twenty-four hours of coming into contact with my uterus.
No, probably not like that.
Wilder squeezes my shoulders. “No, sir. I wouldn’t call it love, but Ido care for Olivia, and I plan to take care of herandour child.”
Oh. That was much better.
I glance over my shoulder, studying Wilder’s silhouette, seeing only sincerity in his expression. He looks almost angelic, highlighted by the faint glow of the street lamps and the string lights overhead. When he catches me staring, a small smile tugs at one side of his mouth, reminding me of all the delicious things he can do with it.
I turn back to my father. “I love you, but this isn’t how I want my family introduced to the father of my baby. Can we discuss this at dinner tomorrow? Once we get it all out in the open, you can ask all the questions you want.”
“Fine.” Dad’s palpable anger dissipates, giving way to quiet resignation.
“Let me tell Mom, okay? I don’t want her to find out secondhand.”
“Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow. You, too, Wilder. I expect you to accompany my daughter to family dinner. You’re the reason she’s in this mess, after all.”
“Daddy!”
“That’s enough for today, don’t you think? Let these kids head on home, and you can pick this back up tomorrow when you’ve had time to calm down.” Grammy tugs on my father’s elbow and pulls him toward the disassembled booth. “Help me get this back inside, would you?”
Once Dad’s out of sight, Wilder’s forearms wrap fully around my shoulders, tugging me against his warm body. I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of him wrapped around me, if only for a moment. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, his lips ghosting over my temple.
His arms loosen, and I whirl around to face him, ignoring the impulseto snake my arms around his waist and steal another hug. “Me? I’m fine. Areyouokay?”
“I’m not afraid of your family, Cupcake. I can handle the pressure.” Wilder shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets, drawing my attention to the well-worn wranglers that hug his thick thighs. “Let me walk you home.”
“I’m fine. It’s barely a block away.”
“Humor me.”
Capitulating to his demands, I sigh and turn toward the apartment above the diner. Dad watches us with narrowed eyes as we pass. To Wilder’s credit, he doesn’t say a word about it. Neither of us says anything until we arrive at my doorstep.
