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

I get Arlo to his martial arts lesson just in time with a check in my hand for the instructor.

Another payment made.

Another activity he won’t have to quit because I can’t pay the tab.

Another round of messages from Kayla—flipping Kayla—ignored.

Patton doesn’t need to find out I was only hired so I can be an unwilling matchmaker for my spoiled frenemy.

The heavy clouds hanging in the sky when I left the office have opened up. Thick white flakes stream down on the city, coating it in fresh snow.

I have to be careful driving. The plows are infamously bad at handling snap snowstorms with this sort of heavy, wet mush.

Any other day, I might be happy that it’s my only problem.

Arlo loves the snow so much, just seeing it seems to make him calmer.

And my happiness comes from seeing his joy in the little things, enjoying how the world unfolds with a child’s eyes.

I can handle a little cold and a couple achy feet tonight for his sake. There’s no denying it’s beautiful, too, even if it makes the roads dicey.

By the time his class finishes and we’re walking across the parking lot, into the chaotic winter night, everything glitters with white fluff.

“Mommy!” He sprints across the slick parking lot ahead of me, his face still flushed from the junior karate moves. “Look, it’s snowing.”

He tries to catch a few puffy flakes on his tongue.

“And you need to tuck both arms back in your coat,” I say with an affectionate sigh. “Come here, let me help you.” I twist him around and push his arms back through the arm holes. “Now let’s get you in the car before you catch a cold.”

“Wait, wait! Mommy, you’ve gotta see this.” He strikes a combat pose, holding one little fist up parallel with his shoulder and the other by his waist.

He looks so fierce I almost laugh.

“I saw it. I watched your whole class, sweetie, but very cool. Keep practicing. Your teacher will like that. Now, Mommy’s getting cold, so can we practice more at home?”

“It’s snowing!” he yells excitedly.

“And my fingers are falling off. I need new gloves.” All of me is frozen, really. I’ve barely been outside for a minute and I can feel the wind snaking under my coat. “You can practice all you want once we get home, okay?”

“Promise you’ll watch me?”

“Do pinkies ever lie?”

I bend down, hooking my cold little finger into his.

He laughs, shaking his head.

Then I herd him into the car without protest.

The thick snow feels like it’s already an inch deep on the sidewalk, and the melting slush under my shoes makes my feet number.

My fingers are a little clumsy as I strap Arlo into his kiddie seat.

“Can we go sledding again?” he asks.

“Maybe this weekend if it lasts. But don’t count on it; we’re getting to the point where this stuff turns to slush overnight.”

“I wanna go now.”

“Now? Oh, no. It’s dark and I need to get you fed.”

“That makes it more fun!”

More terrifying, he means.

“Arlo, no. We aren’t going sledding at night in this mess. The roads could turn into solid ice if it drops a few more degrees,” I say, voicing my biggest fear out loud.

“We can sled home on ice.”

His innocence makes me smile.

“Maybe you can. I can’t, big guy.” I give a strap going over his shoulder one more tug. He folds his arms, but I just shut the door, ignoring his puppy dog eyes.

My breath smokes as I walk awkwardly to the driver’s door.

Sure enough, there’s a growing layer of snow on the car like icing, half melting as it lands on the warmer metal and trying to refreeze. I stop and scratch the ice off my side mirrors.

It’s nights like this that make every Midwesterner wonder why they don’t live in Florida.

This is too cold.

Bullshit cold.

The kind of breathy cold that spits across the city, frosting every living thing until you wonder if it will ever let up before trees buckle and power lines snap.

When I was little, I thought an ice dragon came down blowing ice crystals, rather than fire. My mother used to laugh at how dumb it sounded, too practical to entertain childhood fantasies for a split second.

Now, I know better, but there’s still the same sense of weird dread I used to get—especially when I look at the car’s temperature and it says thirty degrees.

Right on the nose.

Just a degree or two away from unpredictable ice that will send this car skittering off the road if I’m not careful.

I start the engine and let the heater run, making sure the windshield fully defrosts before we start moving.

“It’s like being in a spaceship tonight,” Arlo says, imitating spaceship sounds that are way too fancy for this old car. “The snow looks like stars.”

When I was young, I also used to pretend the swirling snowflakes illuminated in the headlights were some sort of time warp, too. But that was before I was the driver.

I hate driving in this crap.

At least the roads are pretty deserted, thanks to the weather. There aren’t many cars out.

I ease us onto the next street, feeling the tires churn through accumulated mush.

Shit, don’t give up on me now.

“Mommy,” Arlo says quietly, sensing the tension. “What’s for dinner?”

His favorite question, and the worst when I’m praying for the car.

“I don’t know yet, honey. Please let me focus.” I glance in the mirror and ease my foot on the gas.

I’m not a bad driver.

Not an amazing one, no, but not terrible. I have a lifetime of experience with how Kansas City streets get with spotty services and temperatures that can change on a fly.

But the first time I feel our wheels sliding with zero help from the brakes, I’m worried.

No, don’t touch the brakes. Easy, easy!

“Mr. Spike said I was awesome today,” Arlo says, his head still back in his karate class.

I nod because I don’t want to scare him.

The stoplights glow red through the pelting snow. I swear it’s picking up, coming down in soft pellets you can hear as they hit the hood.

I tap the brakes carefully.

The wheels skid and my hands clutch on the steering wheel.

I say another prayer—or maybe it’s a curse this time—before the tires stick to the pavement and we stop.

Holy hell.

My heart pounds violently in my mouth, so hard I can taste it.

“Mommy?”

“Not now, sweetie. Hang on.”

A big truck pulls up beside me, window down, puffs of smoke emanating from the cab. The guy glances at me with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and away again.

The light changes.

I put my foot on the gas and cross the intersection uneventfully.

Just a few more miles to home, but I can’t unclench my hands.

Come on, come on. You’ve got this.

The snow hasn’t lightened up at all, though. I’m pretty sure the temperature keeps changing by the second, bouncing up and down depending on the wind. Visibility sucks and we’re not going fast. Still, I don’t dare go a mile faster.

“Mommy?” Arlo asks again. “I’m starving.”

I risk a glance back at him.

“I’ll figure it out, Arlo. You’re just going to have to wait for—”

A horn blares.

I whip my head around, just in time to see a car rocketing toward us, its too bright headlights swinging across the road like blinding knives.

He’s sliding, knifing across the other side of the road.

Honest to God, time stops.

My pulse hammers like there’s a giant hand squeezing me as I watch the car moving, the way it’s going to hit us unless a miracle happens fast.

With a paralyzed calm, I tap the brakes and try to steer clear from the inevitable slide, but it’s hopeless.

Jesus, not Arlo.

Anything but Arlo!

The horn screams louder.

Closer.

Closer.

I can see the driver now in the dark, his eyes panicked as he looks at me, his mouth twisted open.

Maybe he’s screaming.

Maybe I should be screaming because I can’t do anything else.

But I never get the chance before time unpauses.

The world swirls with color and my heart feels like it’s trapped in a vise.

Now, I really am screaming, clutching the wheel helplessly.

I know the tires have lost their grip and I’m praying and begging and it’s all happening too flipping fast as we swerve toward the car on solid ice, just as out of control as he is.

My eyes pinch shut.

There’s a sickening crunch!

The car clips our side mirror clean off, sending us spinning onto the sidewalk. I open my eyes in time to see a snow-plastered stop sign turn red again as we ram into it.

The hood crumples. The seat belt cuts my chest.

Something rips at my neck like rope burn.

Then silence.

For two painful seconds, I regain my bearings, remembering how to breathe.

The thick snow falling over everything dampens any sound but my own breathing.

“Arlo!” I scream his name so fast my voice rips. I fumble with the belt, unclasping it so I can turn around. “Arlo, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He’s sitting exactly where I left him, his face unnaturally pale, his eyes wide.

He’s in one piece, I’m sure, but shocked out of his little skin.

“M-m-mommy?” he whimpers.

“Oh, honey. Sweetheart.” I’m breathing like mad but I don’t know how to stop. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”

He shakes his head slowly. “N-no. Dunno.”

God, I should get him to a hospital anyway. But with this accident, we’re not moving, and an ambulance—I can’t afford an ambulance, can I? Not unless the kid’s missing an arm.

I have no idea how the Higher Ends insurance plan even works; I haven’t had time to look. And the car’s definitely out of commission. Something hisses miserably under the hood.

“Can you move your hands?” I ask gently. “Your head? Be careful.”

He holds his hands out and looks at them before he rotates his wrists. Then he moves his head from side to side.

“I’m okay.” He looks out of the window. “The car hit us.”

“Yes. Yes, it did.” We could have died if we were going just a little faster. “Stay where you are, big guy. I’m just going to check to see if our car’s hurt.”

Though if that grating, steady noise is anything to go by, it doesn’t sound healthy.

Outside, it’s as cold as I thought and the damage looks worse.

The stop sign is bent, and the front of the car looks buckled like crumpled paper. Black liquid drips against the greyish snow slurry under my car.

I’m at a loss for words or what to do.

I definitely regret canceling my roadside assistance last year to save a few bucks.

Snow lands on my neck and melts, mingling with sweat, cold and unsettling.

Adrenaline vibrates in my fingers, insistent and screaming.

Do something. Move.

Oh, I know what I’d like to do.

I want to scream and cry and sleep. The seat belt burn on my neck stings.

I have crappy car insurance, of course, but I do have it. I just don’t think it’ll save me from disaster.

If the car isn’t totaled, it’s going to cost a fortune to fix. Buying another used car, that’s more expensive.

First thing’s first, though.

Climbing back in the car, I bask in the warmth for a second as I search for the nearest towing company and call.

The receptionist is polite and sympathetic, but there’s been a slew of accidents tonight. They can’t get to me for at least an hour and advise me to call 9-1-1 if it’s a true emergency.

The next place tells me it’ll be an hour and a half minimum.

The third place, way less polite, says it’ll be well past midnight.

“Mommy?” Arlo asks cautiously as I rest my forehead on the steering wheel. “Can’t we go home? I’m cold. Is the car broke?”

“The car’s a little broke, honey, yeah.”

“I’m still hungry, too.”

Oh my God.

Don’t cry. You’re a strong woman.

You’re alive and well and so is your son. Don’t scare him.

“I know,” I say roughly, swallowing the rock in my throat.

We need to get home before it gets much later, but that ship has sailed. It’s already dark and freezing. Neither of us came prepared for weather like this, and I’m afraid if I grab the spare blanket from the trunk, we’ll lose what little heat the car has left.

But it is cooling off in here way too fast.

We can’t sit here for hours hoping help shows up.

I’m going to be sick.

Kayla could help us in a pinch, if she’s sober tonight. Even if she’s not, all she’d have to do is snap her fingers and someone would send a tow truck over, probably faster considering who her daddy is.

Landing me in moral debt for life.

But I never bothered replying to her latest message earlier, hounding me about when she can drop by for an intro to the magnificent Patton Rory.

It’s the worst time for jealousy, but my brain doesn’t care.

I hate her dating life.

Almost as much as I hate that I’m still in debt to her forever over this damn job.

Wait. This job.

Higher Ends has a commercial snow removal crew for clearing out their properties, doesn’t it?

My stomach knots.

I hate asking anyone for special treatment, buuuut…

Surely, I’m allowed to use one company perk. And it wouldn’t land me in a vicious cycle of obligation like asking Kayla would. I’m not sure she knows what friendship means if it isn’t transactional.

I grab my phone and start typing.

Hey, it’s Salem. We had an accident. We’re a little stuck in the storm and the tow places are buried in work tonight. Any chance you could hook a girl up with one of the company guys? Just to dig us out and get a ride.

Sighing, I hit send on Patton’s contact.

“We’ll be fine,” I tell Arlo cheerfully. “We’ll be home soon.”

“Good! I’m freezing. Brrrrrr!”

I don’t dare switch on the engine again when something’s leaking oil, so I just shrug off my coat and pass it back to him. “Keep that over your legs, Arlo. You’ll be warmer.”

While he babbles about the mysteries of airflow like only a child can, I hear another car squealing down the street, struggling with the ice.

Oh, what a night.

Then my phone lights up with an incoming call.

Patton.

No surprise, he probably wants more details.

“What do you mean you’re stuck?” he growls, the second I answer, not even waiting for me to say hi. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Arlo with you?”

“We’re… we’re fine, yeah. It was a fender bender thing. Just knocked us off the street into a stop sign.” It also scared the living crap out of me, but there are some things you don’t say to your antihero boss. “We just need a ride home while I sort out a tow. We’re kinda stranded.”

“Where are you?” He’s so gruff it sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

I check my phone for the nearest point on the maps and rattle off a couple street names, an intersection with the stop sign we hit.

“Stay where you are. Keep inside the car if it’s safe. It’s fucking nasty out there. I’ll be there soon.”

“Wait, what? I just wanted one of the snow removal places. You don’t have to—”

“Salem, I’m coming. Give me ten or fifteen.” There’s an edge in his voice I can’t argue with.

Before I put up a fight or even think to thank him through the giddy tears blinding me, he ends the call, leaving me staring at my lap.

“Was that Mr. Rory?” Arlo asks excitedly.

I think we’ve moved on from Grumpybutt. I don’t know if that’s a relief or a pity. I just know there’s a lead weight in my gut.

“That’s him. He’s coming to help us out tonight.” My voice quivers a little.

I’m feeling things I don’t even know how to describe.

“I knew it!” Arlo says it with a five-year-old smugness that gives me a shaky smile. “He knows so much about superheroes because he is one.”

Kid logic.

He’s also your father. But I keep that wild fact to myself.

I just try to calm my nerves and settle so I’m not a weepy, flustered mess by the time he gets here.

With Arlo still chattering away about debating comic book story arcs with Patton, I wrap my arms around my shoulders and try to stay warm.

It takes Patton twenty long, agonizing minutes to arrive.

I keep one eye on my phone for the time, fending off Arlo’s endless hangry questions. Eventually, a familiar black SUV pulls up alongside us.

Patton swings out, dressed in a thick winter coat and jeans. Jeans.

I must have disturbed him from unwinding at home. It’s a relief to know he doesn’t sleep in a suit, hardass that he is.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I say as I get out of the car. Outside, it’s even colder than I remember, and I try to keep my teeth from chattering. “We really appreciate you coming out in this mess.”

He sucks in a breath as he sees the damage to the front of my car.

“That’s an ugly scrape. I called a guy I know to see if he can speed up a tow.” He looks me up and down. “And where the hell is your coat?”

“The kiddo has it. And thanks, you didn’t have to work any miracles…” My cheeks are on fire.

Rather than meet his gaze and see the concern flashing in his eyes, I work on getting Arlo out of the car.

He’s wrapped up in my purple coat, absurdly large on him, now trailing halfway behind him in the snow.

“Mr. Rory!” Arlo says with genuine delight the minute they lock eyes. “I knew you’d come with the cool car.”

Patton sends me a quick glance before switching his attention back to Arlo. I think my little boy keeps trying to find hidden James Bond guns and booby traps that pop out of secret compartments since he’s convinced my boss has superpowers.

“Let me help you up to the escape pod, little man,” Patton tells him.

“Wait, he needs his seat,” I say, wrestling it out of the back seat and wishing it didn’t look so beat up next to Mr. Everything New.

I get the seat in the vehicle while Arlo dances around in the snow, seemingly oblivious to the temperature. Now that Patton’s here, Arlo’s chattering a mile a minute, full of stories about the snow and karate and the big crash and what he hopes to have for dinner.

At least someone’s feeling better.

“Come on,” I say to Arlo. “Let’s get you in here.” I brush off the snow and help him up, strapping him in securely. He squirms, making it difficult, and it’s hard not to snap at him to sit still.

He’s just a kid.

He doesn’t know how stressful this situation truly is.

How close we both came to being hurt.

And without my knight in shining jeans charging to our rescue… tonight would easily be a bigger mishap than it is.

“There, all set,” I tell Patton, shutting the door and brushing my slick hair back from my face. “I’m so sorry for putting you out again. The tow trucks were just tied up tonight and—”

“Jesus, Salem.” He cuts me off, sounding irritated and worried. “You’re freezing your face off and the kid needs a meal. Don’t apologize.”

“I’m fi—”

“You’re not. Hold still.”

I don’t have time to finish lying before he slings his coat around my shoulders.

I’m instantly silenced.

It’s insanely warm. I snuggle in before I can help myself.

There’s also no escaping his scent, this woodsy aftershave that’s so heavenly I’m able to forget the hell we’re in for a second.

Who knew this would be the night I’d want to breathe Patton Rory? And right now, he smells like manly salvation.

When I look up, he’s eyeing me curiously.

Maybe I should stop looking like I’m in a fabric softener commercial.

“What happened?” he asks.

“The roads were so slick. Another vehicle lost control and almost clipped us. I tried to swerve out of the way, but the ice was crazy, and I just—” I stop and shake my head. My hands are trembling. Shock, I guess, from how close we came to a bigger disaster. “We veered over and hit the sign instead.”

“Are you okay? Both of you?” He gives me a sharp look.

“I’m sure we don’t need an ER visit. It was a pretty slow impact, just scarier than it looked. We’re good.”

“You crashed. Your ride’s banged up. You don’t have to keep telling me you’re fine.” His anger feels sharp, lashing my feelings raw until they start climbing up my throat again.

I turn away so he doesn’t see the way my mouth turns down. My nose stings.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Get a grip. You’re overreacting. It was a minor accident, and he’s worried about you. Arlo’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

Patton looks at the hood and sees the oil dripping on the snow, frowning the entire time.

“When the tow truck shows up, I’ll have it sent to the shop I use. They do excellent body work. If it’s salvageable, it shouldn’t take more than a couple days.”

“Honestly, dude. This is— You’re going to have to tell me how much it costs. I’ll call my insurance tomorrow.”

I want to scream that he doesn’t have to do this, but I know it’ll slide off him like the melting snow. There’s no changing this man’s mind once it’s made up.

“Screw the insurance. Don’t worry about the damn cost until you’re warm, fed, and you’ve gotten some sleep,” he growls.

For a second, I squint, wondering who I’m seeing.

Thick snow dusts his hair and shoulders, and the wintry shadows all around us bring out the blue witchfire of his eyes. It’s a strange sight, seeing him in jeans that are so stark against the winter anti-wonderland.

This is wrong on every level. But I don’t know how to begin to understand it.

Arlo bangs on the window, pressing his nose against the glass.

I jump.

“Listen to the boy, he wants to get moving,” Patton says. “Your car will be fine, I promise. I work with good people.”

What else can I do tonight but trust him?

So I happily throw myself into the warm leather seat of his car as he puts the heater on full blast. I hold my hands to the vent until the tips of my fingers burn delightfully.

“The weather forecast didn’t call for anything this ugly,” I say lamely, the guilt surging up from my stomach.

Fair warning or not, I should have been better prepared.

I should have reacted faster instead of panicking.

I should have taken us on the highway instead of these little side streets where holes in city services become pits that will swallow you up.

Arlo deserved better from me tonight, too, and I’m sad that I’m failing as a mom.

My nails dig into my palm.

“I don’t think anyone saw this coming. Where to next?” Patton says. He sends me a quick glance.

“Back to my place would be great. Arlo’s hungry and it’s getting pretty late.” I wince as I remember our other problem. Food.

“I want pizza for dinner!” Arlo pipes up from the back.

For once, I can’t argue.

There’s a pie shop just a couple blocks away where they can walk the delivery over to our place instead of risking their delivery cars. So yes, I’ll order and we’ll sit on the sofa and eat and for once I won’t fuss about the cost.

“You can never go wrong with pizza. Choice of kings,” Patton says firmly.

Arlo laughs. “Stay and eat pizza with us, Mr. Rory.”

Patton side-eyes me, but I don’t dare look at either of them.

Instead, I stare dead ahead.

If I narrow my eyes enough, there’s a chance I can bleed through into another dimension where my son isn’t asking his unknown father to stay for dinner.

“Your mom’s had a rough night, Arlo. Don’t know if she wants company.”

“Yeah, she does,” Arlo announces with innocent confidence. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Mom?”

My lungs lock up for the hundredth time tonight.

This cannot be happening.

If I could snap my fingers and fall through the floor—to the center of the Earth, ideally—I would.

“It would be pretty terrible if I didn’t say thank you,” I say, well aware that Patton literally rescued us in time for a late dinner. “Patton, why don’t you stick around for some pizza? If you don’t have other plans, I mean…”

Those mundane words cut me from the inside out.

And he darts me a glance like he knows I’m mere seconds from having a nervous breakdown.

“You’re sure you’re up for that? Don’t invite me on the boy’s account.”

“No, no, you didn’t have to do any of this, but you did. I’m more than grateful.” The words come out bitter and I bite my tongue. “I just mean I owe you one. Personally.”

He navigates the icy roads with an expert hand and amazing tires that make the dicey conditions easy to manage.

“No special favors here. You might think it’s a big deal, but really it helps me,” he explains. “The Cardinal’s too damn new to lose a manager, even for a day. We can’t afford any crappy reviews and we need you there for your shift.”

“Business,” I repeat. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

It would be so easy to believe him, just going by what he says.

Except when he looks at me, his eyes say something else.

They shine like blue beacons, like I matter, and that scares me more than anything else that’s happened tonight.

I can’t start mattering to this man.

Not with our past.

Not with his son sitting in the back seat while nobody knows the truth but me. And if he has a deeper motive behind rushing to our rescue somewhere behind those unfathomable blue eyes—

I shut down.

I flipping have to or this won’t end well.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long to get to my place.

When he switches off the engine, the only sound is the soft patter of the snow in that familiar deep wintry silence.

“Thanks again,” I say. “What sort of pizza do you like? I can order two if anchovies are your thing…”

Patton swallows like he’s reconsidering this. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him one bit. We’re on knife’s edge, and if we’re not careful, we’ll destroy the delicate balance we’ve established that kinda-sorta works.

“Please, Mr. Rory,” Arlo whines.

Patton smiles and glances at me again.

“I’m in the mood for a margherita style with extra garlic, if they have it,” he says. “But I’ll get the pizzas. My treat for you guys on a crappy night.”

Oof.

I can’t bring myself to protest.

God, now I’m letting this man treat us. I’m letting him in my home, letting him look into my life, and somehow, I need to find a way to be okay with that.

Okay enough to share some simple pizza without freaking out.

“Ready when you are, boss.” Smiling unevenly, I help Arlo out of his seat, and we hurry to the building.

Patton leads the way. I can tell by the way he walks that he’s checking to make sure our path is salted and safe. I’m glad the maintenance folks are good about that here.

The cold nips at my face and seizes my lungs. I try to tell myself it’s the only reason I’m struggling to breathe as we stumble over the last snowy patch inside.

All three of us.

Here we go, primed for our next disaster.

It’s just pizza, idiot, I tell myself.

But I know it’s not.

It’s an existential threat to my world.

Whatever else happens, we can’t have any relationship that crosses professional wires when it will bring him too close to the truth about Arlo.

And if my moral compass ever stops spinning—if I choose to tell him about his son—it has to be on my terms. Not because I’m falling apart and dumping everything in one long, chaotic panic attack after a rotten night.

As we take the elevator to my floor, I wonder what I’m really getting myself into with this pizza party.

Just how much damage can my heart take when I bring Patton Rory home?