Chapter One

Jenna

8 weeks later

Looking in the mirror, I angled my body every which way. I rubbed my hand along my belly. To think, soon I'd look very different, I mused. I could barely believe it myself. Bigger breasts, fatter feet, wider, well, everything. It wasn't something I really envisioned for myself, but I wasn't altogether opposed to the idea. Anything to keep this small piece of him with me. I welcomed the reminder this child would be of how much we loved each other.

The words my gynecologist said to me played on repeat. "You're pregnant, Ms. McAllister."

To say I was surprised was an understatement. I mean, I could've suspected, but I'd been under a lot of stress lately, so I blamed it on that. Turned out I was wrong.

It was big news, huge even, and I had a lot to think about. But there was one thing that I knew with certainty—I was keeping this baby. I could be a single mother, plenty of women did it. Right?

I bent my head down, looking at my tummy, knowing our little embryo was right there, developing and growing every second. "I've decided I'm going to tell your daddy, little one."

My getting pregnant was never part of the plan, but then again neither was Deacon and I sleeping together when he was home to see Damon. It was one night, a small blimp in time really. But it was enough to create a life.

Since that night, we hadn't connected, no letters or calls. It was exactly what we promised each other—one night. That was about all my heart could handle. But now, with this, I wasn't so sure one night was all it'd ever be. He'd always be part of my life, part of our baby's life. Knowing I was carrying his baby made me feel closer to him, which scared me beyond belief because it gave me a false sense of hope that we could pick up where we left off and start the life I always thought we'd have together.

It was bad enough I still spent time with his mother, even after all these years. Now, it was less so, but when she called, I never told her no. I couldn't. She was always like a second mother to me. Maybe I liked it that way. I really didn't know anymore. I was more confused now than ever. Frankly, it was a little sick to think I tortured myself this way, staying close to his mother, but I just couldn't cut her out of my life just because her son left me.

The holler coming from Deacon's mother, Mary, broke me from my thoughts. "Did you find a shirt to change into?"

"Yes," I shouted back. I pulled the shirt over my stomach and covered myself, remembering why I was upstairs in Deacon's room to begin with. I made a mess of mine while Mary and I were baking cookies, mixing the damn batter right out of the bowl. I was always a mess in the kitchen.

I pulled my arms in and clutched his shirt, breathing it in. It smelled like Deacon. Before closing the door to his room, I looked back and sighed. "We're going to have a baby," I whispered. I knew full well I was talking to myself, but until I could tell Deacon the good news, this would have to do.

By the time I got downstairs and walked back into the kitchen, my eyes caught sight of a bowl of hard-boiled eggs on the counter. I quirked a brow and made my way over to the other side of the counter where Mary was. "Are you making egg salad?" I asked.

She looked up at me and smiled at the sight of me in her son's shirt, but it wasn't just a smile. There was a look of sadness that flashed in her eyes, albeit brief, gone almost as fast as it came, it was still there. I assumed it was that sadness that drove her to stay as busy as she always was, avoiding it.

Mary cooked when we were in high school and did love to bake occasionally, but it was taken to a whole new level once her boys left. I supposed if I had any skills in the kitchen, I would've leaned into the same, making it therapeutic. But I didn't. That was why I stuck to the law. I was much better at being a lawyer than I was a chef or baker.

"Deviled eggs," she said in her matter-of-fact way. "Why don't you help me prep the eggs? Toss the yolks in this bowl and I'll mash and mix in the ingredients. Then I have a piping bag somewhere around here to fill them."

I did as she asked and began tossing the yolks in the bowl. It was odd to think, but I wasn't the least bit domestic. For heaven's sake, I burnt rice. And my last attempt at macaroni and cheese was too milky. I liked to try new restaurants and order in. Even if I could cook, I worked a lot, so I rarely had time to have a home-cooked meal. I lived alone, so I brought my work home most nights. I supposed all of that was going to change once my baby arrived.

Perhaps I could ask Mary to teach me how to cook.

I could always hire a live-in chef. My mother had been urging me to do that for a while now. After all, I could afford it, and that way I wouldn't have to worry about learning how to cook a decent meal. Especially now, I knew I needed to make some changes to stay healthy for my baby. It was all so much to think about.

Deciding those things could wait for now, I gushed, "You make the best deviled eggs."

"That's sweet of you to say, but I'm no better than anyone else."

"You're better than my mother. If she didn't have a personal chef cooking for her and my dad, she wouldn't know what to do. I'm telling you, Mary, you're pretty awesome."

"Thank you, dear," she said. "Now get to peeling those shells."

As I did that, we fell into an easy conversation. She began talking about Deacon when he was younger and how much he loved cooking with her.

I chuckled, listening to Mary's story. "Yeah, Deke always told me you taught him everything he knows in the kitchen," I said.

"I knew that the woman he cooked for would appreciate it one day. It's important all my boys know how to fend for themselves and cooking is an important thing to know. I started them all at a young age."

I supposed I never thought about it that way, but Mary was right.

I only wished I could be half the mother to my child as Mary was to her children. In a lot of ways, I looked up to her.

She looked up from what she was doing and asked, "How are you holding up these days?"

I shrugged, trying to make light of the fact that I was having a hard time. Not sure how much she knew, I replied, "I'm okay." It was hard enough as it was when Deacon and I broke up and hadn't seen each other. But, now, knowing that this baby tied him to me, and that he'd always be in my life, suddenly made things a lot harder, but she didn't need me dumping all that on her.

"One day things will work out. I know he still loves you," she said, but immediately looked apologetic for letting it come out.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. "It's okay." I reopened them and grinned. "I'm a big girl and I can handle a little heartbreak." What a load of shit that was.

Mary sighed. "Oh, dear, you don't have to pretend with me. I know these things take time."

When I didn't answer, only nodded, she went on. "If you don't mind me asking, does any part of you still love him?"

My eyes widened with shock. That wasn't an easy question to answer. Of course, I still loved him. But it was complicated. I looked down at the eggs for a welcome distraction. I wanted to be honest with her, so she understood where I was coming from. "I don't think I'll ever not love your son."

However, I couldn't think about that right now.

At least I was trying not to think about any of it.

I had a feeling with this baby on the way all I was going to think about was my love for Deacon, his family, and how my baby and I were going to fit into all of it. Although, the more I thought about it, the more I was overcome with emotion. This was quickly becoming one of those times.

I peered down at my stomach and smiled, not for the first time today, wondering how I could keep this secret from any of them any longer, but especially Mary. I was never any good at keeping secrets.

Mary deserved to know that she was going to be a grandmother to a beautiful baby girl or boy. Secretly I hoped for a girl, one that I can share my love of fashion with and stay up all hours of the night when she got older and gossip about true love and drama between her and her friends. A giggle almost escaped me just thinking about it.

Deacon. Oh, he would want a boy. Or maybe he'd want a girl.

Then it hit me.

We never really talked about any of that.

I mean, there was no reason to. He left when we were still so young. Of course, we'd talked about never being with anyone else but each other. Heck, we loved each other unconditionally. But kids? We never really talked about it. I knew he wanted them, but how many? Boys or girls?

My heart began racing just thinking about it and I thought I may have a panic attack. I couldn't do this, not alone. I needed him. Damn, Deacon had to be here for this.

Mary must've noticed the change in me because she looked worried as she asked, "Are you okay, Jenna?"

I needed a paper bag, but I didn't say anything, just nodded, trying to keep my breathing even, my heart rate down. I didn't need to go getting all nervous or panicked right now. There was no way any of that could be good for my baby.

This was all I'd ever wanted, really. I yearned for a big family like the Ryders. Their holidays were always filled with so much love and laughter. And soon I was going to welcome a new Ryder into the world.

And, who knew, one day maybe I'd become a Ryder myself. This baby gave me hope of that. But was it foolish to think?

I watched Mary go back and forth from the fridge to the counter, putting away ingredients she'd already used. She was so caring, so compassionate. She deserved to know. But before Deacon? It didn't feel right, but I wasn't exactly sure when I'd get to tell him. I had to tell someone, though, and Mary was always so good to me. That was it. I had to tell her. I didn't want to wait another second. Maybe then I could talk these things through aloud with someone else, instead of making my head spin with everything running through it.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my breathing. When I was calmer, I started, "Mary, I—"

A sharp pain ripped through me and I immediately put a hand on my stomach. I didn't know what was going on. I tried not to worry, though, thinking perhaps it was just a bout of gas.

"I'm just going to use your bathroom," I said, excusing myself and trying to act as casual as possible. I didn't wait around to see if she'd heard me, just left and made a beeline straight for the bathroom.

The fierce pain was subsiding, but I knew something still wasn't right. "It can't be," I whispered, terrified by what was happening. When I closed the bathroom door behind me, I looked down to see I was bleeding.

"No," I cried out loudly.

Mary rapped on the door. "Jenna, what's wrong?"

I could hardly stand on my own two feet as the pain came back, this time causing me to release the scream I'd been holding back earlier.

"Jenna," she said as she opened the door to find me nearly on the floor at this point.

"Please help me," I rasped. "I'm pregnant."

Mary gasped.

"It's Deacon's," I confessed through tears. Not that it mattered anymore.

Neither of us spoke after that, we didn't need to. It all become a blur to me. By the time I got to the hospital, they confirmed what I already suspected.

I lost the baby.

* * *

I grabbed my clothes off the hospital bed and was about to get changed when I couldn't help it, I looked down at my belly and held a hand to it in the hospital gown. Tears filled my eyes until finally I couldn't hold back any longer and began crying.

I knew I didn't know about the baby for long, but it had already changed my life. I already loved it with all my heart. We were going to be a family. I was going to be a mother, a title I never thought would apply to me. Sure, things were complicated, but the best things in life were, weren't they?

I wasn't sure if our one night of burning passion was a good idea, but Deacon and I always fell into a familiar rhythm when we were with each other. He made me feel so good and happy. I felt at peace when I was with him, but also like my whole body was on fire. I'd never experienced passion like that with anyone before.

But that night we were together meant the most to me because we made a life. Our lovemaking conceived this precious child and it was ours.

I dropped down to the floor and held my head in my hands. I couldn't stop crying and all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock and die.

"Jenna Rose McAllister, you pull yourself together right this instant!"

I'd know that heartless woman's voice anywhere. It belonged to none other than my mother, a Miami socialite, wife to a brilliant attorney, and one of the wealthiest women I may ever know.

"Do you know how filthy these floors are, young lady? Get up before you catch a disease of some sort." And there we had it, ladies and gentlemen—Deidre's righteousness. I could tell she brought her bitch today.

I wiped my eyes and got up, standing with my arms crossed in front of the bed now. "What do you want, Mother?"

For a second there I could've sworn she frowned when she noticed my wet cheeks, but she looked away and began examining the room. "Is there a reason I had to find out about your situation from Mary Ryder?"

Situation?

"It wasn't a situation, Mother. I was pregnant." I began sobbing again and couldn't control it. "I was pregnant," I repeated. "Deacon and I were going to have a baby." I sucked in and took a deep breath. "I was going to be a mother."

She fixed her designer purse on her wrist and held her head high. "Well, you're not anymore." Then she clarified as though I wasn't already clear on what she was saying, "Going to have a baby or be a mother, that is. So it's time to stop with this nonsense."

"Stop with this nonsense?" I repeated her words and quirked a brow. "What the hell are you trying to say?"

My loose brown hair started to fall in front of my eyes, so I pushed it back with my hand. "I'm not in the mood to be hearing any of this right now. So whatever it is you have to say, can you just save it for another day?"

I exhaled and turned around to grab my clothes, but put them under my armpit when she stepped an inch closer in her Louboutins. Leave it to Deidre McAllister to wear ridiculously expensive shoes to visit a hospital, I thought.

Tight-lipped, she wagged her manicured finger in my face and the sound of the bangle bracelets slapping together on her wrist had my attention. She looked me dead in the eye and demanded, "You're going to get your life back on track, Jenna, do you hear me? You're coming home with me where you will be well taken care of, and then you're going to get your life on track." She grew angrier. "You are a McAllister and it's high-time you started acting like one."

My bottom lip quivered, not because I was a grown woman being reprimanded by her mother, but because I knew that I didn't have it in me to fight her and I knew she knew that. She'd been waiting for the moment I'd be my most vulnerable to strike. This was all she'd ever wanted. Well, she finally got it. Because I didn't want to argue with her. I didn't want to do anything but curl up in a ball and sleep. That was pretty much all I could have handled at the moment.

"Okay," I whispered.

She blinked twice. "Okay?"

I nodded. "Okay," I repeated, so we knew we were both on the same page.

She pushed things, though, adding, "And you're going to get over this sick obsession you have with this boy. No more talking about him, no more moping about him. If I so much as see you staring at a picture of him, I swear—"

I closed my eyes and let the tears fall out. "You can't ask that of me."

"Oh, I'm not asking. I'm telling." Her eyes grew more serious as she continued, "This has gone on for too long as it is. When he left, I thought you were finally free of him. I thought you'd come to your senses, but clearly not." She eyed my stomach and looked visibly sick. "How could you be so careless?"

I swallowed. "We didn't mean for this to happen."

"You're a smart woman, Jenna. You're a lawyer, for crying out loud, and you let a motorcycle-driving, reckless bad boy mess with you, your emotions. You don't really think he's in any place to raise a child, do you? How could you let this happen?" She shook her head. "You were going to be a single mother. You'd throw your whole life away for one night with that boy?"

I spat back, "I love him!"

She scoffed. "You don't know what love is. Love isn't being selfish. If he loved you, then he would've never come crawling back to you."

"I wanted to be with him that night just as much as he wanted to be with me," I refuted. I didn't know why I felt the need to defend myself, but I did. At the very least, Deacon deserved to not be seen as a bad guy, not to my mother or anyone. He was one of the greatest men I'd ever known. Probably would ever know.

"It ends now," my mother said simply.

She acted like it was the easiest thing in the world to just fall out of love. But she should only know that I tried and failed so many times before. He was in my heart and my head. I was never going to be rid of him. And just because our child didn't make it, didn't mean it was all forgotten, didn't mean we hadn't conceived a life.

I knew what I needed to do, though. So I stood tall and asked, "What do you propose I do to get over this then?"

She rolled her eyes. "Forget about him. You'll move on, Jenna, and this will become nothing but a very distant memory."

That was the last thing I wanted. But the ache I felt in my heart was undeniable and I needed it to stop, so I'd do anything to dull it.

I sniffled one last time and wiped away the rest of the tears. "Let me get dressed and wash my face. I'll be right out and you can take me home."

She nodded and walked over to me, awkwardly patting my shoulder. "I'll be right outside."

Before leaving, I stopped in my tracks when I heard her say, "And, Jenna, it's probably best if you don't talk to Mary anymore. Break all ties with that family."

I slowly nodded and waited until she left before letting myself go completely and crying.

It was the last time I'd let myself cry about any of this.

That night when my mother brought me back to my apartment, I put together a shoebox with all of the letters I'd written but never sent to Deacon after we broke up. It was my way of feeling close to him. After I found out I was pregnant, I started up again, but never had the nerve to send them. Along with the letters, I put one more thing in the shoebox: the ring Deacon gave to me before he left the first time—a promise that when he returned he'd propose and we'd get married. I held onto it tightly in my hands before finally laying it in the box with the rest of our memories.