Chapter 25

WELLS

The flight from Florida to Illinois feels endless, the cabin dimly lit as we watch some forgettable movie, trying to distract ourselves from the weight of what's waiting for us back home. Jonas nudges me, breaking the silence that has been our flight so far.

"What's up?"

"Have you talked to Delilah?" Jonas' voice is low, cautious, like he's treading carefully into a minefield.

"No," I admit, feeling a pang of guilt and regret twist in my gut at the sound of her name. "I've been so wrapped up in trying to find you a way out of this cracked-up charge that I haven't had time."

"That's bullshit, Wells," he shoots back, his voice sharp. "You were obsessed with this mystery woman in Vegas before you knew who she was. Going out of your mind looking for her. You blow up our first family dinner to tell us she's carrying your baby and now you've just gone silent? It's been weeks, Wells. She deserves better than that."

"I know," I mumble, feeling the weight of his disappointment and my own press down on me.

"Do you though?" Jonas looks around us and lowers his voice. "You got my daughter pregnant. She's carrying my first grandchild. And now you're pulling a disappearing act on her. That's fucked up."

His words cut deep, and my mind reels. I can still see Delilah's face, the way she looked at me when I told her I'd be there for her. I promised her the world, and then I disappeared into this mess. What kind of man does that make me?

"Don't you think I know that?" I snap, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "But if I can't even keep her dad… my baby's uncle from doing time in the slammer, why do I deserve to be happy?" I stare out the window at the clouds below, trying to keep my voice steady. "Delilah just met you, and because of me, it wasn't a good first impression. Now, as soon as she finds out about her dad, he might be leaving again on some bullshit charge?"

"What's happening to me isn't your fault, brother," Jonas says firmly, cutting through my self-pity. "It's Claudia's mess, maybe a bit of mine, too. I should've known she wouldn't just fade into the background after calling off the wedding."

"But—" I try to interject.

"Let me finish," he insists, his voice low but intense. "You're going to stop worrying about me."

He turns away, running a hand through his hair, then spins back to face me. "When we get home," he says, pointing emphatically, "you're going to call Delilah."

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

"Beg her to let you see her. Apologize, do whatever it takes." He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly "She deserves that much."

His fists clench at his sides, knuckles turning white. "Then you're going to Vegas," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "Make sure she knows how much you care and how badly you want to be there for the baby."

He pauses, eyes softening for a brief moment, then hardens his resolve. "Promise me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Promise me you'll do this."

"Okay," I concede, feeling the weight of his words. I know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier.

"And, Wells," he adds with a dangerous edge to his tone. "If you ever hurt my daughter like this again, I'll break your fucking nose. She's too good for you. Don't fuck it up."

"I won't," I promise, feeling shameful.

How did I get myself into this mess? How did everything get so complicated?

As the captain announces our imminent landing, I watch the lights of O'Hare approach beneath us. The landing is smooth, a contrast to the turbulence in my mind. As we gather our bags and head toward the SUV that Jonas had parked before our trip, I find myself unable to resist the urge to text Delilah.

Me: Hey. We need to talk. Can I come to Vegas and see you?

Little Doe: No need.

Me: I messed up, but let me fix it. Explain what's going on.

Me: No actually there's no excuse. I'm a fucking idiot. But please let me at least see you and try to make it right. I'll do anything.

She reads my message but doesn't reply, leaving me hanging. My heart sinks. I feel like I'm losing her all over again, and I don't know how to stop it. Before I can decide whether to send another message, my mom's name lights up the screen.

"Hey, Mom," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady. "We just landed and are heading home."

"Good," she replies crisply. "I want to have an impromptu dinner. Tell Jonas that Dad hired a new day-to-day operations manager for the hotels here. He's also training to be interim COO in case things don't go our way."

"You're on speaker," I inform her, glancing at Jonas.

"Perfect," Mom continues, unfazed. "I was thinking we could go to the house we set up for him and let you meet him."

"Isn't that a bit... unusual?" Jonas asks, clearly puzzled. "We've never had dinner at an employee's house. What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on," Mom insists, though her tone suggests otherwise. "I just want to make a good impression and make sure he knows he's welcome. We've never had an interim COO before, and I want him to feel like he's part of the family."

Jonas and I exchange a glance, both of us sensing there's more to this dinner invitation than meets the eye.

"Okay, Mom," I agree, deciding to play along for now. "Text us the address, and we'll get cleaned up at my place and head over."

"Thank you, son. See you soon," she replies before ending the call.

"What do you think that's about?" I ask, my brow furrowing.

"No idea," he admits, shaking his head. "She was acting weird, but maybe she just wants to introduce this new guy properly."

"Maybe," I agree, though doubt lingers in my mind. "Let's head to my place, shower, and change. We'll find out soon enough."

I don't know what game Mom's playing, but as we drive through the familiar streets of Chicago, I can't help but feel a flicker of curiosity.

As we pull into my driveway, the comforting sight of my house brings a sense of momentary relief. Inside, the faint smell of Lysol and the soft hum of the refrigerator greet us.

Jonas heads straight for the guest room to freshen up while I make a beeline for my bedroom.

Stripping off my travel-worn clothes, I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress and grime of the past few days. I close my eyes, thinking back to the first time I met Delilah. She was working at Hidden Gems in Vegas; her energy was infectious. It feels like a lifetime ago.

I remember how she laughed at my terrible jokes and her eyes lit up when she talked about her marketing goals. She was everything I didn't know I was looking for. And now, I've let her down in the worst way possible.

How do I fix this? How do I prove that I can be the man she needs me to be?

After the shower, I dress in a fresh shirt and jeans, running a hand through my damp hair. I find Jonas in the living room, scrolling on his phone. He looks up as I enter, a question in his eyes.

"You ready?" I ask.

He nods, pocketing his phone. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

The drive to the address Mom sent us is a journey through the residential streets of the Chicago neighborhoods. The house we're heading to is in a quieter part of town, not far from my place.

When we arrive, the house is surprisingly modest—a townhouse with a neat lawn and a welcoming porch. Mom's car is already parked in the driveway.

We exchange a glance before heading up to the porch. The wooden steps creak slightly under our weight as we approach the door. I reach out, my hand hesitating for just a moment before I knock. The sound echoes through the quiet neighborhood, and we wait, anticipation of why we're here building.

Then, the door swings open, and there she is—my little doe, Delilah. Her smile is radiant, and my heart races, my stomach somersaulting with nerves at the sight of her.