Babymaker: A Best Friend's Secret Baby Romance

  Babymaker

  A Best Friend’s Secret Baby Romance

  B. B. Hamel

  Copyright © 2017 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Prologue: Avery

  1. Luke

  2. Avery

  3. Luke

  4. Avery

  5. Luke

  6. Avery

  7. Luke

  8. Avery

  9. Luke

  10. Avery

  11. Luke

  12. Avery

  13. Luke

  14. Avery

  15. Luke

  16. Avery

  17. Luke

  18. Avery

  19. Luke

  20. Avery

  21. Luke

  22. Avery

  23. Luke

  24. Avery

  25. Luke

  26. Avery

  Second Chance SEAL

  Go Hard

  Thank You

  Preview

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  Prologue: Avery

  “You have to run.”

  I stare at him, my eyes wide, pleading. He just shakes his head and looks away from me, down toward the creek that winds its way through our neighborhood. I reach up and touch his cheek but he pulls back.

  “I can’t run,” he says. “Nowhere to run, you know that.”

  “We can go to Mexico together. Raise our baby.”

  He turns toward me and takes my hand. His grip is hard as he pulls me against his hard, muscular body. Luke’s piercing green eyes stare down at me and I feel that same thrill I always feel when he touches me.

  “No,” he says simply.

  I keep thinking about the night I got pregnant. My legs spread wide, hands pressed against the windows of his truck as he slides himself deep inside of me, lips against my neck, my mouth, my chest. He fucked me rough and deep, made the whole truck shake, the windows fog. I came twice that night before he finally filled me, leaving me panting and sweating on the seat beside him.

  It was one of the best nights of my life. He didn’t make me wait long for more. He almost never does. Truth is, every night with Luke is the best night of my life, because he never quits until I get my fill and then some. He always has more for me, always waiting to give me more.

  “That’s no life for you,” he says to me softly. “Not for you or for my baby. You have something here. Maybe I don’t agree with your family, and they fucking hate me, but at least they can take care of you.”

  “Luke,” I say, biting back tears.

  “We both know I didn’t do this, but they think I did. And they’re gonna get me for it, no matter what we do. If I try and fight, try and run, it’ll only be worse for you. Right now, you have a chance here. I can’t risk that for you.”

  “You can’t leave me,” I whisper to him. “You can’t leave your baby.”

  That last word hurts. I can see the pain in his eyes. I know he’s doing what he thinks is right, turning himself in for a crime he didn’t commit, all to protect me. But I can’t stomach it. I can’t live in a world without Luke, with a child that’ll remind me of him every single day. It’s going to tear me apart. But I know I can’t change his mind, not Luke Harper. When he’s set on something, he never stops. It’s part of what I love about him.

  “Just go home,” he says softly, letting my hand drop and turning away.

  “Please,” I say, trying to control myself.

  He looks over his shoulder at me, one last look as a free man, and he starts walking. I want to kiss him, taste his lips, but that might hurt more than help. I stand there as the tears come, hot and hard and choking, but I don’t look away. I’m going to let this moment burn in my brain for the rest of my life. I won’t forget him, Luke Harper, free man, one of the best I know.

  He doesn’t turn back, probably can’t let himself, but I’m not pretending like he isn’t walking into his own execution.

  1

  Luke

  I park my truck outside of the drab brick building and sit there with the engine running for a couple minutes, staring out the window.

  Everything’s familiar, but it’s different. Five years passed by in the blink of an eye and I feel like the whole world’s left me behind, especially this fucking town. I can’t say I missed it, but I can’t imagine going anywhere else.

  Not when I have this anger inside of me and no other place to put it.

  I kill the engine and climb out. I grab my bag from the passenger seat. It’s filled with my only possessions in this whole world: a beat up laptop, some extra clothes, and my father’s revolver.

  I walk slowly up the concrete stairs until I get to the front door. I swipe the pod on my keys and it buzzes, letting me inside. I head up another staircase, down an unfamiliar hallway, until I’m finally standing outside of my apartment.

  I take a deep breath and let it out. This is home sweet fucking home.

  I unlock the door and step inside. It’s about as bad as I figured it’d be. Clean enough, though drafty and musty. One bedroom, one tiny kitchen with a refrigerator that looks like it’s on its last legs, and a tiny living room. Not a stick of furniture in the whole damn place, not even a bed.

  Doesn’t matter. I’m used to some bad living conditions. I put my bag on the top of the counter and slide the laptop out. I plug it in, boot it up, and look out the big window.

  Never thought I’d be back in Coldwyn. They told me I’d rot for at least twenty-five years, probably my whole fucking life. They told me I wouldn’t last a month behind bars.

  Five years later, they let me out. I don’t know how or why, but someone talked and admitted to hiding evidence. I got a new trial, and I was acquitted. I got an apology and a kick in the ass, and now here I am, back in Coldwyn, in the place that turned its back on me, called me a killer, and locked me up for a crime I didn’t commit.

  I log into Facebook and type in her name. Avery Seller’s profile shows up on my screen. I can’t see much about her, since it’s set to private, but I can see her picture. It’s Avery, the same Avery I remember, hugging a little boy close against her. I feel my heart flutter as I recognize his deep green eyes, his jaw, his nose. I stare at that picture for what feels like an eternity.

  My mouse hovers over the “Add Friend” button. I stare at it, dare myself to click it. I haven’t heard a word from her in five years, which doesn’t exactly surprise me, but it still hurts. She had my baby, my fucking son, and I didn’t hear a peep. She knew I was innocent. She was the only one who believed it.

  But when I told her to move the fuck on, I guess she actually listened. I guess she felt she couldn’t so much as write me a letter, see how I was doing.

  I would’ve told her this: I’m doing fucking fine. I’m surviving. I’m counting the days until I can get my revenge.

  And now that day’s here a little sooner than I thought it would be.

  I want to click that button. I want to get a phone and call her old number, see if she picks up just to hear her voice. I don’t want to see her, but I do. Avery was everything to me, the only girl I’ve ever loved, and she’s the mother of my child. I m
iss her lips, the way she laughs, her hands on my body. I miss the way we’d sit up talking after we fucked, bodies dripping sweat, but all we’d want to do was talk, talk, talk, unable to get enough of each other.

  I haven’t felt that in a long time. Five long years in a concrete cell.

  I slam the laptop lid shut and look at the clock over the stove. It’s a little after nine in the morning. I need to get going. I leave the laptop and my bag, grab my keys, and head back outside.

  Back in fucking Coldwyn. Never thought it would happen, but they better watch out.

  “You’re late.” Uncle Nick looks up from his computer and frowns.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Dropped my stuff off at the apartment first.”

  He nods a bit. “How is it?”

  “Shit,” I say. “But better than prison.”

  He cracks a little smile. “Good. Got your first job in there.” He nods back toward the garage.

  I cross my arms and hesitate. “Listen, I hate to ask this. But can I get an advance? I need to pay rent, get some furniture, some groceries. I’ll work it off, overtime if I gotta.”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “On the desk there.” He nods at a little white envelope. “Go ahead, take it.”

  I pick it up. There must be a few hundred dollars in cash. “This is too much.”

  He watches me for a second. “Son, you rotted in jail for five years for a murder you didn’t commit. And now they toss you out here, no help, no nothing. Someone’s got to look out for you.”

  I glance away from him. I hate the way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m some fucking charity case. Like they have to pity me. But truth is, I need Uncle Nick’s help right now.

  My parents are dead now. Dad died years ago, when I was still a kid. Smoked his whole life and it caught up with him. Mom died when I was behind bars, I think of a broken heart, or at least that’s what Uncle Nick tells me. I think it was just from plain old drinking, which she always did even before I went away. I guess she hit the bottle harder, and she couldn’t handle it.

  Now I’m alone in this world, and so be it. Uncle Nick picked me up from prison, let me crash on his couch, even gave me my father’s gun and some other stuff. I tossed the rest, kept the revolver, found an apartment, and now here I am, working in Uncle Nick’s garage. Fortunately, I’ve always been good at fixing cars, so I’m not a total fucking leech.

  “I appreciate this,” I say. “I’ll work it off.”

  He shrugs. “Do or don’t, I don’t care. Consider it a welcome home gift if you want.”

  “I’ll pay you back.” I slip the envelope into my jeans.

  “Anyway,” he says, glancing back at his computer. “Better get to work.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

  He shrugs and goes back to whatever he was doing. Uncle Nick is like that, the strong and silent type. He’s getting heavier in his old age, with a thick white beard and light blue eyes. He almost looks like Santa Claus, if it weren’t for the pockmarks that pit his face from when he was a kid.

  The marks made him ugly, probably kept him from finding a wife, so now he lives alone and owns his garage, fixing cars, drinking on the weekends, just getting by.

  I turn away and get to work. I don’t know where I’d be without Uncle Nick. Probably homeless. Instead, I’ve got a job, and I’ve got an apartment. Now I’ve got some money to start putting my life together.

  And to start trying to find the bastards that set me up.

  2

  Avery

  It feels like every time I turn on the TV, he’s there, staring right back at me.

  We don’t get a lot of murders in Coldwyn, Maine. It’s a small town, a few miles from the coast, and it’s only claim to fame is the paper mill that employs pretty much the entire town. Seller Walker Paper is a titan in this part of the state, and as the daughter of Robert Seller, one of the founders and owners of Seller Walker, people like to think I’m smalltown royalty.

  I don’t think I’m royalty. I think I’m more like a prisoner.

  Five years ago, the murder of Lucinda Chavez, mother of three, was all over the news. The media obsessed about the case. It was heartbreaking, these poor little children left without their mother, all because of some monstrous drunk driver. It was a hit and run, with only one eyewitness, but that was enough to get the killer locked up. Good riddance too, Coldwyn doesn’t need a man like that running around its streets, and even better that his last name is Harper. That family is trash, plain and simple. Their son must be trash, too.

  At least that was how everyone talked about it. Soon enough it disappeared from the conversation, but I never stopped thinking about it. Not even once.

  Now, five years later, it’s back. Coldwyn doesn’t get a lot of murders, and they’ve never had a murder that was overturned due to a wrongful conviction. The news rocked the state, especially our little town.

  I remember seeing him for the first time in years when I turned on the TV. It was Luke, coming out of the courthouse, head held high, flanked by his uncle and his lawyer. Luke looked into the camera and I thought he was staring right into me. His eyes were still that deep, incredible green, but there was a hardness in him. I still saw the boy I fell in love with, now five years older, but he was something else as well.

  Two weeks pass, and the news doesn’t let up. They talk about Luke pretty much every day, and not a day goes by when I don’t see him staring back at me. I recognize him in my son Max, which is hard enough, but it’s even worse to see the man himself.

  “Mommy, my castle is big.” I look over at Max and he smiles at me, waving his arms. A pile of Legos is in front of him, and he’s building a roughly castle-shaped structure.

  “Very good, sweetie,” I say, smiling at him. He picks up a few more blocks and gets back to building.

  I stare at the television. I don’t hear what the newscaster’s saying. I just see Luke, his eyes green like his son, his face handsome, his body still lean and muscular. It makes me think of all those nights together, his hands on my body, his mouth against mine.

  That was the last time I was touched by a man, five years ago.

  “Avery.”

  I look up, surprised. My father’s standing in the door of the living room, a little frown on his face. He’s tall, about the same height as Luke actually, and rail thin. He’s a marathon runner, and it shows. His eyes are dark gray and his hair is thinning on the top, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s dressed for work, dress slacks and a polo shirt.

  “Yes?” I answer.

  He glances at the TV and back to me. “A word?”

  I get up off the couch slowly. “Stay here, Maxy,” I say.

  He just nods and keeps playing. I follow my father into the kitchen. He goes and pours himself a cup of coffee and I lean up against the counter, watching him carefully.

  I was waiting for this conversation. I knew it was just a matter of time. We haven’t spoken about Luke in a few years, mainly because I’ve done as I was told, which always makes my daddy dearest happy. I live in his house, am dependent on his money, and I have no other choice. I’d be on the street if it weren’t for my parents. As it turns out, raising a child and trying to go to college isn’t exactly easy. I graduated from our local community college with a two-year degree, but I haven’t been able to find a full-time job. I work as a receptionist for a doctor in town, despite my father trying to get me to come to work for him at the mill.

  I don’t want to be any more reliant on him than I have to be. Eventually I’ll get a real full-time job and move out. If it weren’t for my little project these last five years, I’d have enough saved up already, but as it is, I’m stuck.

  So I do as daddy says, and I wait, just like I always have.

  “You’ve been watching the news,” he says to me, sipping his coffee. It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “And you know he’s out?”

  I nod slowly. “I know.”

>   “Doesn’t change a thing.”

  His words don’t surprise me, but they still hurt. “He didn’t do it,” I say softly to him, trying to contain my rage.

  That’s all I’ve been doing these last five years, trying to contain my rage.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says to me. “You think that’s the only reason we wanted you to stay away from him?”

  “Yes,” I say. “That’s what you said. He’s a killer, he’s not good for me. But he’s not. He was innocent.”

  “He’s a Harper,” Daddy says, as if that proves anything. “He’s trash. His whole family is trash. He got my only girl pregnant at eighteen and left her alone to raise her son.”

  I clench my jaw. “He didn’t exactly run off.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He locks eyes with me. “Stay away from him, Avery. Nothing’s changed. You still need our help, and don’t forget it. I want to take care of you and my grandson, but I won’t have that fucking kid around here.”

  I have to take a deep breath to keep from screaming at him. But as soon as the need to rage and shout comes on me, I let it pass over and wash away like I’ve done countless times.

  I’ve gotten good at keeping myself calm.

  “Whatever you say, Daddy.”

  He smiles. “Good. That’s my girl.” He pats my shoulder. “You got work today?”

  I shake my head. “Tomorrow.”