The Brink by Shayla Black

Liam strode down the corridor toward the remodeled rooms—and Gwyneth. He’d spent the last four hours dodging her calls while trying to figure out if Kyle was his son. A babe with Gwyneth… Oh, god. Though the boy couldn’t choose who his mother was, Liam didn’t relish dealing with that bitch for the next eighteen years, especially while he tried to cement his precarious threesome with Raine and Hammer.

This morning in the car, he’d taken his frustration out on the wee lass. The unreasonable jealousy had twisted his thoughts, clouded his judgment. Why else would he have rejected her? The way she’d withdrawn to ward off the pain he’d inflicted still soured his gut with raw guilt and shame.

And despite knowing how badly he’d screwed up, Liam wondered right now what his best friend was doing to the woman they loved.

Fuck.He tried to shake the vision free and concentrate on the coming battle with Gwyneth. But the news of Bill’s threat waited there to gnaw at his composure, too.

God, the day was already a catastrophe. Hammer’s lie to Raine only added to the shit. And Liam didn’t dare ask what else could go wrong. Nor could he let his ex-wife see him rattled. He needed to put himself on lockdown—fast.

As he reached the end of the hall, Liam donned a mask of indifference, then opened the door Pike had stashed Gwyneth behind.

From the portal, he surveyed the room. In a playpen sat the boy with a smattering of dark curls atop his round head and big, dark eyes. They had that much in common. He jerked a little blue rattle in his tiny fist and cried loudly. Tears soaked his bright red cheeks.

Where is your mother?

Liam heard the hum of a blow dryer behind the closed bathroom door. The baby was upset, and Gwyneth thought it was a fine time to do her hair?

With a sigh, he glanced back to the tyke. Now was as good a time as any to see if he could find more than a hint of resemblance.

Carefully, he lifted the baby and brought him closer. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Fat cheeks, a roly-poly belly, and a tiny little mouth. Could this be his son? If so, shouldn’t he recognize his own progeny on some level? He frowned.

“She named you Kyle, did she?”

At the sound of his voice, the boy calmed, those big eyes following Liam as his lower lip pouted and quivered between occasional hiccups. Liam repressed a smile. Then he felt something wet on his thigh and realized the babe’s nappy was drenched.

Seeing a half-opened bag of diapers and a box of wipes beside it, he scooped up one of each. Holding the baby away from his shirt, he laid the child on the bed. Kyle immediately began crying again, but Liam softly shushed him as he examined the diaper, wondering exactly how it fit together. A tab at each hip appeared to keep it secure.

When Liam removed the wet diaper, a miracle occurred. Kyle—most definitely a boy—quit crying. Liam’s ears stopped ringing. A minute or two later, he’d wiped the baby down and swaddled him in a new nappy. Not bad for a first attempt.

Liam brought Kyle against his chest. He and the boy examined one another.

This could be my son.

And maybe not. After all, while they’d been married, Gwyneth had been fucking her personal trainer.

Those little lips trembled again, and Liam gave him a teasing scowl. “Shh. There’s no bawling in a BDSM club. You’ll scare the members away.”

A little frown fell between those bright brown eyes—a startling resemblance to his own—then a chubby fist made its way to the mouth, and Kyle began sucking.

“Are you hungry, then? You look like you could use a decent steak.”

“He’ll have to make do with formula and strained vegetables,” said a familiar voice.

Liam turned to find Gwyneth standing in the door to the bathroom, a little smile hovering on her face.

His ex-wife looked markedly different since he’d seen her last. Her long platinum hair still hung sleek and straight, but her face was mostly naked. She wore a shapeless black sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans, sans shoes. Liam frowned. He couldn’t recall Gwyneth ever looking so casual. Hell, he didn’t remember her even owning a pair of jeans when they’d been married. In fact, without Prada, Vuitton, and camera-ready makeup, he almost didn’t recognize her. The cool, elegant wife he remembered had been replaced by a seemingly normal, if tired, new mother simply trying to cope.

He almost felt sorry for her…but not quite.

Before today, he’d seen her exactly once since their divorce. For him, that had been one time too many. As far as he was concerned, he had moved on and found true love. Gwyneth being here could only fuck that up.

With a tentative smile, she approached, presenting her cheek for him to kiss.

Liam handed her the baby and backed away. “Gwyneth.”

She took the boy, the welcome in her face faltering. “It’s good to see you. Isn’t it, Kyle?”

“Why are you here?”

The child opened his little mouth, and his face scrunched up in displeasure. His lungs expanded, and an ear-piercing wail tore from his throat.

Wincing, Gwyneth shot Liam a pained expression. The squalling babe grabbed at her pale hair as she anxiously patted his back. “The travel has been hard on him. He’s off his sleep schedule.”

As she pulled a tissue from her pocket and cleaned the boy’s cheeks and nose, Liam continued to scan the little face.

Once the lad had calmed, he pinned his ex with a curious gaze. “Whose child is that?”

She drew in a deep breath, collecting herself, before stepping toward him. “Please sit down, Liam. I—we—have come a long way because there’s something important I must tell you. I realize this is sudden, but I hope you’ll hear me out.”

Liam tensed as she sat on the edge of the bed and juggled the baby in her lap, waiting for him to take a seat in the nearby chair.

He didn’t. “You’re lucky I took your call at all, much less came to see you. Answer my question. Whose baby is that?”

She took a deep breath. “This is Kyle. He’s our son.”

Actually hearing his worst fear spoken aloud sent icy dread sliding down his spine. The gravity of the situation hit him full force. He darted a glance between Gwyneth and the boy. Was it possible? He wished like hell he could remember the night of the benefit.

Liam crossed his arms over his chest, trying to read her expression. He saw nothing except an anxious, slightly doe-eyed stare he didn’t quite believe.

But why would she be here if he hadn’t fathered her son? Gwyneth didn’t need money. Not only had he given her half of his fortune in the divorce, she was the youngest daughter of a very wealthy, doting father. She didn’t need a husband to raise a baby; she could just hire a nanny. When this child had been conceived, they’d already been divorced, so it wasn’t as if she needed to dupe her trusting spouse into believing another man’s seed was his own. And if she’d waited all this time to inform him that he’d become a father, she didn’t need a last name for the birth certificate.

So what did she want? And why had she come to him?

“Is he now?” Liam asked.

She looked a little crestfallen. “Yes. I know I’ve shocked you. But…” Gwyneth sent him a pleading stare. “I couldn’t keep you apart from your son any longer, darling.”

Gwyneth expected him to believe that his feelings suddenly mattered? That didn’t sound like the woman he remembered.

Liam gave her a contemptuous snort. “Christ, woman. Let’s get one thing straight before you say another word. I’m not your darling, your dearest, your husband, or anything else anymore.”

She had the good grace to look contrite.

“Why did it take you six months to reach the conclusion that I need to know my supposed son?”

“Five and a half, actually,” she hedged.

Because those two weeks make a huge difference.

“Why didn’t you bother telling me you were bloody pregnant in the first place? You had nine months to reach out then.”

Liam was quickly losing his patience. He glanced at the lone chair in the room near her—and remained standing.

“Well, that night, after the benefit, in my hotel room…it was like old times. You were charming and loving. It was glorious.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I was drunk.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Our lovemaking was magical. I was thrilled you wanted me again. I thought it was a new beginning for us, Liam.”

Nausea turned his stomach. Was it possible he’d been soused enough to fuck her? If he had, he doubted he’d thought of anything as practical as birth control.

“But when you woke, you were surly and couldn’t leave fast enough. I’d just realized I was still in love with you, so I was devastated.” She teared up. “Yes, I’d made terrible mistakes during our marriage—”

“That doesn’t matter now. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

“Well, I moved to London to lick my wounds. Then my father fell terminally ill.” She stopped as if anticipating sympathy. When he gave none, she continued. “Between caretaking and settling into my new flat, I didn’t realize I was pregnant. Once the doctor confirmed it, I tried to reach you. But you’d changed your number. I knew you no longer wanted me, and I was hurt. I grieved. I became determined to raise your baby on my own to make up for the wrongs I’d done to you.”

“Or rather, you decided that because I wasn’t your prince charming, you’d punish me by withholding my son.”

She swallowed. “No. You left me no way to contact you.”

“Please. I might have changed my mobile number, but you knew where I lived up until a few months ago. You could have written me a letter, e-mailed, or called my work.”

“I didn’t think the post or an electronic message was the proper way to tell you that you’d soon be a father. I didn’t contact your business because you’re often traveling, and your secretary reads everything first.” Gwyneth gave him a delicate grimace. “I realize now it was very wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

Wasn’t that just like her, sweeping the unforgivable under the carpet at every turn? Before the divorce, Liam had found it difficult to absolve her of cheating. He’d tried but fallen short. Forgiving her for keeping his son—if Kyle was his—from him? Impossible.

Inwardly counting to ten, Liam bit back his anger. “I’m not buying into this story without a paternity test.”

“I brought proof. Look.” Moving to the dresser, she grabbed a stack of documents, then handed them to Liam. “See? Here’s his birth certificate, his immunization records. I even have ultrasounds of my pregnancy.”

Reluctantly, he shuffled through the papers in his hand. Details jumped out at him, like the child’s surname. O’Neill. Almost choking, he noted the boy’s birthdate and weight, scanned the ultrasound pictures, which looked like little more than a strange blur of shapes and shadows.

Liam wasn’t moved. Sure, she had documents to support her claims, but until he had undeniable proof that he’d fathered the boy, he was skeptical. “Kyle may be your son, but none of this proves he’s mine. I want a paternity test.”

“I haven’t been with anyone but you since we separated,” she pleaded with big green eyes.

If, by some miracle, she was telling the truth, that would make him Kyle’s father. But Gwyneth abstaining would be akin to a miracle. “I don’t care.”

“Liam, what kind of awful parents would we be if we subjected our son to such humiliation?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The lad isn’t old enough to know what’s happening. It won’t hurt him. We don’t even have to draw blood. I merely have to swab the inside of his cheek.”

She swiveled away, drawing the baby closer to her body as if shielding him. “That’s unnecessary. I know I hurt you before, but I wouldn’t lie about something as important as this.”

He arched a sharp brow. “I found you fucking two men while you wore my wedding ring. I think you’d lie about anything if it suited you.”

“Don’t use that language in front of the baby.” She covered one little ear.

Liam rolled his eyes. “He can’t even talk.”

“But he’s beginning to form his linguistic abilities. That’s not the sort of speech he should hear. I’ve been reading—”

“I’ll take his DNA sample this morning. Until the lab results come back, we’ve nothing more to discuss.”

“But he is our son,” she beseeched.

“We’ll see. I’ll be back with a swab shortly. Wait here.”

As he turned to leave, she clutched his arm. “Don’t go. I’ve brought Kyle here so you two could bond.” She paused and sent a tender glance into the boy’s face, then stared at Liam again. “He needs his father.”

“If he’s mine, then I will be a part of his life.”

“If? Look at him. You can’t deny that face.”

“I can until I have proof.”

“Please don’t take your anger for my mistakes out on Kyle. I’m sorry I’ve ruined everything.” Tears welled. “Had I not been so impulsive, had I realized I was throwing away a loving husband…” She paused, her chin quivering. “Being a mother has forced me to grow up. I’m not the same woman you married. I hurt you deeply, and you’ll never know how sorry I am.”

She sounded remorseful, but he wondered if she was actually capable of giving a shit about anyone else, much less feeling regret.

Liam pursed his lips. “I’m not buying it, Gwyneth. It’s unlike you not to hound me for more—more money, a bigger house, child support, a bigger fucking wardrobe. Why haven’t you?”

“I…” She seemed to shrink before his eyes. “I was ashamed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you really going to make me explain? I was ashamed by my actions, Liam.” An aching sadness spread across her face. “I know the trust we once shared is long gone, even if my feelings for you remain. I understand if you’re too wounded to find it in your heart to forgive me now. But don’t turn your back on our son.”

Liam frowned at the sleepy-eyed tyke. “I’ve told you, I’ll be a father to the child, if he’s mine.”

She laid a trembling hand on his arm. “You were always such a wonderful husband. I know you’ll be an amazing father. He’ll need that, especially now…”

The babe gave a huge yawn, looking as if he were bored.

“Meaning?”

She sniffled, taking a long moment to pull herself together.

“For pity’s sake, woman.” Liam shook his head. Open your mouth as easily as you open your legs. “What are you trying to say?”

“Kyle is suffering from some…issues you should know about.”

A little knot of worry formed in his gut. “Is he sick?”

“Not physically. His psychotherapist says—”

“His what?” Had she gone daft? Liam stared at the boy. “He’s not even six months old. Why would he need one of those?”

She laid the child down on the bed, boxing him in with pillows and covering him with a fuzzy blue blanket embroidered with a train.

“I told you this was a matter of life or death. Kyle has serious emotional issues.”

“Christ, what in-depth conversations could he possibly be having with a shrink?”

“Liam, these are his formative years.” Her voice hitched. “Kyle is withdrawn and unhappy. According to his doctor, he isn’t bonding properly. This kind of thing could ruin his life.”

Liam inspected the now sleeping baby’s demeanor. “He looks perfectly normal to me.”

“What ails him isn’t visible on the outside,” she protested. “Spend time with Kyle, and you’ll see that his emotional development is thwarted by the lack of an active male figure in his life. We cannot allow him to suffer, Liam.”

“Are you serious?”

“Try to keep up.” She placed a hand over her trembling lips. “He needs a family, a loving mother and father—together—to give him a sense of stability and security.”

So that’s what she wanted, to play happy family? Liam felt sick. “Let me be clear about one very important thing: If the paternity test bears out, we’ll share custody, not a life. You and I will never be together again. Until we have the results, I’ve nothing more to say.”

Turning for the door, Liam swallowed his shock. If he had to deal with Gwyneth for the whole of Kyle’s childhood, he would need a bloody psychotherapist. He wished to hell he could wake up from this nightmare and find himself lying next to Raine.

Raine.

Just the thought of her caused something to shatter inside him. His plans, hopes, and dreams of a future with her and Hammer looked precarious. They’d worked so hard and come through so much together already. Now, it seemed as if he was losing them. No relationship—especially one less than a day old—could withstand such a test.

At that realization, a giant fist reached into Liam’s chest and squeezed his heart.

Gwyneth grabbed at his sleeve. “You can’t turn your back on our son, Liam.”

He whirled on her. “How the hell do you expect me to react? You come here uninvited, tell me I’ve knocked you up, and that the boy you claim is mine suddenly needs a daddy. You honestly expect me to drop the life I’ve made since our divorce and play family man? With no proof?”

“I’d hoped you would be happy,” she sniveled. “You’re too noble to take your anger out on our innocent baby.”

He refused to pack his bags for the guilt trip she kept trying to take him on. “As soon as the boy wakes, text me. I’ll swab his cheek, then return you to your hotel. I’ll call you once I have the results.”

“I don’t have a hotel,” she confessed. “I’d hoped we’d be moving in with you.”

He tried hard not to choke.

“I know now you’ve found someone else…” Gwyneth sniffled. “Is she very pretty?”

“You will not be living with me, and anyone in my life is none of your business.” His voice was brittle as ice. “I’ll arrange a hotel for you and the boy. Text me when he wakes.”

“The boy?” she gasped. “Kyle is your son.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Before she could say another word, Liam left without a backward glance. As he strode down the corridor, he palmed his phone, quickly reading the messages Hammer had sent. A pacifier? Calculating bitch.

He fired a message back to Hammer.

Liam:Heads up. I haven’t taken out the trash yet. Meet me in the bar as soon as you can. I’ll fill you in.