reeling from the news of her nephew’s illness, this latest addition to the conversation caused a serious information overload.
“Our baby?” Ashley repeated, certain she’d misunderstood him.
“Our baby,” he verified.
The words seemed to stick in his throat. And probably did. After all, he was talking to her. They weren’t friends. In fact, the last thing Brayden had said to her two years, seven months and four days ago was that he hoped like hell he never saw her face again.
She’d given him that. Ashley had disappeared from his life. From her nephew’s.
From her own life.
“The doctors think a sibling donor is Colton’s best chance for a bone marrow match,” Brayden continued. “Because the DNA will be similar.”
So, she’d heard him correctly. Her nephew had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. She and her former brother-in-law were the best bet for giving him that.
Oh, mercy.
When the full impact of that hit her, her heart landed somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. And because she didn’t want to risk something as dignity-reducing as her legs giving way, Ashley sat back down.
“It’s not a hundred percent,” Brayden went on. “I mean, nothing is. But at least this way there’s a fighting chance we’ll have a suitable donor. No one in my family matched. I’ve even contacted all of your relatives, including distant cousins. No luck. And there’s not a match in the international bone marrow registry, either.”
“Oh, mercy.” Ashley searched for whatever she was supposed to say in a situation like this and came up with a total blank. “A lawyer without an immediate opinion. That’s one for the record.”
“Well, this isn’t an everyday occurrence.” He groaned, scrubbed his hands over his face and tipped his eyes toward the ceiling as if seeking divine guidance. “I should have found a better way to say it.”
“Trust me, there was no better way to say what you just said. Besides, you got your point across—believe me. A baby,” Ashley mumbled, aware that by repeating it, she was starting to sound a little psychotic. “Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor, huh?”
He shrugged. And made a sound of agreement. A mild sound. Which wasn’t congruent with his rigid posture. In that calf-length black coat with a dark blue suit beneath it and with his conservative, short, bronze-colored hair, Brayden looked much like a judge or a military officer standing at attention.
Or perhaps waiting for a firing squad.
“I know it’s a lot to ask…especially since you have a new life here.”
“A new life not by choice,” Ashley reminded him, lifting her index finger in a let’s-not-forget-that-little-detail gesture. “But out of necessity.”
He nodded. “Because of the stalker.”
Oh, yes. Always the stalker.
A person who might or might not be her former client, Hyatt Chapman. A name that even now caused her lungs to tighten and her breath to go thin. The sociopathic slime, whoever he was, had given her some of the most terrifying and troubling moments of her life—excluding her sister’s death.
And this, of course.
This definitely qualified as troubling.
Ironically, it was easier to talk to Brayden about a crazed stalker who had threatened, and tried to kill her than it was to discuss her nephew’s illness or a possible baby. So, Ashley let her mouth go where her brain was already gladly leading her. “I haven’t received any threatening letters or calls since I changed my name and moved here.”
Another nod. “That’s good.”
The words were right, but Brayden’s body language added an important postscript to it. It was good that the stalker hadn’t found her, but if—and that was a huge if—she considered what he’d just asked her to consider, it would almost certainly mean her coming out of hiding.
It would also probably mean having to deal with the stalker all over again.
Oh, mercy.
Ashley wasn’t sure she was ready for round two.
Round one had nearly killed her.
“And I really have started over here,” she continued, talking more to herself than to him. “I mean, I’m doing something that matters.”
For once in her life.
Of course, that was the problem with doing something that mattered. It didn’t automatically exclude other things that mattered, too.
Like her nephew.
But a baby? This was no easy fix. No easy choice.
Brayden walked closer, hovered over her a moment and sank down onto the chair across from her. Directly across. The knees of his pants brushed against her jeans.
His gaze met hers. And there it was. That shock of stunning green. She’d almost forgotten all those tones of vibrant color in his eyes.
Almost.
What she hadn’t almost forgotten was his face. Ruggedly handsome by anyone’s standards. Good Celtic cheekbones. A naturally tanned complexion. Toned and lean.
He was thirty-three now and had tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Character lines, people called them. As if he needed any more character on that face.
Brayden pulled his gaze from hers. Shook his head. Mumbled something indistinguishable. And rammed his hands into both sides of his hair. “I wouldn’t have asked if—”
“If it weren’t for Colton,” Ashley finished. “Oh, I really do know that. I can only imagine what it cost you to come here today.”
Eye contact again. Barely a glance, though. He even cleared his throat. In the six-plus years she’d known Brayden O’Malley, she’d never heard him clear his throat. Ditto for any nervous gestures. The Rock of Gibraltar, Dana had called him. But today, Ashley was seeing a very different side of the Rock. The edges were definitely crumbling a bit.
“And I can imagine what it’s costing you to even consider it,” he admitted.
Touché.
There was an understanding, maybe even a bizarre empathy, left between them after all. And of course the memories were there, too. Lots of memories. Of the old professional arguments between a dedicated homicide cop and an equally dedicated and frequent pain-in-the-ass criminal defense attorney.
And they especially had all the old arguments about Dana between them.
Well, one argument really. The one where they’d accused each other of getting Dana killed.
I hope like hell I never see your face again.
Because those words Brayden had said to her long
