Page 122 of Made for Wilde

I let out a bitter laugh that turns into a wince. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms right now, in case you missed that part.”

Dana leans forward, her expression growing serious. “Well, you need to get on speaking terms. Fast.”

“Dana—”

“No, listen to me.” She cuts me off with a sharp gesture. “That baby you two are having? She deserves a grandfather who’s part of her life. And Charlotte deserves to have a father who’s at the hospital with her when she gives birth.”

The words hit me like another punch to the gut. I picture Charlotte in a hospital bed, scared and in pain, with only me beside her. No father holding her hand. No family beyond what I can provide.

“Don’t let your pride rob your child of family,” Dana continues, her voice softening slightly. “You and Jason have been friends for decades. That has to count for something.”

I stare into my coffee mug, watching steam rise from the dark surface.

“Jason has every right to hate me.”

“Maybe.” Dana squeezes my hand once before releasing it. “But that doesn’t mean you stop trying to make it right.”

Then she stands abruptly and gathers her purse.

“Where are you going?”

“Damage control.” She slings the purse strap over her shoulder. “Worthington Sports is one of the sponsors of the beauty academy. I’m about to go convince Darian DeLuca not to press charges against you.”

“Press charges?” I push myself up from the chair, ignoring the flare of pain. “For what?”

“Disturbing the peace. Public fighting on school property. Take your pick.” Dana moves toward the door. “Half the school saw Jason beat you bloody in that hallway. If DeLuca wants to make an example, he could.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I was so focused on losing Jason’s friendship that I didn’t consider the legal ramifications of our very public fight.

“Dana, wait.” I follow her toward the door. “You don’t have to clean up my mess.”

She pauses at the threshold, her hand on the door handle.

“Yes, I do. Because that’s what family does.” Her eyes soften as she looks at my battered face. “And because the baby that Charlotte’s carrying is going to be my niece. She deserves to have her father around, not sitting in a jail cell.”

The door closes behind her with a definitive click, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the echo of her words. I lean against the doorframe, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavier on my shoulders.

I sit in silence for several minutes, watching the steam rise from my coffee mug. Then I pull out my phone and do something I never thought I’d do again.

I text Jason.

*We need to talk. For Charlotte’s sake. For the baby.*

I stare at the screen, waiting. Three minutes later, my phone buzzes.

*Fit Mountain Resort. Room 412. 1 hour.*

It’s not forgiveness. It’s barely even acknowledgment. But it’s something. A chance.

I grab my truck keys and jacket, my decision made. This isn’t about me or Jason anymore. It’s about the family I never thought I’d have.

And I’ll be damned if I let my pride stand in the way of that.

The carpetedhallway of The Fit Mountain Resort feels miles long as I walk toward room 412. Each step sends pain shooting through my ribs, a physical reminder of where I stand with Jason. My heart pounds against my bruised chest as I stop in front of his door. I’ve rehearsed what to say the entire drive here, but now that I’m standing outside his room, the words evaporate like morning mist.

I raise my hand and knock before I can talk myself out of it.

Seconds stretch into what feels like hours. The hallway light buzzes overhead, unnaturally bright against the muted beige walls. I consider turning around, but then the lock clicks.