Page 17 of Discretion at Its Finest

The calm in his voice scared me more than if he’d yelled. No fight in it, no space for me to argue. The decision was final, almost like the choice had never been mine to begin with.

“His father’s the one who’s supposed to be here with him,” I snapped under my breath, pulse pounding, “but instead, you’ve got him buried under twice the work, and you keep showing up where you don’t belong.”

For the first time this morning, Reid’s cocky smirk faltered. His eyes darkened, catching every ounce of bite in my words. The shift was small, but I felt it like a strike. For a moment, silence stretched, heavy, daring me to look away first.

Then, with infuriating ease, his grin returned. “Guess you’ll need someone to help cheer him on then,” Reid said smoothly, as if the sting had never landed. “Lucky for you, I’ve cleared my morning.”

The field was already a circus.

A dozen toddlers in jerseys two sizes too big swarmed around the single ball, tripping over their own feet and each other. One boy stopped mid-play to chase a butterfly, while a little girl in pigtails sat cross-legged in the grass, examining her shoelaces like it was the first time she’d noticed them.

“Okay—no, no, this way!” Coach Dan called, his whistle shrill as he flapped his arms toward the lone goal standing crooked at the far end. It was almost as if teaching this sport was a passion of his. I could only wonder if he’d considered who he would be teaching and how their ages essentially disqualified them from learning much of anything.

The parents on the sidelines laughed, a chorus of amused chuckles at the chaos unraveling across the grass.

Eugene darted after the ball, legs pumping furiously, his grin wide and fearless. He stumbled, caught himself, and kept going, laughing so hard he nearly toppled over again. My chest filled at the sight, the simple joy of it.

“He’s got your stubbornness, that’s for sure.”

The words cut across my thoughts. I stiffened, pulse skipping as I was reminded that Reid had settled into the folding chair beside mine, his arm draped lazily over the back like it belonged there.

I didn’t look at him. My eyes stayed fixed on the field, on Eugene, who was now tangled with another boy as they both tried to claim the ball. “You shouldn’t be here,” I murmured, and he hummed, the sound of it making my stomach twist.

“You said that plenty of times already.”

“And yet you can’t take a hint.”

Reid’s mouth curved, eyes still on the field. “Funny. You say that, but you still let me drive this morning.”

My stomach knotted. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“Exactly. That’s how this works now.”

Silence settled between us, broken only by the shrill whistle and the kids tumbling over each other in the grass. I forced my focus on Eugene, cheering when he managed to kick the ball, even though it rolled straight out of bounds.

Reid didn’t laugh like the other parents did. He leaned closer instead, his words brushing against me, too soft for anyone else to catch—but soft enough to make me feel weak, for my hands to tremble at his closeness.

“You’ll get used to being seen with me. It won’t be long before people begin to speculate why you’re spending time with your fiancé’s brother.”

“Is that your goal? To give our family another scandal? To humiliate me?”

“Why shouldn’t it be? You let it happen to me.”

Turning to him, I found his gaze already waiting for me, dark and unflinching. My breath caught, the noise of the field fading beneath the pressure of it.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say, not here, the children’s laughter carrying across the grass. But the weight of his stare was louder than words, promising this wasn’t finished.

He didn’t need to say more. The accusation was enough.

The words dug into places I’d spent years trying to seal shut. Memories I’d forced down until they blurred at the edges: his hand in mine, the nights we spent together, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. And the day I let it all slip through my fingers.

I cheered weakly as the coach blew the whistle for their second water break. Eugene came barreling toward us, cheeks flushed, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his grin stretching wide.

“You’re a machine out there, bud.” Reid leaned forward, his voice warm, his charismatic smile slipping on like a mask. He could fool everyone with it… everyone but me.

Eugene lowered his arms, his face tensing as he flexed his imaginary muscles. “A MACHINE!” he practically growled as I handed him his water bottle.

He took a long gulp before fumbling with the cap, his little fingers too slick to twist it back on as he huffed in frustration. This was a ritual he’d adopted in the last month or so, little spurts of toddler independence he’d take on before he inevitably asked me to finish the job.