Sarah M. Anderson - His For One Night

“Be careful!” Kyle called as Brooke climbed into the car. “And call me if you need backup!”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. She just waved as Alex sped off.

How would people like Kyle react when he found out that she’d been sitting on the juiciest of details for months? She hoped people wouldn’t be too hurt that they hadn’t been important enough to be in the know, but, seriously, aside from the executives on her record label, the private OB/GYN and nurse who’d delivered Bean at Brooke’s home, the equally private pediatrician and Alex—and Mom, of course—no one else knew.

But she couldn’t hide her son forever. She wanted to take him to parks and the zoo and...and just out. She wanted to talk to other moms she knew about what was normal and what wasn’t. Hell, she wanted to take some pictures with Bean, not just cell phone shots. She wanted to do all the normal stuff with her son.

She didn’t want to hide. Not from her friends, not from her fans and not from Flash.

Worse, when she daydreamed about all those fun things, she wasn’t alone. Flash was next to her.

In her perfect world, Flash was by her side during the day and in her bed at night. Her son didn’t have to grow up without his father, like Brooke had. And she didn’t have to feel so alone anymore.

But that fantasy was just that—fantasy. Instead of that perfect world, she’d invited him home to tell him about Bean and also to not have sex with him.

The tension rolling off Alex was palatable, which had to be the only reason Brooke heard herself repeating the lie, “He’s just a friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Yeah, Alex wasn’t buying any of that as she took off for the 440.

From there, they’d take 40 west to the house she’d bought with the money her uncle had managed not to embezzle. Her home was on five fenced-in acres. If she had another hit record and successful tour, she had plans to completely renovate the sprawling mid-century ranch house. She hadn’t even been able to paint the rooms while she’d been pregnant because the smell of primer had made her sick.

“The show went well, don’t you think?” Brooke tried again, desperate for a subject change.

“Hon,” Alex said in her growly voice, “did you tell him about Bean?”

This was the problem with best friends. There was no hiding anything from them. Because of course Alex had figured out that the one show she’d missed was the rodeo in Texas.

“No,” she said, because more lies would only be an insult to Alex’s intelligence.

Alex thought that over as she began to weave through traffic like the devil himself was hot on their tail. Finally she asked, “Are you going to?”

Brooke had closed her eyes. Flash was the boy’s father. She simply didn’t have a choice.

“Yes,” she admitted, wondering why it felt like such a defeat. “But...”

“Yeah, I know—don’t tell your mother,” Alex grumbled. “She’ll find out sooner or later.”

Later , Brooke prayed. Please let it be much, much later.

Her mother had sat on the secret of Brooke’s paternity for twenty-some-odd years. Brooke could keep Flash a secret for just a little bit longer.

She was going to tell Flash about Bean and hope all he’d said about not letting his anger rule him was the truth. But...

God, it was selfish and wrong, but she wanted just one more time with him before she told him she was the mother of his child.

One last grasp at the woman she’d been a year ago. A lifetime ago.

Humming a melody that built itself around the words, she had to wonder—was bringing Flash to her home another huge mistake or the making of another perfect memory?

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