Disclaimer: I own nothing except the newly fixed Mac in which I wrote this on…
AN: Majorly psyched that ya'll are still interested in the world of RoA. Yes, I know I totally bombed pretty much every relationship. Hope ya like this new story, too. Read on, dudes.
Breakin' All The Rules
Salt Meets Wound
-xx-
"I've said it so many times:
I will change my ways—
No, never mind.
God knows I've tried.
Call me a sinner, call me a saint.
Tell me it's over,
I'll still love you the same.
Call me your favorite, call me the worst.
Tell me it's over,
I don't want you to hurt."
—Shinedown
-xx-
"What makes you think he's even yours?"
The words hit Lucas like a ton of bricks, and for a second he's paralyzed.
And then he snaps out of it, follows Brooke out of the elevator and into the penthouse. "What did you just say?" his fists ball up.
"You heard me, I didn't stutter." Brooke says curtly, continues walking towards the living room, "Hey, Vanessa," she puts on a polite smile, "Thanks for filling in on such short notice. Is he okay?"
Vanessa, the babysitter, nods, "Yeah, Ms. D." she answers, "Been sleeping since lunch. Perfect angel."
"Thank you. Cash is on the counter." The teen feels the building up tension, grabs her payment for the day's work and hurries on out of there.
Lucas steps closer to Brooke, "Hey! Conversation not over," he says, "What the fuck did you mean by that?"
"I meant that we weren't even together when I got pregnant—"
"—we were having sex,"
"ONCE!" Brooke cuts him off again, harshly pokes his chest with her index finger, "One time. One slip. Your name's not even on the birth certificate."
Lucas slaps her hand away, "STOP!" he grips her arms tightly, "Stop! Okay, don't say that! I'm his father! I know I am! Just stop lying! I know you wouldn't do that to me!"
Brooke struggles against the blonde's hold, "Let me go, you jackass!"
"I'm not lettin' go until you take it back!" Lucas growls, shakes her, "C'mon! You wouldn't do that to me! You wouldn't do that to us!"
Brooke's dainty hands fight to push him off, her fingernails dig into his arms painfully, "There is no us!" she shrieks, "You made sure of that when you published that damn book! Okay, you ruined us!"
SLAP! Her hand connects with his scruffy cheek brusquely, but Lucas continues undeterred, "Jesus, when are you gonna stop punishing me!" he yells in anger.
"FUCKIN' PUT ME DOWN!"
Their fight is cut off by a sudden loud wailing. In his crib, the six-month-old is now awake and crying up a storm.
Lucas immediately lets the tiny brunette go. He follows her as she rushes towards the crib, cradles the baby boy in her arms, "Sshh," she coos, "It's okay, baby, Mommy's here,"
Watching the scene feels like someone's just punched all the air out of him—he can't breathe. He and Brooke had been apart for a year now (when it became clear that at the rate they were going they'd both end up out of vases and plates and any other breakable objects to throw at each other's heads whenever they fought).
And there'd been that one night stand a little over a year ago.
Lucas ended up finding out Brooke was pregnant from the tabloids. The brunette hadn't even called to tell him she was in labor. His time with his son had been severely limited, and that was putting it mildly.
But now Brooke was saying that the baby wasn't his.
One thing's for sure, there is very little of Lucas Scott in the boy: he has his mother's dark chocolate-colored locks and perfect alabaster skin, and there's no trace of the family defect (an all too quaint nickname for HCM).
But there's something that's all Scott: he has navy-blue eyes—just like his father. And when Lucas stares into them he just knows.
Jackson Alexander Davis is his son. He has to be.
"That is my son." Lucas says through gritted teeth, "And I'll do whatever I have to do to prove it. You listenin' to me? I'll get a damn DNA test—"
"—you have no grounds for a DNA test." Brooke hisses, holds her baby closer to her chest, "Now get the hell out before I call security so they can drag your ass out of here."
And just knowing that his son is there, and that he's awake is enough for Lucas to get some self-control and step down. "Fine. I'll go." he relents, "But this isn't over, Brooke."
The blonde author pounds the elevator button, slams his fist against the wall.
The doors open to reveal Nathan Scott. "Hey, man," Nate greets, surprised to sun into his brother, "How're you?"
Lucas grins at the sight of his brother, "Hey, Nate," he greets, "What're you doin' here?"
"I came 'cause of everything with Clay's dad, wanted to drop in and visit B." Nate says, "I haven't even met the kid yet."
Lucas scoffs, "Yeah, good luck with that," he presses the lobby button.
"Whoa, what's goin' on, Luke?" Nate asks, furrows his brow.
"Brooke's a miserable bitch, that's what's going on." Lucas sneers, "Stop by my place later, we'll catch up." And with that, the elevator doors close.
Nate pauses for a second, shakes his head, "Jeez, the fuck was that all about?" Then he walks into the penthouse, shrugs off his coat, "Brooklyn Davis! Come out, come out wherever you are."
Brooke walks out of her bedroom, baby still in her arms. "Nathan Scott!" she exclaims, clearly surprised to find him in her apartment, "Oh my god!"
"Oh my god!" Nate shrieks mockingly, "Get over here," he pulls her in for a hug, careful not to squash the baby, "Holy shit, you really are a mother now."
Brooke flashes him a dimpled smile, "Yes, I am," she exclaims proudly.
"Hey, buddy," Nate coos, "you're pretty big, aren't ya? Gonna make a hell of a basketball player, man," he cuts his eyes back to the tiny brunette, "What's his name?"
"His name's Jackson, though Luke calls him Alex all the time." Brooke answers, walks off towards her bedroom, "I swear he does it only to annoy me."
Nate frowns, "Well, is it Jackson or is it Alex?" he asks confused.
"Jackson Alexander Davis." Brooke walks out of her bedroom in her ratty old Duke sweatshirt and a pair of short-shorts, her hands pulling her hair into a messy bun.
Nate rolls his eyes, "Jax it is, little man," he tells the baby, sets him back down in his crib, "It's really always halfway with you guys." he chuckles, shakes his head, "I swear you two idiots will still fight over the stupidest things." he says, "So. Gotta ask, what'd you do to Luke? He was fuming."
Brooke sighs, her lips pouting, "I...may have implied that he's not the father..." she mutters, crashes next to him on the couch.
"Okay, uh," Nate furrows his brow, "so before I get too attached, I'm gonna ask, is this my nephew?"
"Y-yeah. Yes. Yes. Of course it is." Brooke assures him, "Jeez, what kind of slut do you think I am?"
Nate winces, Brooke still packs a hell of an arm punch, "Well, then, why would you tell him that it isn't?"
"I never told him. I implied it." Brooke clarifies as if the distinction makes some big difference.
"What'd you go and do that for? Y'know how he gets."
"'Cause I was pissed off, and he had the nerve to show up here hungover," Brooke shrugs a shoulder, "Then it kind of slipped out."
"And you decided to punish him by implying that his son isn't in fact his son? Wow." Nate chuckles, shakes his head, "Luke was right—you really are a miserable bitch." he teases.
Brooke punches his arm again, "Shut up!" she shrieks, "Enough about me. Tell me about you. I've seen you play on ESPN. You're doing pretty good, 3 rings in four years, and a reputation as NBA's biggest playboy."
"Also as the Lakers' best point guard," Nate chimes in with a smirk, "No need to always focus on the bad stuff. Y'know I'm doing good, B. I don't see you guys as much as I want to, but other than that I'm living the dream. This was always the plan. I rock it in the NBA, you take over the fashion world, Clay kicks ass at the business world, and Rae's off being the next Doogie Howser. That was the dream, right?"
Brooke lets out a chuckle and then bursts out laughing. "Yes. I'm a single mom and Clay's father has just died and Rae's...she's in L.A. and you are still incapable of committing to anyone other than yourself. Yes. We really are living the dream here."
Nate wraps an arm around the brunette's shoulders, "Always glass half-empty with you, isn't it?" he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I've missed ya, Sunshine." he admits.
"I've missed you, too, Moody," Brooke says, rests her head against his shoulder, "Where are you staying anyways?"
"Well, basketball season's over. I think I'm gonna stay in town for a while." Nate shrugs, "The Imperial always has a room for NBA's bad boy."
"You know I have a spare room here."
"Thanks for the offer, B." Nate smirks, rubs the back of his head, "But, uh, I got a few of the Knicks' cheerleaders stopping by for a party later."
Brooke scoffs, slaps his chest playfully, "Four years after college and you are still whoring it up with anything in a cheer skirt."
"I'm not even gonna comment on that," Nate smirks, "Actually, before I leave I wanted to talk to you about the Clay situation."
Brooke immediately tenses up, "I think he's doing pretty well, all things considered."
"Look, I get that you're Clay's ultimate soul mate and all that crap so you think you know him better than anyone else, but trust me on this." Nate says seriously, "He's in deep shit here. Daddy's dead and buried, he never hugged Clay enough, and now every channel and tabloid is bashing him and taking bets on how long it'll be until he tanks Evans Enterprises."
Brooke leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, head cradled in her hands. She knows Clay isn't handling things very well. She just doesn't know what to do about it. And she's not used to not knowing, not when it comes to Clay. "Well, what do you propose we do about it, Dr. Phil?"
Nate leans forward, "I think it's time to call in Red."
"Seriously. Rachel?" Brooke sighs, "They haven't talked in over two years, what's she gonna do?"
"I don't know. Honestly, I'm a little worried right now. Jay and Hales got a divorce—and he's got a bastard kid! You and Luke are going at it 'cause you're...well, you're Brooke and Luke, and that's just what you two do. Rae's totally disconnected—I call, I text, I send her tickets to games—nothing. She just never shows. We should be happy but everyone's buried in too many fuckin' issues to enjoy any of it." Nate says calmly, "I'm serious, B.—Clay's in it deep, and we need the A-Team for this. You know, the Fantastic Four: Dimples, Moody, Freckles, and Dopey."
Brooke grins at the old nicknames, "Sometimes I think you romanticize those times a little too much."
"I don't." Nate answers with certainty. "We all fucked up a lot during the college years—hell, there's even a movie coming out soon to immortalize it. But you, me, Red and Clay? We're the best thing any of us ever did in college. You three are my best friends. And I'd never have made to where I am today without you guys. That's not romanticising things, that's just a fact."
Brooke smiles a dimpled smile, "Looks who's getting all sentimental all of a sudden,"
Nate rolls his eyes, "Don't change the subject," he says, "We were talking about Rae. I know she's out there being all kick-ass doctor and everything, but she should come down here. We need her...Clay needs her."
"Um," Brooke licks her lips, "you haven't talked to Rae at all?"
"I don't know, she returns my calls maybe once a month. Las time she told me I need to raise my hands on D, and that at least I'm pretty clutch. But I never see her." Nate's navy-blue eyes narrow as he catches a glint in the brunette's eyes, "Oh—you know something." he's sure of it. "You do. You know something. What do you know? And don't lie. I know you fly down to see her at least once a month. What's she hiding?"
"Nate–"
"Brooke." Nate cuts her off with a serious tone, "Don't BS me right now. Tell me what's goin' on."
Brooke opens her mouth then closes it, she shrugs, "I can't." she sighs, "I promised, Nate."
"B., it's me," Nate says, "What can't you tell me?"
"Trust me. There's some things you don't want to know." Brooke shakes her head, "There's some things you can't know."
Nate furrows his brow, focuses on his hands. Normally he doesn't worry about stuff. But when Brooke's worried—when it's about Rachel and Brooke's being this serious—Nate knows it must be something pretty fuckin' big.
-xx-
The former James-Jaglieski house in Hartford, Connecticut feels a little empty nowadays. They'd moved there after Jake finished law school, when they were still trying to work their marriage out. Haley had finished her master's degree during their stay in NoCal. She'd quit teaching high school English when she managed to land a prestigious teaching job in the English Department at Yale University.
Haley James is officially running behind schedule now. "Emma!" she calls out, "C'mon, I'm running late today, hon. We need to move it or I'm not gonna make my faculty meeting." she gathers up papers from her home office and haphazardly throws them in her purse. "Em, I mean it. Get down here."
The six-year-old comes skipping down the stairs, long blonde hair a mess, well-worn Chuck Taylors and a CoB t-shirt her godmother had designed for her last birthday. "I'm here, Mom," Emma James-Jaglieski says, "I'm ready. Lets go."
"Good, sweets," Haley presses a kiss to the top of her daughter's head, "You have everything you need for Dad's place—clothes, books—everything?"
Emma nods, "Yes, Mom." she shrugs, "I'm used to it now."
Haley swallows down the gulp that forms at her throat. It's been less than a year and she still isn't used to idea that Jake isn't her husband anymore. She's not Haley James-Jaglieski anymore.
She's not a wife anymore—she's reminded of the fact every time she notices the ring-line on the fourth finger of her left hand where her wedding ring used to be.
She's a divorcé now.
Some days she wonders how they let it get this bad.
But then she realizes she has to work, has to take care of her daughter, and cannot afford to waste time wondering what-ifs and shoulda-coulda-woulda. What's done is done.
"I know, baby. Okay, I know it sucks and it's been a tough couple of months, but...your Dad and I are trying—"
"—Mom, we're gonna be late." Emma is annoyingly smart and perceptive for her age.
Haley sighs, "Right." she nods, "Lets go, hon."
The mother and daughter buckle up into the Mazda CX-5 and start the drive down to New Haven, on a good day it takes a little under forty minutes. As previously arranged, Jake will be picking up Emma at Yale on his way back from the city.
The drive is quiet, an oldies station softly playing classic rock songs barely audible in the background. "I think your Aunt Brooke is gonna stop by tomorrow with Jackson."
Emma stares out the window, "I miss her." she says, "And I miss Aunt Rae, too."
"I know, babe," Haley answers, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. The redhead's been pretty MIA for a while now. Brooke tells her that they talk, and she knows the brunette heads down to LA at least once a month to check in on her best friend, but Haley hasn't talked to Rachel in months.
The redhead's pretty good at keeping up with Emma, though. She emails, sends gifts on birthdays and holidays. Still, her absence is palpable. Brooke's done a much better job at keeping in touch and showing up on a regular basis.
It's hard. And it truly was easier when they were just living a few blocks away from each and the biggest issue was wether or not they won the next game and made it onto the playoffs.
Divorce. Splitting custody of a kid. Illegitimate children and ex-girlfriends popping up.
Yeah, those were much more complicated issues to deal with.
-xx-
Jake uses his spare key to let himself into Lucas Scott's loft just off 40 East and 83th Street. "Luke," he calls out, "You here? I got the contracts you wanted."
Jake Jaglieski had opened his very own law firm with Sam Winchester in Hartford shortly after they'd graduated from Stanford Law. Hartford was close enough to New York for work, but far away enough so that Emma (and Dexter) could have a normal suburban lifestyle he and Haley had envisioned for their family.
Veritas Law Firm's client list grew fast enough. From big, well-renowned companies such as Davis Enterprises and Clothes-Over-Bro's, Fortitude, Epos Productions, Red Bedroom Records to independent celebrity clients such as Lakers' point guard Nate Scott, Steelers' QB Owen Morello and best-selling author Lucas Scott.
"Upstairs," calls out Lucas, his voice oddly detached.
"Right," Jake mutters to himself, takes off his suit's jacket. He scoffs at the sight: Lucas in last night's clothes standing over the bar pouring himself what Jake is certain isn't his first glass of Scotch for the day. "Shit, Luke. Isn't it a little early?"
Lucas turns around, the famous Scott-smirk playing on his lips, "Dropped in to see Brooke today," he hands his friend a glass of Dalmore neat. "She told me the kid isn't mine."
After a pause, Jake grabs the glass, "Of course she did," he says with a resigned tone. Jake's hands fiddle to pull off his black tie—he still hates ties, can't tie them properly. Haley used to do that part, she'd slap his hands off the tie playfully and easily knot up the garment, then she pressed a quick kiss to his lips when she was done. He shakes it off, sips the strong liquor—he doesn't wince at the taste anymore. "Is that a real possibility?" He asks offhand, his mind already running through a list of all the legal actions available for both Brooke and Lucas.
Lucas downs the glass in a single gulp, "Alex is mine. He has to be." he says, "I'd know if he weren't my kid."
"You need to pull it together, Luke." Jake says seriously, "Jesus, you're still in last night's clothes, you're drinking every other day—how do you ever expect to fix things up with Brooke this way?"
Lucas' eyes narrow, "Like you're some expert? Look how shitty your marriage ended up," he hisses.
"Go to hell, Lucas." Jake shoots back, jumps up and gets in Lucas' face. "I'm trying to look out for you!" he tells him, grips the collar of his shirt, "You're a fuckin' mess, man."
Lucas slaps his hands off, pushes him away, "Ya think!" he shouts, "Brooke doesn't want anything to do with me! And I can't take any of it back, Jay. The book, the movie—it's all FUCKIN' DONE! It's out there, and I can't take it back! And I don't want to take it back!" his hands run through his messy blonde locks and he slams the empty glass against a wall, "I got a kid she won't let me see—which, now, incidentally may or may not be mine!" he drops to the floor, back resting against the wall. "I don't know what to do, Jay..." he mutters sadly.
"Y'need to get your shit together, Luke," Jake says, extends his hand to Lucas and pulls him up to his feet, "One day at a time. And show Brooke that you are a good responsible father. I'm pretty sure that's all she's waiting for."
Lucas jerks his head towards the next room and flicks on the light: a large white crib with a little basketball mobile hanging above it, changing table, a rocking chair, blue walls with 'Jackson' painted right above the crib, and an old picture of Brooke and Lucas on the bed stand that holds a baby monitor, diapers, wipes, blankets and a few outfits. "I'm trying."
"It's good," Jake says, tucks his hands into his pants' pockets, "C'mon, I'm picking up Emma soon. You can see Haley and you can crash with me tonight. A night away from the city parties and the bar will do you good."
Lucas nods, "Thanks, Jay,"
Jake licks his lips, presses a halting hand to Lucas' chest, "If you ever talk about my marriage like that again, I swear to God I'll end you, Lucas." he says harshly, "I'm dead serious right now."
Lucas nods in understanding, "I'm sorry." he says sincerely, "I was out of line."
And he's really not in a position to lose his best friend right now.
-xx-
The click-clack of Brooke Davis' heels fill the empty reception of Evans Plaza. Hannah, the secretary, only smiles politely as the tiny brunette pushes the Bugaboo Cameleon Stroller into Clayton Evans' new office. It may be Clay's first day as the boss, but everyone knows that Brooke and Clay come as a package deal.
"Hey, Boss," Brooke greets as she takes a seat across the desk, parks the stroller next to her. She notes the half-empty bottle of Macallan among the many stacks of papers scattered across the large Parmian desk. "How you holding up, C.?"
Clay barely glances up from his computer, "Fine. Good. Busy." he answers automatically, "There's a lot to catch up on."
"I'd imagine..." Brooke answers quietly, wonders if his bloodshot eyes are from drinking or crying or god knows what else. She sighs, "I saw the 'special program'. Want to talk about it?"
"A bunch of bullshit like always. I'm used to it."
Brooke stands up, closes the laptop and locks eyes with Clay, "I'm concerned here, Clay," she says seriously, "I just want to make sure you're all right. I want to help you, okay?"
"You want to help, Brooke? Then shut the fuck up about it. Okay, I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I just want to go to work. And it looks like I've got it cut out for me." Clay shakes his head, sighs, "You can't help me with this one, Dimples. You can't."
And even after all these years, Brooke can still read the pain in his eyes, can understand what it is he needs from her right now. "All right. Fine." she says, puts on a bright smile, "Um, how're you handling things at Fortitude? Anything you need there?"
"I got Wilke running point on things." Clay says with a raspy tone, "I think Preppy can handle it. I trained him well."
Before Brooke can answer, Jackson commands attention by letting out a loud wail. Clay cracks a grin and walks over to the stroller. He kneels in front of it and picks up his godson out of the stroller, "Jackie Boy!" he greets, "You're gettin' pretty big, Jax." It's the first time Brooke's seen him smile in the last few days and a brief sense of relief washes over her.
"How're things with Luke goin'?" Clay asks as he blows a raspberry on Jackson's belly and elicits a fit of giggles from the baby.
Brooke lets out a long sigh, runs her fingers through her messy chocolate locks, "We had it out today. Again." she shakes her head, "He's such a fucking mess right now, and...I don't know. I don't know if I trust him. I don't know if I can depend on him. I just don't know anymore."
"Y'know I still don't like the guy, but...it's not his fault shit got so out of hand." Clay says with a shrug, "No one thought the book would spur on so much gossip and drama."
Brooke rolls her eyes, "It's not just about the mess that came from the stupid novel." she says, "He's fucked up right now. He popped over to see Jax today and he still reeked of yesterday's booze. If it's ever gonna work, Lucas needs to get his shit together."
"There was a time not so long ago when we didn't have our shit together." Clay says matter-of-factly, "In fact, I'm pretty sure I still don't."
"Well, things change when you have a kid," Brooke takes Jackson in her arms, kisses the top of his head, "And you're doing all right, all things considered."
Clay grins his charming, lopsided grin, "Thanks for that, Dimples," he says, "You're doing good. You're a good Mom. Not that it counts for much coming from me, but..."
"Hey," Brooke says, her voice serious. She grabs his chin, forces him to look at her, "It counts for everything. You're my family."
"Always."
"Always." Brooke holds his hand, winks at him, "Are you gonna be all right alone? You can crash at mine tonight."
Clay presses a soft kiss to her forehead, pulls her in for a hug, "Not tonight, B." he says, "Nate invited me out."
"Aw." Brooke rolls her eyes, "The Knicks' cheerleaders."
Clay shrugs, "Old habits die hard."
Brooke knows Nate means well, wants to help his friend keep his mind off things. "Be careful, all right?" But she also knows it can be dangerous to slide back into old patterns.
"You got it." Clay nods, "C'mon, I'll drop you guys off at the Imperial on the way."
Brooke flashes him a smile and follows him, realizes that Nate did have a point earlier: it's time to bring in the A-Team.
-xx-
It's a warm day in Los Angeles, California. Inside St. Ambrose Hospital, Rachel Gatina stands in her blue scrubs, chart in hand as she jots down her final notes before calling it a day.
"Doin' good," Dr. Charlotte King, Chief of Staff, compliments, "For a rookie."
Rachel smirks, "It's in the genes, I guess," she says easily.
Despite some unplanned complications, Rachel had made it through med school in record time. The redhead had even graduated with honors.
"Are you gonna drop by the office?"
Rachel nods, ties her hair up in a makeshift ponytail. "Yeah, gotta change, and then I'm heading over there."
"Alright," Charlotte smiles, "I'll see you later, then."
"Sure thing," Rachel winks, "See ya, Char."
The redhead gets into her Mercedes-Benz ML63 AMG and drives onto Ocean Avenue, parks in front of Seaside Health & Wellness and walks into the building, stopping at the fourth floor.
Amelia Gatina stands in her office pacing back and forth, bouncing a two-year-old in her arms.
"Hey, Aunt Amy," greets Rachel as she steps into the wide office, "He behave today?"
Amelia flashes her niece a smile, "Yes," she answers, "Christopher always behaves. I'd expect nothing less from my gorgeous nephew." she coos, sets the kid down on his play mat. "Ya kick ass today?"
"That is the Gatina way, is it not," Rachel quips, picks the kid up and plops down on one of the couches.
Amelia smirks, "Got that right, kid,"
A redhead in an expensive Dolce & Gabana dress and Christian Louboutin peep toe pumps walks in, "Hey, honey," Dr. Addison Montgomery greets, "How was your day?"
"It was really good. Scrubbed in on three surgeries." Rachel answers—she's been living in LA for two years now, and her relationship with her mother is a little less tense now.
Addison smiles, "Yeah? Charlotte tells me you're doing great." she says, after a beat she adds, "I'm proud of you."
For as long as Rachel can remember, she's been waiting for her mother to say that. It feels surreal to hear it now. "Thanks, Mommy." Her voice sounds much younger when she says it, and her mother pulls her in for a hug. Awkward, but definitely nice.
Then Addison clears her throat, "I gotta go. I have one last patient waiting." she says as she grabs her coffee cup, "But wait for me before you leave?" Rachel nods, "All right."
Amelia watches the exchange with an amused smirk. "Kid," she tells Rachel with a serious tone, "take it from me: all nighters should be the mark of your 20s. I can watch Chris—hell, a night in would probably do me good. But some fun won't kill you. You're practically living here and the hospital."
Rachel flashes her a grateful smile, "I'm fine, Aunt Amy. Really."
"Jeez, you should be more than fine!" Amelia exclaims, "You got through med school in record time—with a baby, mind you—and you're the rockstar of your residency. I thought you were supposed to be a wild-child, at least that's what your father always told me. But all you do is work and take care of Chris, and that's good and all. But, I mean, when was the last time you got laid?"
Rachel's eyes widened ,"Aunt Amy," she exclaims shaking her head, "filter!"
Amelia rolls her eyes, "I'm so tired of everybody telling me to filter all the time." she says as she takes Chris out of Rachel's arms.
"Start doing it and then maybe people will stop telling you," Rachel jests as she pulls her ringing iPhone from her purse. The screen flashes BROOKE, and she hits the 'answer' button. "Hey, slut," she greets, "I just got off a killer shift. How're you doing?"
"I need you to come back, Rachel."
Rachel frowns, "What?" she asks, willing herself to have heard her best friend wrong.
"You heard me. Clay's father is dead, and he's...he's struggling. And Nate's back in town. He knows I'm hiding something from him." Brooke sighs, "And I'm a Mom, and you haven't even met your nephew yet, and I need you. I-I know you're busy working, but I need you to show up. We need you here. And... You need to tell him, Rae. You need to tell him about Christopher."
Rachel's hand grips her cell phone tighter, "Don't go there, Brooke."
"He deserves to know."
A scoff passes through the redhead's lips, "You're really one to talk, B. I may be far away, but that doesn't mean I don't know about your baby daddy drama."
"It's not about my issues, Rae. You know that. Shit's really starting to hit the fan here. I can't keep lying anymore. It doesn't...it doesn't feel right. Please come home, Rachel." Brooke pauses for a beat, "Clay needs you here... I need you here."
Rachel takes a deep breath, "I gotta go."
"Rae—"
"I'll call you later." And with that Rachel hits the 'end' button on the call.
Amelia notices the disturbed look on her niece's face, "Everything okay, kid?"
Rachel licks her lips, stares at the phone in her hands and then glances at her son. "I have to go." she says suddenly, "I have to go back. I have to go to New York."
