Page 57 of Fighting Chance

The sound of keys at the front door has me jumping up. Quickly meeting Kieran at the entryway, I put my finger to my lips as he drops his bag.

He winks. “I’d prefer you loud and screaming but whatever you?—”

I slap my hand over his mouth, ignoring the twinkling mischief in his eyes. “You are horrible,” I whisper-hiss. “Emmy is asleep on the couch. She looked too cute to move.”

His face melts at my words.

I soften too, until his tongue darts out and licks my hand. I snap out of it quickly and pull my hand away. “Ugh!” I wipe it off on his T-shirt. “Disgusting.”

“Don’t lie, you’ve been dying for my saliva,” he whispers in my ear as he moves past me.

“Only in your dreams, Ashford.”

“Every night,” he calls over his shoulder.

Trailing behind him, I stop to watch him slow behind the couch, his heart on his sleeve as he gazes down at her fast asleep. His smile steals my breath. Joy is a beautiful thing to witness in others, but not as much as seeing Kieran Ashford fall head over heels in love with his daughter.

He lifts his head, catching me staring. I wait for him to call me out on it, but instead he asks, “Where did the teddy come from?”

“Cindy.”

I’m stunned when I feel myself move, my feet walking toward him of their own accord, as if he’s the other half of my magnet. Forever reeling me into his orbit.

He doesn’t drop his gaze until I step beside him and peer down at Emmy.

“She’s gorgeous,” he murmurs.

“She looks like you.”

His smirk turns devilish. “Knew you found me attractive.”

“Not like that, you idiot. She just…” My words trail off because, yes, it is like that. Kieran’s gorgeous—I would have to be visually impaired to say he wasn’t—and Emmy has all of his features besides the eyes.

“Cat got your tongue, sunshine?”

I turn to him, knowing that when he sees the video his smugness will die off. I don’t speak, just hand my phone over with the video up, ready for him to press play.

His brows furrow as he takes it from me, his finger grazing mine sending goosebumps down my arm.

Kieran’s chest stops moving as the sound of Emmy’s soft voice floats from the speaker. The moment she says Daddy, Kieran’s eyes fill with silver. The hand holding my phone begins totremble as the other snaps out, clasping the back of the couch to steady himself.

When the video stops, Kieran replays it immediately, and it’s only then do I realize his face is starting to turn red.

I place my hand in the center of his chest and whisper, “Breathe.”

His chest rises on a sharp inhale, and the hand that was on the couch moves up and clutches mine, locking me in place.

“She knows who I am,” he whispers in astonishment.

He plays the video again, his tears brimming over and rolling down his cheeks. His eyes are on the phone, on his daughter, but mine are on him.

It’s not until his seventh rewatch that he lifts those teary eyes to mine. Smiling at me as if I just gave him the greatest gift he’ll ever receive.

“She told her about me.”

“She told her,” I repeat, a part of me knowing he needs to hear it.

My own eyes begin to sting with unshed tears as I smile back at Kieran, soaking up this moment, this small win for him. “She knew about you,” I say again. “The girls and I think she didn’t recognize you because you have your helmet on in games. She must know the jersey number.”