Page 2 of Power Play

Filling my water glass a second time, I gesture for her to sit down. I take the armchair as she settles on the couch, her shoulders tense.

“Why don’t we start with your name,” I suggest.

“I’m Riley,” she says, giving me an awkward wave. “Riley Lucas. And this is Emmy.”

My stomach clenches, and I force myself to blow out a breath. “Okay.”

“Carter was my sister. We live together in Phoenix.” Her face creases with pain. “Lived. She was on her way home from work when some asshole ran a red light and T-boned her car. The only saving grace is she went instantly. S-she didn’t suffer.” Sniffling, she clears her throat, then looks down at her—niece?

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say again. The words aren’t enough. How can they be?

“Thanks.” She drags her finger beneath her eyes, catching the moisture.

An awkward beat passes between us before I twist in my seat and grab the tissue box off the end table, handing it over.

I want to give her time to gather her composure, but I can’t help asking the one question pounding in my brain. “Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant?”

I have no recollection of this woman—either of them. Was she at the bar the night I met Carter?

“She wanted a baby. She didn’t want a baby daddy.” Riley shrugs, her face tinged with sadness. “I don’t agree with her choices, but she didn’t know you were famous until after. You were just a guy in a bar.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t contact me, ask for child support.” My stomach twists once more, all the warnings from my agent ringing in the back of my head. “Not that I believe you.”

Tearing her gaze off me, she stares down at the floor and shakes her head. “Carter didn’t want money. We grew up in the foster system. She wanted someone to love her unconditionally, and I wasn’t enough for her. The only way she knew how was with a baby.”

“Why not foster herself? Or adopt?”

Riley scowls. “I’m not here to defend her choices. They were hers to make, not mine.”

Holy fuck, okay. I lift my hands in surrender. “Got it. Sensitive subject.”

Sighing, she roves her hand over the baby’s back. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your head off. I just… I don’t know what else to do. Carter and I, we were foster sisters. Not blood. I was granted a temporary placement by Social Services, so I can keep her for now, but I’m not a suitable guardian long term. I can’t afford our apartment on my own, much less day care.”

… And there it is.

“How much do you need?”

But she shakes her head again. “It’s not about the money. I—Emmy is your daughter. She’s yours. She’s not mine.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t keep her. Legally, financially…” She blows out a breath. “I have no right to keep her, and I can’t justify keeping her from you. My feelings on Carter’s decision aside, Emmy’s your kid. She deserves to know her father.”

Everything blurs as my head spins, and a faint ringing fills my ears. I stare unseeingly at the baby.

My baby.

“I’m guessing you’ll want a paternity test,” Riley continues. “Carter was convinced she was yours.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” How could she rob me of the opportunity to know my kid?

“She found out she was pregnant the same day Arizona traded you to Boston.” A sad, bitter smile tips the corners of her lips. “She was afraid you’d sue for custody and take the baby away from her. And it’s not like a transcontinental living situation is good for an infant. We have no money. You’d win, hands down.”

“My living situation isn’t… ideal.” I glance around my childhood home. The shabby, worn carpet, the walls that could use a fresh coat of paint. Last summer, I bought a new couch and TV, but this is very much a bachelor’s house, not something suitable for a child. Growing up, it was close quarters with my parents, brother, sister, and I filling the house with love and laughter. And fighting. There was a lot of that. Good-natured tussling, but loud.

Now, there’s just… me. Tony moved to Denver over the summer, and Cari is across town living with her rugby teammates, leaving me alone. Sure, it’s home, but it feels so… empty. I’ve finally gotten used to the quiet. Am I ready to add a screaming child to the mix?

Not to mention my schedule. “I travel for three-quarters of the year. Fuck, I leave tomorrow for Detroit.”