Page 7 of Power Play

three

. . .

Al

Two and a half hours later, thanks to a friend of Vanessa’s at Harvard, we have official confirmation: Emmy is my biological child. It’s not enough for legal determination, but it’s enough of an answer for me.

Thanks to the magic of a black American Express card, an entire nursery will be delivered in a few hours, and we leave the baby store with a portable crib, a car seat, and a stroller. I don’t know how Riley survived carrying Emmy on the T and a bus with her in her arms, but my baby deserves the princess chariot of her dreams.

Vanessa drove us to the lab in her SUV so Emmy could use Leo’s car seat, but it’s not a long-term solution. She needs to be able to transport her kid, too.

We make a pit stop at the hotel and Riley grabs her suitcase, and then it’s back to my place. I guess it’s a good thing my sister moved out a few weeks ago, otherwise there wouldn’t be enough bedrooms for the three of us.

I suppose Emmy’s crib could go in my room, but she deserves a space of her own. Also, what if I wake her up when I come home late from games and road trips? No, it’s better for her crib to go in my childhood bedroom, and Riley will take Cari’s old room.

That’s when it hits me all over again.

I have a kid. A living, breathing human who’s dependent on me. What the fuck, man?

Emmy starts to cry as we walk into the house, the first real sounds of annoyance all day. She’s been a perfect angel since the moment she showed up on my doorstep, barely making a peep. I don’t know if she’s usually this chill or if she’s as stunned by the day’s events as I am, but I won’t be upset by the lack of noise. From the few times I’ve met Vanessa and Larsson’s son, he never stops screaming.

“I need to change her,” Riley announces. She sets down the diaper bag and pulls out a mat, then gestures for me to hand her the baby.

I don’t want to let my princess go, but with the way she’s yelling in my ear, perhaps it’s for the best.

In less than two minutes, Riley swaps out the soiled diaper for a fresh one, snaps her buttons back into place, and then deposits Emmy back into my arms. I’m surprised at how right it feels to hold her. I’ve never spent much time around kids, especially not enough to hold them.

But with Emmy… she belongs with me. The lab tests only confirmed what I already knew to be true. She’s mine.

“Uh, Al?” a voice calls from upstairs. “Are you home?”

My blood runs cold. “What are you doing here?” I don’t want to do this now, but I guess she’s forcing the issue.

Cari bounds down the stairs wearing only a towel, her long hair wet around her shoulders. She stops in her tracks when she sees the audience.

“Why are you holding a baby?” she demands, her voice rising into a high-pitched screech.

Of course, that sets off Emmy, who cries out. Her screaming sobs ring in my ears as I bounce my knees the way Riley taught me, trying to soothe her.

Riley returns from the bathroom, hands freshly washed, and snatches Emmy from my arms. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” she hisses.

“Okay, everyone needs to calm down,” I shout. I don’t know whether I’m talking to myself or them. No, definitely them. But also, a little bit me. “Carolina, go put on clothes. Why are you even here?”

“A bird shit on my head on my run. Your place was closer.”

Frustration bubbles through me, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Great. Get dressed, and then we can talk.” Stepping closer to Riley, I run my hand over Emmy’s back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Riley looks up at me with her big blue eyes, clearly peeved. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Was talking to my girl,” I say with a chuckle. “But glad to know where we stand.”

She scowls at me, continuing to sway in place.

After a few moments, Emmy’s sobs die down, and she settles against Riley’s chest. Her eyes blink slowly, clearly exhausted by the outburst.

I’m exhausted, too.

Cari skips down the stairs, wearing one of my Grizzlies T-shirts and a pair of my sweatpants.