“Well,” she says, biting her lip. “What I have to say isn’t easy. It’s—You’re—My name is Helen Fletcher, and I’m your mother.”
All the blood drains from my face, and I almost stumble back.
But my shock quickly turns into rage. Yet another money-hungry woman looking for a payout. Don’t people have anything better to do with their lives?
“Sure you are,” I say coldly.
Her gaze falls to the marble floor. “I know it’s not easy to believe, but if you let me explain, you’ll see that—”
“I have no interest in wasting my time listening to your lies, lady,” I snap. “Nice try, but this isn’t my first rodeo.”
Three women have already claimed to be my mother. Three scammers. Three heartbreaks. Three moments when I’ve had to relive my abandonment all over again. Three reminders that my real family never cared enough to seek me out.
Harper places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Baptiste, maybe you should—”
“No,” I say louder than intended, cutting her off. “I’m out of here.” I direct my glare at the woman, who looks stunned. “Don’t ever come near me again, or I’m calling the cops.”
Without another word, I storm off toward the elevators, trying to ignore the deep ache in my chest.
Harper
“Baptiste, wait,” I call out, scurrying after him. That was hands-down one of the weirdest encounters of my life—and I’ve had plenty.
He punches the elevator button several times in quick succession, jaw tight, but I manage to slip in just as the cabin opens and climb inside with him.
“What was that about?” I ask, slightly out of breath. A reminder that Ireallyhave to start doing some cardio again. It’s been a while.
He throws me a dark look. “This is why I don’t do interviews about my personal life.”
My heart stalls. “What do you mean?”
“Every time I talk about my upbringing in an interview,thishappens. Your article was published a couple of days ago, and here we are—like clockwork.”
My stomach plummets as understanding dawns on me. “Baptiste, I’m so sorry,” I mumble as the elevator doors slide open.
He pushes through as soon as there’s a sliver of space, shoulders rigid. After a second of hesitation, I follow him.
“So,” I ask cautiously, keeping pace as he marches down the hallway. “This has happened before, then.”
“More than once,” he mutters, stopping in front of his room and snatching his key card from his pocket. He opens the door and leaves it ajar for me as he stomps inside.
I guess I’m going into his room.
Well—his suite.
I can’t suppress the twinge of jealousy that bubbles up as I take in the size of it—the clean lines, the sitting area, and especially the freestanding bathtub visible through the bathroom door that’s slightly ajar.
He drops onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. I sit across from him on the armchair, perching on the edge. I’m not sure what to say. He’s wound up so tight, like he could burst at any minute. I’ve never seen him lose his cool like that. Even when he’s aggressive on the ice, his fury is controlled, intentional.
“I’ve been through this five times, Harper,” he finally says, not looking at me. “Three mothers, one brother, and one sister. All frauds.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s… that’s horrible. I’m so sorry people would do something like that.”
“Yep. People are capable of anything when money is involved.”
Don’t I know it.
“She didn’t look like she was after a handout, though.” The words spill out before I can stop them.
