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Fuck him. I’ve got the carrier turned so he can’t see her face. My pulse is pounding as our eyes lock, pure contempt running through my veins.
There’s a famous picture of Harry that he posed for when he played for the Chicago Blaze. He’s naked and the photo displays his perfect profile, chiseled and tattooed, while holding a hockey stick. After he joined the Army and became larger than life, it was printed and sold as a poster and even used on a billboard.
He looks different now. His dark hair is cropped shorter, and his ink is hidden under the sleeves of his expensive suit. The cost of that suit would be enough to change my life right now. But while I’m struggling, that pompous, heartless asshole hasn’t contributed a single dollar to his daughter’s care.
My attorney, Helen, introduces herself to Harry’s attorney. We’re both offered a seat and asked if we’d like something to drink, but all I can think about is the loathsome man sitting on the other side of the conference table. His gaze is calculating, and I know he’s jumping to all kinds of conclusions about me right now.
I pulled my long, unruly auburn curls back and applied some light makeup for this meeting, trying to make myself look presentable, but my plain black V-neck T-shirt and worn jeans give me away. I’m just an ordinary Southside Chicago woman.
“Can I see her?” he asks me, an edge of aggravation in his tone.
I look at Helen to see if I have to comply with his request. She arches her brows and gestures at Avery’s carrier, which is sitting on the floor next to me.
Sighing heavily, I glare at Harry before picking up the carrier and setting it on the conference table so it’s facing him.
His expression immediately shifts, softening as he studies Avery’s black hair and blue eyes. She’s wearing a pink onesie, gray cotton pants and a pink headband with a bow on top. Harry looks smitten with her—which is ironic given that he could have been in her life this whole time but chose not to.
“What’s her middle name?” he asks.
“Rose. Her name is Avery Rose.”
“Can I hold her?” he asks me.
“No,” I snap.
His eyes narrow. He’s about to respond when his attorney interjects.
“Let’s wait on that, Harry.”
I turn to Helen, my heart pounding. What does he mean, wait on that? We’re just here to sign stuff and then Avery and I are out of here.
“You’ve had a chance to review the drafts I sent over?” Helen asks Harry’s attorney, John.
“I have. We’d like to start with a paternity test.”
I audibly gasp as Helen makes a note on her legal pad.
“A paternity test?” I scowl at Harry. “You think Mallory was lying?”
Helen gives me a reproachful look, like I shouldn’t have even dared to speak. But fuck that. My entire world is on the line right now.
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant,” Harry responds.
“Bullshit. She went to your apartment and told you.”
“She said she thought she might be. Then I never heard from her again.”
“Yeah, because you were a dick about it.”
“Okay.” John puts a hand up. “Let’s stay on task here.” He looks at Helen. “Do you have any objection to a paternity test?”
She doesn’t even ask me before responding. “No.”
“Well, I have an objection,” I say hotly. “Where has he been this whole time?”
“I didn’t know about the baby,” he grits out, a look of accusation on his face.
I roll my eyes. “Because you bolted, asshole.”
“Winter,” Helen admonishes.
I cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath, then look at my attorney. “So what happens when the paternity test proves he’s the father, which he definitely is?”
Helen gives me a sympathetic look and my eyes fill with resigned tears. I’m so tired and frazzled, and this is not how this was supposed to go down.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Helen says.
It’s humiliating to be crying right now, but I can’t help it. Avery is all I have.
“But when the test shows he’s her father—”
“I’ll want custody of my daughter,” Harry says.
I turn to him, my lips parted in horror. “Why now? Why are you doing this? You haven’t been around this whole time, not when Mal found out she was pregnant, not when she found out she was sick, not when Avery was born…”
He scowls at me. “I already told you I didn’t know about her.”
John clears his throat. “We’d like to—”
Avery interrupts the moment with a loud cry, wiggling and fussing in her carrier and ultimately silencing Harry’s attorney. I stand from my chair, take her out of her carrier and fish her bottle out of the diaper bag. As I rock Avery back and forth while keeping the bottle steady, I can’t help but glance at the man who long ago earned the nickname Dirty Harry with the ladies.
