Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
It’s going to break Lucas’ heart if he’s rejected by his father. I don’t want to put him through that. It’s going to break my heart too.
An old fear comes raging back as I sink into the couch with my wine. What if he takes him away from me?
He could too. Harris is a multi-millionaire who can afford the best lawyers in the country. If he wants to take him from me, he’d be able to. I’m just a single mom who works as a receptionist in a dentist’s office. I can’t even afford a bargain bin lawyer, let alone a whole team of expert ones.
That was always my parents’ fear. They convinced me to keep the baby a secret from Harris. They said he would take custody from me. They said he would drag out a long court battle until I was bankrupt and forced to hand over my child.
I had wanted to tell him, but I was young and scared. I was afraid he would be angry. I was afraid he would try and convince me to have an abortion.
I ignored his calls and his emails, crying as I listened to the desperation in his sad voice on the messages he left.
I decided to have the baby in secret and then I would tell him. If he wanted to be part of our lives then, he could be, and if he didn’t, that would be fine too.
But then I had Lucas and I fell in love with his squishy little face. A protective motherly instinct took over. I was terrified of someone trying to take him away, even for a week at a time. I couldn’t handle the thought.
I put telling Harris off. Just until I recovered from my delivery, I’d tell myself. Once that happened, it was just until I stopped breastfeeding. And then it was excuse after excuse until I stopped making excuses and just got used to living without him.
I know it was wrong. I know it was unfair to Harris, but… Life is complicated sometimes.
I pull out my phone and look up images of him.
Memories of that magical night come flooding back to me. I had never connected with anyone like I did with Harris.
I was an inexperienced virgin and this handsome, powerful celebrity picked me. Of all the beautiful women there, he picked me.
We talked and laughed the whole night long. It was wonderful. I felt like I had known him my entire life. I had never experienced that before.
I went back to his hotel room and I gave him my virginity. It wasn’t a quick impersonal screw either, it was special. It was romantic and perfect and it’s still giving me shivers all these years later.
It was my first and only time having sex. I have a one hundred percent success rate when it comes to getting impregnated.
I smile as I spot a gorgeous black and white photo of him accepting a big crystal award. He’s wearing a black suit and tie, and he looks magnificent.
There’s no mention of a wife and kids on his Wikipedia page. A little sliver of hope makes itself known. I take another sip of wine to try and drown it out.
I have enough to worry about with Lucas, I can’t be getting my own hopes up too.
There would be no getting over that.
I’m about to turn off my phone when I spot something.
“What’s this?” I whisper as I click on it.
My heart races as I read the page.
Harris will be attending a charity signing in Kansas City next weekend with a bunch of other pro athletes. The athletes charge twenty dollars for an autograph and all the proceeds go to the children’s hospital in town.
This has to be fate.
“Stop,” I warn myself. “It’s just a coincidence.”
He must do stuff like this all the time.
I scroll down to where you can purchase tickets.
But… Could it be fate?
I hover my finger over the purchase button and take another big sip of wine.
CHAPTER FIVE
Harris
This place is packed.
There are over fifty professional athletes in the conference center signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. A few big basketball stars are getting most of the attention.
Washed-up old hockey players like me don’t draw crowds like they used to.
The organizer put me in the back.
I wouldn’t even have agreed to come, but it was in Kansas City and I never turn down an opportunity to come here. You never know who you’re going to run into.
I straighten my pile of eight-by-ten photos and clasp my hands on the table.
A bored-looking teenage boy about sixteen years old wanders over.
He picks up my photo and twists his face up.
“Who’s The Flamethrower?” he asks.
“That’s me,” I say, forcing out a smile. “They used to call me that.”
He looks at me. “They don’t anymore?”
“Not really.”
He looks at the sign with the price on it.