I’ve been going crazy for the last seventy-two hours, waiting to hear back about the paternity test I did. Apparently when Ms. Jones said we’d have results in twenty-four hours, she really meant that she would have the results—
And we’d have to continue waiting.
The woman is frustrating as hell. Even if I do understand her clients’ position, I still don’t like it.
“It means that based on the DNA sample, you’ve proven with a ninety-nine point nine percent certainty that you are Thad’s biological father.”
My heart crashes to my feet and my knees turn to jelly.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I collapse onto the wooden bench in the locker room of my training gym.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my voice thick. I slide a hand through my hair, pushing it off my sweaty forehead. My heart is pounding faster in the last two minutes than it did in my previous four-hour workout.
I have a son.
The reality sinks into my bones, making me chilled and filled with even more regret and more anger. More frustration at Kennedy as well as myself.
There’s nothing fair about any of this.
Sure, Kennedy took the choice of raising my flesh and blood out of my hands, yet I had essentially cut her off at the knees when I walked away from her, giving her no indication I would have wanted anything different.
What a fucking mess.
“So what now?” I ask after Keith gives me silence to process this news.
“They want to meet you.”
“What?” My jaw drops and I sit straight up. I wasn’t expecting this, at all. “What do you mean?”
He sighs and his voice quiets. It’s that paternal tone again and I brace myself. “To be honest, I’m not sure. They could simply want to meet you to see if you’re being honest and what it is you’re trying to get out of this. They could also want to just try to get these steps out of the way as quickly as possible so you can become a memory for them.”
I snarl into the phone, knowing he can’t see my sneer. “This isn’t a fucking joke for me.”
“It’s not for them either,” he snaps. “You’ve upended their perfect little reality and there’s still only a slim chance they’ll let you meet Thad. My guess is that the Matsens are living their own nightmare right now and trying to navigate it as best they can—just like you are.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I press my fingertips harshly against my closed lids until bright dots spark behind my eyes. I have to get a grip.
“Okay,” I say on a huff. “What do I do?”
“Call Kennedy to help you. They know her, and at one time they trusted her. They might not now, knowing she hid a vital part of information, but that relationship has already been established. It will look better at the meeting if she’s there with you.”
Fuck. A flash of Kennedy’s uncertainty and fear mixed with longing from the last time I was at her apartment flashes in my mind.
I still can’t get her out of my head, but there’s no way she’s going to want to do this for me.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell Keith.
“I’ll e-mail you the details of the meeting as soon as we get off the phone.”
I’m barely able to get out a thank you before he’s hanging up, already moving on to the next task on his to-do list.
I stare at the phone for who knows how long, Kennedy’s name glaring bright on my contacts list before I finally suck it up and press the dial button.
I need her now more than ever, and can only hope that what she said about wanting to help me was the absolute truth.
Because I know that deep down, the last people she ever wants to see again are Patricia and Donald Matsen.
My hands are sweating. Something I’m not used to feeling surges inside me as I wait outside the apartment building where Kennedy and Sarah live.
My first phone call to her, asking her to come with me, was the most difficult conversation of my life. As I asked her for help, my voice sounded like my throat had been ripped with glass.
“Come with me, Kennedy.”
“I can’t,” she had said. “I can’t face them.”
My lips had stretched wide until they hurt. “You and me, Kennedy. We’ve always been able to do anything as long as it was together.”
It was the truth, too. I had heard in her voice almost that exact same fear when we were younger and she’d had to return home, knowing what waited for her. I had held her then, squeezed her hand or wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her tight against me.
I wanted to do the exact same thing just a few nights ago, after hearing the fear in her voice at the thought of seeing the Matsens.
I’m used to the rush of adrenaline, the buzzing in my veins as I enter the ring ready to face an opponent. This is entirely different.
This is a fight I have no knowledge of. This is a battle where I haven’t been able to scour my opponent’s weaknesses or strengths. There is no type of training that can prepare me for the afternoon ahead of me.
I can’t stop staring at the photos of my son. They’re everywhere: My locker at the gym. Next to my bed. In my kitchen and in my wallet. I’ve sprinkled photos of Thad in all stages of his life all over my apartment so I can see him in whatever room I’m in. Fuck, I’ve even got some in my car.
If the love they portray in letters and photos is true, then I can’t imagine the Matsens want a birth father to show up in their life threatening to take away their kid from them.
But he’s mine, too, and I haven’t forgotten that in the weeks I’ve spent hours getting pummeled in the cage, preparing to fight in just six more weeks.
I’m not ready for it at all, and not only is Rodney getting sick of my shit, but Lynx and Landon are now giving me a wide berth.
I’m all consumed by this. I can’t think of anything else.
Which is why I’m entirely fucking grateful that today is happening.
A meeting with the Matsens. I already know Thad won’t be there.
This isn’t a small step. This is a huge fucking leap toward my chance of getting to see him, though.
My hands wrap around the steering wheel as I see Kennedy come out of her and Sarah’s apartment building.
When I’m not thinking of getting to my kid, I’m closing my eyes and visions of Kennedy sprawled out under me in my bed in Vegas are in the forefront of my mind.
Her long legs wrapped around my waist, her full breasts in my hands, and her pink nipples in my mouth while I suck on them—biting them just to give the slight sting of pleasurable pain.
Fuck.
“Hey,” she says as she opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. Her timid voice and the way she clasps her hands together make me scowl. I despise that she’s afraid of me, even if I can’t blame her for it. I hope to change that later today.
She’s wearing a short dress that shows off all her curves in the best way. It’s navy blue and makes her look conservative and professional. Or like a sexy librarian with just the slightest hint of cleavage. My eyes zone in on that area like it’s a beacon. It must be, because my dick perks up.
“Hey,” I reply. “You ready for this?”
She runs her hands down her thighs. I can see her chin trembling and I immediately feel like an asshole. I look away from her as I pull into traffic.
“Sorry,” I mutter, even though my pulse is beginning to thump in my neck.
“I…” She stops and I hear her shaky intake of breath as she tries to finds her words. “They’re going to hate me, Grayson.” We stop at a red light and I look directly at her. She still won’t look at me, so I do the only thing I can think of to ease her pain. Taking her hand, I pull it into my lap and give it a squeeze. I hate seeing her look so lost, hurting so much. I always have.
“They’re mad, I know, but we’ll figure it out.”
I watch her for any sign that she’s heard me, but she keeps her glazed eyes straight ahead. She hasn’t acknowledged the fact that I’m holding her hand. Irritation prickles down my spine at the thought.
The car behind us lays on their horn, signaling I’ve been sitting at a green light like an idiot. I press on the gas and squeeze her hand tighter.
“Thank you for being there for me today.”
She doesn’t have to come. It’s lawyers and the Matsens and me pleading my case for a visit. Maybe Keith was right and it will go easier if she is at the meeting, but as soon as I heard her voice when I called her, I knew that wasn’t why I was asking her to come with me.
I just want her there.
I want her with me all the time.
Yet I don’t know how to move on with her, either. Not with this between us. I’m still pissed that once she could have found me and told me what was going on, she didn’t.
The familiar fury I feel whenever I think about it, about her reason for not finding me after she first saw me on television, begins to bubble inside my chest. The ache becomes so large, I let go of her hand and press the heel of my palm over my heart.
She makes a choking sound and I snap my eyes to her. Her eyes are lasered in on my hand on my chest, and when I catch of glimpse of her eyes, I see them fill with tears.
“Stop crying,” I say and go back to holding her hand. This time, her fingers tighten around mine. And fuck if that somehow doesn’t shoot a warmth to my chest, easing the pain there. “It’ll go fine.”