Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,86

life.”

I flipped the pages, proudly displaying picture after picture of Sebastian’s smiling face. Elle could have framed him better or used brighter lighting or posed him just right, but nothing was as beautiful as his smile, even taken on grainy cell phones and disposable cameras.

“His first steps,” I said. “His second Christmas. His third birthday. Everything.”

“Our child is beautiful.”

“No. He’s not our child. You’re not his mother. That’s the way it stays. I won’t let you confuse him, and I won’t let you get anywhere close to him.”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” she said.

I slammed the book on the coffee table. She jumped.

“Bullshit. You’re trying to get money.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“Why else would you wait until I signed with a professional football team to decide you wanted to play mommy? You’re looking for an easy way to get paid, and you’d ruin a little boy’s life to do it.”

“He deserves to know his mother.”

I lowered my voice, growling the threat. “You want to fight me on it? Fine. Sue me. Then you’ll be front and center to all the money you’ll never get.” I leaned over the chair, inches from her face. “I will spend every last cent to my name on the best goddamned family practice attorneys in the country. You will never take him from us. I will make it so that Sebastian never even knows your name.”

Victoria swallowed, her confidence breaking.

“Maybe he’ll never know that I’m his father…but I will do everything in my power to protect my son.”

“You’re overreacting.”

Never. Not when it came to Bast. “Do you even want him?”

“Do you?”

“More than anything in this fucking world.” I towered over her. “I love him, and if you loved him too, you’d give him up.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re gonna see a different side of me. Something ugly. Not nearly as charming. Fair warning.”

Victoria exhaled. She tensed, and I really wasn’t looking forward to pressing any assault charges if she dove for me. But even she had some common sense.

She nodded, her eyes hard. “Fine. Keep the kid, but you’re making a mistake.”

“Made a lot lately—what’s one more if it protects him from you?”

The words she spat were colorful as she slammed the door behind her. I’d have a nice key scratch in my Lexus, but at least I was rid of her.

For all the good it did me.

The adrenaline rushed through me. Drowning me. Aching in me. I collapsed on the couch.

For five years, I had never admitted Sebastian was my child. Suddenly, he was all I could think about, the only word on my lips, the one who deserved so much more than I could offer. He didn’t know I was his father, but I’d never forget that he was my son.

The thoughts burned in me. I paced the house. Worked out. Struggled to eat. Sat in the darkness. Nothing helped. Nothing eased that pit in my chest, suffocating me in every passing second.

It was late, well past his bedtime, but I didn’t care. I grabbed my keys and sped through town, running stop signs to make it to Mom’s house before she turned off the lights and went to bed.

I held the key to her front door in my hand, but I didn’t feel right just barging in.

Maybe that was the problem?

I knocked at the door, hard. Mom peeked outside before chastising me under her breath. She wrapped her robe over her pajamas and ushered me inside.

“Lachlan, it’s eleven o’clock at night. What are you doing here?”

“I…I wanted to see him.”

“Again, Lachlan…It’s eleven o’clock. He’s in bed. Like you should be.” She tapped my forehead. “You have three days before your first game. Don’t make me scold a professional football player. Go home. Go to bed.”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

“Lord have mercy, Lachlan Maxwell Reed, the things I put up with. Come in.”

I crept into the house. I used to need to step quietly, avoiding the spots on old, rotten floors that creaked loud enough to wake Bast. Mom’s new house was six thousand feet of spacious luxury. The kid couldn’t have woken up unless the skylights collapsed.

Fantastic. Another thing to worry about.

Mom herded me into the kitchen. She dropped me into a seat at the only piece of furniture she refused to throw away—our old kitchen table. It was dwarfed by her massive kitchen—the sort of Italian styled granite masterpiece she’d always wanted. I bought her new appliances, brand new pots and pans, and a high-tech