I feel my vision blurring and my breaths starting to come out staggered. Did Carson just call her “Katie Cat?” As in, the same nickname I used for Katie?
“What’s her name?” I demand.
Kenna stutters her response, “Wh-what? Whose name?”
“Cut the shit, McKenna,” I command in a chilling tone, one I’ve never used before. “What’s my daughter’s name? She’s mine, right? Jesus—of course, she’s mine. Look at her eyes. They’re a carbon copy of mine.”
“Alright, let’s take this conversation back here. There’s no one in the film room right now. We can talk away from where the media may overhear,” Carson suggests and leads us to a room down the hallway.
Once we’re inside, I turn to find Kenna staring back at me with a thunderous expression. “Is this some sort of fucked up game you’re playing, Griff? What is wrong with you?” she shouts.
“What is wrong with me? Who has a secret child and doesn’t tell the father? Is she mine? Tell me right now.”
“Yes—dammit! Of course, she’s yours. Why are you acting this way—as if you’re shocked? As if you didn’t look me right in my eyesand tell me that you didn’t care that I was pregnant and to stay the fuck away from you?” Her eyes are glassy now, filled with unshed tears.
“You’re lying. You’ve never said a word to me about a baby—a pregnancy.”
“What are you talking about? That night in Boston, when you played against Carson, I came to the after-party to tell you.”
I physically recoil at the mention of that night. “And you clearly forgot to tell me—hence why I had no clue I’ve had a daughter for the past two years—”
Carson cuts in, “She’s eighteen months. And I was there with Kenna.”
Is he serious right now? The six-month difference doesn't matter much when I missed out on the entire two years.
Carson places his hands on my shoulders and says, “I was there that night with Mack when she told you. After seeing you when we got there, I should’ve never let her tell you by herself. I’d never seen you like that, man. It was like you had taken everything under the kitchen sink—you were crazy. She said she told you everything, and you laughed in her face and told her to get the fuck out of there.”
My stomach churns, bile filling my throat. The visceral fear that they’re telling the truth hits me like a truck.
I was so fucked up that night. It was the week of my twenty-first birthday, the same week that Katie would have been nineteen. I took too many Adderall and mixed it with alcohol to try and drown out the shock from seeing Kenna.
The only recollection I have of Kenna being there that night came from what Emmett and my dad told me. I can remember how seeing her again at the game—in a jersey that was half mine and half Carson’s—made me feel something for the first time in weeks. I know that when I got to the party, I snorted more Adderall and drank my weightin alcohol, needing to drown out the pain I was riddled with. Anything to pierce through the veil of pain I felt when I saw the look on her face.
I have pieces of what that night consisted of, but clearly, I don’t remember the essential piece they’re talking about. The part I do recall is the look of anguish and disappointment on Kenna’s face as I walked away after the game with Emily.
“You were in no place to bring a child into this world. Mack was so terrified after that night that she contemplated giving the baby up for adoption instead of keeping her.” Carson takes a deep breath and continues, “I got her out of there and got her home as quickly as we could. The moment she saw Cadence, the light came back into her eyes. Shit, she changed all of our lives for the absolute best.”
Cadence.
“Apparently, everyone but me—her father. Jesus Christ, I have a daughter,” I choke out the words that haven’t fully sunk in until this moment. “After everything we’d been through, did you think I didn’t deserve another chance to know?”
Her dark expression tells me precisely how she feels about my remark.
But I can’t waste another second hearing her reasons at this point. I need to see my daughter and get to know her.
“Can I see her?” I plead.
McKenna
Griff stands so close to me that we’re almost touching. Over time, I forgot how tall and broad he is—though it looks like his muscles arebulging more than ever. The league has done wonders for his athletic frame.
I take a deep breath to steady myself but groan when the smell of laundry detergent mixed with his cologne and mint overwhelms my senses. Why does he have to smell so intoxicating? The notes of cedar and spice spring me back in time to memories of being wrapped in his arms, feeling loved and cherished.
Seeing him again after two years is a heady feeling. I almost forgot how beautiful the gold flecks in his deep brown eyes are. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve seen these eyes, this jawline, this immaculate man every night in my dreams for the past two years. The sound of his voice now is just as haunting as the words he’s spoken.
What does he mean he didn’t know? The fucking audacity of this man. And he wants to see her? He’s had a year and a half to come see her.
“That wasn’t the only attempt I made to tell you about her. I called you on the night she was born,” I state, my voice trembling.
