What the hell?
I’m so incensed, I can barely breathe. “Look, Mr. Babcock, you might not approve of us dating, but we love each other,and—”
“Darling, I’m a divorce attorney. You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think you can convince me of some romantic sentiment. I’m looking out for my son’s future, which hinges on the success of his senior year on the gridiron. He should be eating and breathing football, not playing house with a girl who got knocked up by another player.” A look of disgust crosses his face. “Why don’t you work things out with your baby’s father and leave my son out of this? Why is Billy getting your leftovers? Don’t you think he has better things to do than change diapers or fight your ex-boyfriend in a crowded restaurant?”
His words slice like sharp blades flung from across the room. I do my best not to cry, but my face flushes.
He flips through a packet of paper. “I can see I’ve made my point, but like I said, I’ll make this worth your time. I’m not trying to be callous. I’m trying to help Billy, who won’t help himself. He can’t hack law school, so football is it. My son has one last chance to make it to the NFL.”
When I’m sure my voice won’t wobble, I clear my throat again. “I’m the one who got Ezra to drop the charges.”
“Which was the least you could do, considering you’re the reason those two fought in the first place. Did you know that this one lapse in Billy’s judgment could’ve landed him in prison for twenty years on aggravated assault charges?”
Holy shit. I feel the blood drain from my face. Good thing Marley’s sleepy because I couldn’t handle having this conversation if she was fussy. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“If I hadn’t hired the best defense attorney in the state, things could’ve turned out differently.”
Maybe I didn’t have much to do with Billy’s release from jail after all.
“Miss Santos, I know who you are. I’m well aware that your father is the coach. And maybe you think that entitles you to use my son the way you are,but—”
“I’m not using him. Billy asked me to go out with him months before I got pregnant.”
“So you didn’t ask him to fraudulently sign your baby’s birth certificate?”
His words suck the air out of the room. How does he know that? Billy says he doesn’t talk that much to his father. I can’t imagine they had some heart-to-heart. Unless that’s a lie.
“Mr. Babcock, I don’t know what you and Billy have discussed, but I did not put him on the birth certificate of my child. You know, since he’s not the father.”
The man doesn’t look convinced. I can’t believe I have to do this. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you.” I carry Marley into the bedroom and settle her in the bassinet. Then I quickly throw on a sweater to hide my chest, run over to the stack of files on my desk, and reach for the one with my daughter’s name on it.
My hands are trembling when I return to the living room and hand him the paper. “Here’s her birth certificate. Note that her name is MarleySantosand that there is no father listed on the bottom.”
He flips it around. Holds it to the light. Jesus, now he thinks I’m a forger.
“That’s a relief. Especially after I read this.” The man pulls out a crumpled old napkin.
It takes me a second to realize it’s the contract Billy and I wrote in that coffee shop. “Where did you get that?”
“My son threw it away in his trash can last weekend. The maid saw it when she was cleaning and brought it to me because she was concerned.”
Billy threw it away?
That lump in my throat returns. I hoped to frame that one day as a keepsake. I thought it would be sweet, something to remember how we started. I guess Billy didn’t view it with the same sentimentality. “You don’t have to worry about the paternity stuff. As you can see, I didn’t name him on the certificate.”
He taps the napkin on my coffee table. “Doesn’t this prove to you that this is just some stupid game Billy is playing? Who writes a contract on a napkin?” I’m about to tell him that wasmyidea and that’smyhandwriting when he levels me with that ice-cold gaze again. “This may be hard to hear, but my guess is he just wanted sex and played the long game with you. Because Billy does not get attached to women. Ask any of the girls he’s hooked up with since he’s been at Lone Star. As I’m sure you know, there’ve been plenty. Just look up his name on that old gossip blog.”
That damn blog again. I’m well aware of it. That’s one of the things that torpedoed Billy’s relationship with my father in the first place.
My chin wobbles. “He’s not like that,” I whisper. “Not—”
“Not anymore?” The bastard laughs. “Darling, take it from a pro—they all say that. My guess is he has one foot out the door as we speak. Is it possible he wants to break up with you but doesn’t know how to do it?” He pauses. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you about his date last weekend with Samantha.”
Who the hell is Samantha? Was that her lipstick on his collar and not his mother’s?
And oh my God, what if Billy really does want to break up?
But I can’t bring myself to doubt my boyfriend to his father.
