Page 120 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

He slips off the condom and tosses it outside the shower.

We eventually manage to rinse off, the silence between us charged but no longer awkward. He turns off the water, retrieves the ridiculously fluffy towels. We dry each other off slowly, hesitantly, the simple act feeling loaded with unspoken meaning.

Wrapped in a towel, leaning against the vanity while he does the same, the vulnerability lingers. He avoids my eyes for a moment, staring at his reflection in the steam-fogged mirror.

“My mother called yesterday,” he says abruptly, the words dropping into the quiet intimacy like stones.

My head snaps up. “Your mother?”

He nods, the guarded look returning. “Yeah. Saw the news reports. Knows about Mia.” He lets out a harsh breath. “Wants to meet her. Wants to… be involved.” The bitterness is back in his voice.

My stomach clenches with a different kind of dread now.Hismother. The woman whoseemotional absence, whose enabling of his father’s alcoholism, clearly left deep scars. Scars he’s still carrying.

“What did you say?” I ask quietly.

“Told her fuck no, basically,” he mutters. “Told her Mia deserves better than… than Maxwell family dysfunction.”

I recognize the pain behind the anger. The same defensive walls I throw up myself. Protect the child. Avoid repeating history.

“Leo,” I say softly, hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on his arm. His skin is warm, damp. “I get it. Believe me, I get the fear. My mother… she practically accused you of being my father reincarnated.”

A humorless smile twists his lips. “Sounds about right.”

“But…” I choose my words carefully. “Maybe… maybe she deserves a chance? Just like I gave you a chance?”

He looks down at me, his green eyes searching mine. He’s obviously conflicted. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but so is a flicker of the vulnerability he showed me earlier.

“You think I should?” he asks. “Give her a chance? After everything?”

“I think…” I take a deep breath. This feels hypocritical, given my own history, my own fears. But maybe breaking cycles means taking risks. “I think Mia deserves every chance at having family who loves her. Even complicated family. Maybe your mother has changed? Maybe seeing Mia… maybe it could heal something? For both of you?”

He stares at me for a long moment. I see the internal battle raging in his eyes. The old pain warring with this new, fragile possibility.

“Maybe,” he says finally. He looks away, towards the steam clearing from the mirror.

He hasn’t decided.

But he hasn’t slammed the door shut, either.

That’s progress.

I think.

32

Leo

Progress.

Fucking finally.

Dr. Evans just gave me the green light.

Not for BASE jumping off the fucking Chrysler Building tomorrow, obviously, but… clearance.

Increased physical activity.

More aggressive rehab.

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