Page 20 of Unrivaled

Bonnie’s definitely not convinced, because the concern on her face deepens. “Did something happen?”

Stuffing my notebook and pen into my bag, I make an effort to squash my rage until I can handle it appropriately and far away from people and hope my smile looks a little less forced when I stand and face Bonnie. “I appreciate the concern, but I promise I’m okay.”

The fact that I sound more sane probably helps me sell this story, because I am in no way fine at this moment, but I haven’t decided what to do yet.

I just know that Bonnie, sweet as she may be, absolutely cannot help me. In fact, no one can help me.

I can’t tell my parents. They’ll lose their shit, and my dad will start googling the statutes for assault and battery to determine if it’s worth the potential sentence of trying to castrate Grayson. And then they’d start contacting attorneys to sue him for child support.

And tempting as those ideas might be, what I want more than anything is for him to leave me alone. Ben and I are good on our own. We don’t need Grayson Kilpatrick or whatever amount of money we could bleed from a college student—even if he is apparently on track to go pro if the rumors are to be believed. And I certainly don’t need his testicles in a jar.

Leaving the classroom, I look at the texts again, then tap the info symbol, scroll down, and select Block.

He had his chance to do the right thing. Whether he’s in some kind of twelve step program or just suddenly sprouted a conscience, I don’t care.

He gave up his right to have access to me or my son four years ago. It’s too late to come crawling back now.

* * *

The next theatre class, I avoid sitting near Jackson or Autumn. Autumn gives me a confused look from across the room that I pretend not to see. I’m not sure who gave Grayson Kilpatrick my phone number, but I know it has to be one of them. They’re my only connection to him.

Though if I were a betting woman, my money would be on Jackson. Not just because he seems closer to Grayson than Autumn does, but also because Jackson won’t even look at me today.

Fine by me. Maybe I’ll be able to resume my relationship with Autumn after this.

At the end of class, she gives me a half-hearted smile and a little wave before heading for the door. Her next class is on the other side of campus, and there’s no way for her to make it on time unless she leaves immediately. In this case, it’s a relief, because it saves me from having to explain why I refused to sit in the chair that she’d so obviously saved for me.

Jackson, on the other hand, lingers, darting glances my way out of the corner of his eyes, taking his sweet time gathering his things, clearly hoping for an opening to talk to me.

Too bad for him that I have no more desire to talk to him than I do his friend. For all his boyish cuteness with his dark hair and lighter eyes and cheeks that still hold a hint of roundness combined with that quiet reserve that invites confidence, he’s clearly not to be trusted. He set me up. I introduced him to my child, invited him into my home, and he fucking set me up. I’m sure my lack of response to his friend’s text messages has been a subject of conversation, and he probably wants to convince me to talk to Grayson. But that is a hard fucking no.

Absolutely not.

So I ignore Jackson, pack up my things, and head for the door. I need to pick up Ben. Ben is my focus, and has been since the day he was born. Before then, even. All of my decisions have been about what’s best for Ben, and an asshole sperm donor who only wants in our lives now that the sleepless nights are over isn’t best for him at all.

But I stop short when I get out the door. Because there standing in my path, arms crossed, looking every bit the athlete who dominates on the football field, is the asshole sperm donor in question.

Grayson Kilpatrick.

CHAPTER NINE

Gray

I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender at the look of panic that crosses Tiffany’s pretty features, quickly replaced by rage. “I just wanna talk,” I say quietly. “That’s all.”

She covers it all with disdain, sneering as she moves to pass me, but I step in front of her and block her way. Looking me up and down, her upper lip curling with contempt, she scoffs, “Oh, really? That’s all, huh?” Crossing her arms, she clutches a notebook to her chest and cocks her hip, fixing me with a glare that I’m sure makes lesser men quail. “Fine. Talk.”

Spreading my hands, I glance around at the people slipping past us. “Maybe we can take this somewhere a little more private?”

She narrows her eyes, and I can’t help thinking about the last time she and I were somewhere private. The way she looked up at me, her lips parted, the way she tasted, the way she felt …

But that’s not important right now. What matters is that she got pregnant that night and didn’t bother to tell me.

Instead of capitulating, she pulls her notebook even tighter against her, and it strikes me just how young she looks right now. When I’ve seen her before, I thought she looked so mature. Like an adult who’s got her shit together, albeit one who hates my guts. But right now she looks young—young and terrified—her mask of disdain slipping the longer we stand here.

And I’m the reason she’s afraid.

Rubbing my hand over my face, I try to formulate a new plan. She didn’t respond to my original texts, and when I tried again, it didn’t show delivered, making me think she blocked me, reducing me to waiting outside the one class I know she has. Because Jackson is in the same class.

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