Page 22 of Mr. Almost

Bianca waves away my apology. “It’s fine. Things like this happen. Now go and keep me updated.”

I nod and go to move toward the door. Then I freeze.

There he is.

This is a nightmare.

“Livvy?” Mason asks, using the name only he has ever called me.

My throat drops to the floor, and I feel lightheaded.

Of course. He couldn’t have come minutes later.

“I need to go.”

He looks at the girl in my arms, his eyes confused.

“You have a daughter?”

Arianna takes that moment to raise her little head from my shoulder and look over at Mason.

My precious little girl implodes our world with one simple word.

“Daddy?”

MASON

Did that little girl just call me Daddy?

She moves from Olivia’s arms, her little ones reaching for me.

Without a second thought, I reach for her as well.

Olivia looks pained. She doesn’t want to let the girl go, but surprisingly, she does.

The little thing curls into my arms, holding me tight, making my chest expand.

“I knew you would come back. Mommy said you wouldn’t, but I prayed you would,” the little girl mumbles against me.

She’s burning up. She must have a fever.

I look back to Olivia doing some math in my head. The little girl has to be four or five. If I’m correct, she very well might be mine.

What am I saying? Of course she is. Not just because she called me Daddy, either. I can tell from the look on Olivia’s face that this is my kid. I’ll do a DNA test to prove it, but I have no doubts.

Olivia has been keeping huge secrets from me. I’m so angry, I can’t see straight. This is what she’s so mad about? That I knocked her up? I get that it isn’t ideal, but all she had to do was tell me, and I would have been here for her. For our child. This isn’t on me. It’s on her.

“We are going to talk about this,” I grumble to Olivia.

Tears fill her eyes, but she nods. “I have to get her home. She’s sick.”

“Lead the way,” I growl.

“You can’t possibly think you are coming.”

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you walk out of here with my kid after keeping her a secret for the past four years. Move your ass.”

“Daddy, don’t yell at Mommy,” the little girl whispers against me.

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