Page 98 of The Final Faceoff
The picture of his little girl, as he calls her now.
My hands cover my belly, warmth blooming in my chest—a feeling I don’t quite know how to name yet. Not just contentment. Something bigger. Something that lingers even as my brain races ahead, already sorting through the logistics of what comes next.
Beside me, Leif’s hand slides over mine. His palm is warm, familiar in a way that makes my stomach dip.
“We should celebrate,” he says, his voice lighter than it’s been all day.
I glance up at him, squinting against the sunlight. “Celebrate?” I echo, not sure where this is going.
His smirk is slow, teasing. Dangerous. “Yeah, you know. Commemorate the occasion. Maybe toast to the fact that our daughter is already giving us hell from the womb.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch. “Or maybe we should focus on how we’re going to set up the?—”
He cuts me off with a tug of my hand, his grip firm but playful. “Nope. No planning, no logistics, no stress for the next few hours.”
I arch a brow. “And what exactly do you have in mind, Crawford?”
Leif grins. Full grin. The kind that always gets him what he wants. “Food first. Then maybe I’ll let you pick what we’ll do after, but only if you’re good.”
I exhale, dramatic and long-suffering, but I don’t pull away. “Fine. But if this turns into one of your weird celebratory rituals, I’m out.”
Leif just squeezes my hand and winks. “Baby, you wish you knew all my weird rituals.”
“I know all of them,” I retort.
“You think, but there are new . . . you know, with having a baby and?—”
“Hailey.” Two syllables, clipped and precise, cut off our conversation. It sounds just like a military command disguised as a name.
For a second, I consider pretending I didn’t hear it. I could keep walking. Keep moving toward the car that’s waiting for us. But Leif—who is supposed to be my getaway vehicle in moments like this, comes to a complete halt, and so do I.
I am standing at attention in front of a man who has never raised a hand to me, but his words have always cut deeper than a blade.
“General.” My voice is polite. Distant. The way it always is with him.
Leif releases my hand—coward.
Dad’s gaze flicks to my stomach, the doctor’s office behind me, then back up—eyes narrowing with calculation. “So, it is true.”
Ah. No pleasantries today, then.
“What are we talking about?” I play dumb, because I need a second. A moment to brace myself. Because my father is like a storm, and I never know which direction he’s going to hit from.
Leif shifts beside me, casual but not relaxed. “General, good to see you.”
My father barely acknowledges him. Just shoots him a glare that would make lesser men run for cover. Leif doesn’t shrink, but I feel the tension in him, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s restraining himself from stepping between us.
“Who’s the father?” my father demands, then tilts his head toward Leif. “Is that you? You disgraced my daughter and haven’t had the decency to ask me to marry her? Where is the ring? You’re planning to marry her, aren’t you?”
I almost laugh. Because of course that’s his first concern. NotAre you okay?NotHow are you feeling?NotCongratulations on this incredible, life-changing moment.
Nope. Just logistics.
“We’re not getting married,” I say, chin lifted, bracing for impact.
My father’s glare sharpens, and his lips thin as he turns his full attention to Leif. “What kind of bastard are you?” he snaps. “I knew those men who raised him were?—”
“With all due respect, General,” Leif interrupts, voice calm but edged with warning, “if you insult Hailey or my family, we’re going to have a problem.”
