Page 124 of Daring the Hockey Player
My attorney handled a comparative DNA test and requested Amelia’s DNA. I saw the truth for myself on paper. Although after staring at the young girl, her eyes as blue as the depths of the ocean, I know the kid is undoubtedly mine. She has Katelyn’s blonde hair and build. She’s small for her age, but Amelia’s birth certificate indeed has my name as the father. And the kid’s date of birth matches up to when Katelyn and I had been together.
Amelia hasn’t said a word since I met her. I’m sure the kid talks, but the silence is heavier than anything I could have imagined.
I’m sure it’s because she’s grieving.
Me too.
But for different reasons.
I’m not ready to be a father.
I glance down at the little girl seated across from me. She hasn’t touched her breakfast, and I practically ordered one of everything on the menu because she refused to give the waitress her order.
“I can book you two first-class tickets direct from O’Hare to JFK.”
“Inform Douglas of the travel situation and that we’ll need to be picked up from JFK.”
“I’m on it,” Nancy says. “I’ll text you the flight details.”
“I hate flying commercial,” I grumble.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Luxenberg.”
“Yeah, me too.” I end the call and shove my phone into my jacket pocket.
Amelia stares at me, her pancakes untouched. Just like the strawberry milkshake, with whipped cream that dribbles down the side of the glass.
I steal a piece of her bacon, and her eyes narrow at me like it’s hers and I shouldn’t touch it. But she doesn’t scold me.
I’m only met with further silence. I’d almost rather her yell, scream, cry, and throw a temper tantrum. Not that I’d be good with handling that type of outburst, but the silence hurts my heart so damn much.
I’m in over my head, and I desperately need a nanny, someone who is good with kids.
My phone pings in my pocket, and I grab it, glancing at the text from Nancy confirming the seat assignments. We’re both on the same flight, but Amelia is assigned to the row in front of me.
The seats aren’t together.
“Fuck!”
Amelia’s eyes widen, and her jaw drops as she stares at me.
“Don’t say that word,” I scold before she can repeat it.
We finish at the restaurant and head straight for the airport. I don’t have any checked baggage, only the carry-on suitcase and backpack. The kid didn’t come with many clothes, only a small knapsack with a handful of outfits.
Last night and again this morning, Amelia refused to change out of the bright-pink frilly tutu, white tights, and white T-shirt. It’s amazing her white shirt is still clean after sleeping at the hotel.
Stubborn.
Another reason I need a nanny. I’m not the most patient person.
We board the plane early, and I explain to the stewardess about our seating arrangement. It’s a full flight, but the woman seated next to me offers to switch. She’s cute, with long blonde hair and a full figure that makes my cock twitch admiring her curves.
“Hi, I’m Clare,” the blonde says, smiling at Amelia.
Amelia squeezes her stuffed unicorn tighter. Its mane is rainbow and sparkly, and it’s the only toy the kid brought with her.
“She’s shy,” I say, not wanting to elaborate on the recent trauma in her life to this stranger.
