“No idea.”
I push some cash toward him, he pushes it back.
“Pay me when I graduate,” he says.
I nod once—respect—and get out.
The cold hits fast. I jog across the street and catch up just as she’s adjusting the stroller cover.
She hears my steps and turns, eyes widening, cheeks pink from the wind—or maybe from seeing me.
“You followed me?” she asks, breath catching.
“No,” I scowl, not because of what she asked, but because I have serious concerns that I could be that way with her. “Saw you and decided to get dropped off here, walk with you instead of waiting on the porch for a conversation.”
She shakes her head giving me the, what about look.
“I have a decision to make,” I tell her. My voice comes out lower than I intend. “And I need you to help me make it.”
Her lashes flutter. She white knuckles the stroller handle.
“Me?” she whispers. “Why me?”
Because you’re the only thing that feels real right now. Because this morning I held your kid and wanted to swing at the world if anything touched her. Because I can’t get the taste of you out of my goddamn head and I haven’t even had you yet.
Thankfully, none of that comes out, thinking it is bad enough.
Instead, I swallow hard and say, “Because you matter in this. And I don’t make choices that involve other people without looking them in the eye.”
She stands there blinking at me like she forgot how to breathe.
“What choice?” she manages.
I step closer, voice rough. “Whether to press charges—or take matters into my own hands.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “You can’t get in trouble again. You play a dangerous sport, and you're dealing with a possible concussion. Did you see the doctor?”
I dip my head. “Walk with me?”
She hesitates, then nods.
We start down the sidewalk, stroller wheels bumping gently over uneven concrete.
“I do have a concussion,” I say. “Out at least two days. No practice, no games, no contact.”
She winces like it hurts her, not me.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.
“Been hit harder,” I shrug. “Still pissed it came from behind. Bitch move.” I flex my jaw. “The cops want to know if I’m pressing charges. I wanna know if you want that to be a tally mark for your side in court or?—”
“Court?” she cuts in, voice thin. “You think this is going to court?”
“He shook a damn SUV looking for your little one. Heard enough last night to know he wasn’t involved and now that he’s suddenly interested in being Father of the Year? Yeah. I think court’s coming.”
Her breath hitches. She stops pushing, grips the stroller tighter.
“He agreed,” she whispers. “He agreed to stay out of her life. I wasn’t trying to hide her. I was being a mother, protecting her.”
