The legal team confers in the corner. Coach squeezes my shoulder on his way out to run interference. The GM takes a call and lowers his voice. The room keeps moving like a machine, and I sit in the quiet center of it, feeling like my life just redrew itself without asking.
I pull up photos of Reese on my phone—farmers market, her smile bright and careless, wind in her curls. I try to text, then don’t. I don’t have a sentence that won’t make it worse.
The door opens. PR leans back in, phone in hand. “Security confirms Ms. Stone left the building with the child. They’re safe. She provided contact information for her attorney.”
I imagine a little boy being buckled into a car seat, a hand patting his knee, a promise made that may or may not be true. I imagine the way he lifted his little hand toward me like he was saying hello to any stranger who smiled at him.
I look down at my hands. They’re still shaking. For years I said I wasn’t ready for a family and meant it. Now it’s here, in my lap, whether I’m ready or not.
I don’t know how to do this. I know I have to try.
I try Reese one more time. Voicemail. I look at it recording and end the call without speaking. The room murmurs around me; the gala presses on without care. Somewhere beyond the walls, the band is playing again because the event has to keep moving.
I close my eyes. For a moment, the only thing I see is the boy’s small face with my mother’s chin and a cowlick I’ve never managed to tame. He looked like he was waiting for someone to tell him what happens next.
So am I.
Chapter 11
Reese
Elena's arm keeps me upright through her apartment door. My heel snags the threshold and I stumble forward.
"Easy." She steers me toward the couch.
Jessica standing. The toddler on her hip, arms reaching for Logan. Logan's face going white under the stage lights.
A son.
I press both palms against my sternum. Breathe in. Out. In again.
Logan has a son he never mentioned.
"Sit." Elena disappears into the kitchen.
I sink into the cushions. My evening bag hits the floor. The burgundy gown bunches around my thighs—I don't smooth it. I can't. My hands lie useless in my lap.
Elena returns with water, presses the cold glass into my fingers. "Drink."
I manage two sips. Taste nothing. The TV across the room reflects us in its black screen—Elena hovering, me folded forward.
Elena picks up the remote. "You want to see?"
I nod. I shouldn't, but I need to know.
The screen flickers. A news anchor's severe expression fills the frame, then cuts to footage from tonight—Logan mid-speech at the podium. The camera swings to Jessica rising from her seat, Tyler squirming in her arms.
They zoom in on Logan's face. His expression shatters in real time. Confusion. Recognition. Horror.
I set the water down hard.
The caption reads: "Shocking revelation at tonight's Chicago Blades Foundation Gala."
Elena unmutes as they replay Jessica's words: "It's rich hearing you talk about role models when you've never spent a day with your son."
I flinch like she slapped me.
The camera finds Tyler's face. He has Logan's jaw. Logan's eyes. Even the way his mouth purses when he's confused—I've seen Logan make that exact expression.
