This is the moment.
After this, everything changes—for better or worse, I'll know.
Logan stands there in gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that might have been white yesterday. His hair sticks up on one side like he's been running his hands through it for hours. The skin beneath his eyes looks bruised. Everything about him says hehasn't moved from this spot, hasn't slept, has just been sitting in the dark waiting for me to decide whether he was worth fighting for.
"Reese." His voice cracks on my name, raw with relief.
I look in his eyes. Search for lies, for deception, for any hint that he's playing me. I see only raw vulnerability. Fear. Hope.
"Tell me the truth," I say quietly. "All of it."
He nods, steps back to let me in. "Everything. I promise."
Chapter 12
Logan
Iwalk into the conference room like I've just dropped my gloves to fight, jaw clenched, every muscle tense with anticipation. The room smells strange, like something is mildewing in a nearby trash can over by the overcooked coffee, a combination that turns my already-churning stomach. Last night, Reese heard me out—really heard me—but her believing me doesn't make this easier. Nothing could make this easier. I'm about to face a woman I barely remember and discuss a son I didn't know existed until the gala.
Our team's legal counsel nods at me from the head of the table. She's flanked by the PR director and someone from player development—a small army assembled to manage this crisis. My crisis. I take the chair she indicates, grateful for the solid weight of the table between me and the empty chairs across from us.
"She'll be here shortly," Legal says, sliding a folder toward me. "We've prepared some initial documentation about paternity testing and a framework for what comes next."
I don't touch the folder. Don't want to make this more real than it already is. "Has she agreed to the test?"
"Yes. She says she welcomes it." PR's voice is carefully neutral. "She says she has nothing to hide."
The door opens before I can respond. Jessica Stone walks in, and the mood shifts. She looks different from the night of the gala—hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, wearing a navy blouse and slacks instead of a cocktail dress. A tall man in a charcoal suit follows, carrying a leather portfolio. Her lawyer, I assume. No Tyler.
Our eyes lock. I search her face for something familiar—a spark of recognition, some hint of our history—but find only wary determination. She studies me just as intently, maybe looking for the same thing.
"Ms. Stone," Legal says, standing to shake hands. "Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat."
Jessica sits directly across from me, her lawyer to her right. She keeps her shoulders square, chin lifted. "Logan." Her voice is steady and I feel like I’ve heard it before.
"Jessica." My throat feels like sandpaper. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
Her lawyer begins unloading documents. "We appreciate the prompt response from the Blades organization. My client has been attempting to establish paternity and appropriate support for some time now."
"Let's start with introductions," our legal counsel suggests smoothly. The formalities proceed—names, titles, roles in this mess. I barely listen. I'm too busy studying Jessica's face, trying to piece together memories of our night together. A charity event. The hotel bar afterward. Her laugh. A brief connection that somehow produced a child.
"I'd like to hear directly from Jessica," I say, interrupting whatever legal dance we're doing. "About Tyler. And why I'm just learning about him now."
Jessica's lawyer shifts, but she puts her hand on his arm. "It's okay, David." She turns to face me fully, meeting my eyes. "What do you want to know?"
Everything. Nothing. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"
She takes a measured breath. "I tried to reach you after I found out. Called the team office three times. Left messages with someone in PR. Sent letters. Even tried through social media. Nothing got through."
"That's impossible," I say, too quickly. "I never received any messages. No calls, no letters, nothing."
Her lips press into a thin line. "Well, I sent them. Whether they reached you or were intercepted by your handlers isn't something I can speak to."
PR clears her throat. "We're conducting a thorough audit of all communications. There appear to have been some... gaps in our protocols."
Translation: Someone fucked up. Or someone made a decision to shield me.
"After a while," Jessica continues, "I stopped trying. I figured you'd made your choice." Her voice hardens slightly. "It's not like you gave me your personal number that night. Just said to call the team if I needed anything."
