“There’s no fucking way.”

My head was spinning. I couldn’t even think straight.

I’m Lucy’s father?

The little girl of hers that she finally told me about last night?

The one I assumed was a hell of a lot younger than seven years old?

“She’s yours, Jack.”

“Impossible.”

I didn’t know what the fuck to do, so I walked to the fridge, grabbed two more beers, and set them on the counter. Screwing off the caps, I tossed the metal in the sink and wrapped my lips around the top of one of the bottles.

I didn’t give a fuck that she was crying. I needed clarity. I needed someone to start explaining this to me before I lost my shit. “How in the hell did I get you pregnant?”

“You don’t remember what happened before you put the condom on?”

The night began to unravel in my head. When we had been at the bar, I remembered taking the condom out of my wallet and putting it in my pocket. I couldn’t recall when I’d grabbed it from there, but I knew I’d put it on because I remembered throwing it away.

“No,” I told her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t immediately put the condom on. You weren’t in me long without it, but it must have been enough.”

“I did what—”

And then it came back to me. The tightness I’d felt. The warmth. The way her wetness had spread over my skin. It had felt so fucking good, but I knew I had to wrap it up, so I gave her three pumps—four tops. Then, I’d rolled the rubber on.

I pulled out the stool and sat my ass on top of it, both hands running through my hair as I thought about what this meant. “I want a paternity test.”

“No problem,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

I still couldn’t believe this.

That I had a child.

That I’d had one with Samantha.

That she was just telling me about her now.

“You’re positive she’s mine?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’d only been with one guy that year, and it happened months before you.”

How the hell am I supposed to process this?

Especially while she sat in front of me with tears running down her face like she had a reason to be sad. Like she wasn’t the fucking cause of this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“I tried.”

“You tried?” Anger was exploding in my voice, and I didn’t stop it. I didn’t give a shit about her feelings or if I was upsetting her more. Because this wasn’t about her; this was about me. “You didn’t try hard enough.”

She sucked in a breath, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. “I left you six voice mails. Six, Jack. I sent you emails. And all of that came after you told me you didn’t want to talk to me again.”

“I can’t believe you just fed me that line of bullshit.” I gripped the bottle, and my teeth ground together.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t reach you. You wouldn’t respond. You didn’t want my brother to know anything had happened between us. Should I have told him his brand-new agent was my baby daddy? Would you have called Shawn back?”

“Fuck you. You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I squeezed the bottle so goddamn hard, I was waiting for it to break. “You had my child inside you. I don’t give a shit if I was his agent or not.” I got off the stool and backed up until my ass hit the sink. “You should have told me. All you said was you needed to talk to me in those messages, but you know damn well what you could have said that would have gotten me to return your calls—something like, I’m fucking pregnant, Jack. Call my ass back, would have worked just fine.”

“Jack, you’re right; I don’t want you to think I’m blaming you. I should have told you. I should have found a way. There’s no question about it; I fucked up. But I was a kid. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I was pregnant by a guy who didn’t care about me, who wanted nothing to do with me, and I had to be strong for the baby. I did the best I could.”

My heart was thumping through my chest, my pulse was racing, and a scary mix of emotions was shackling my goddamn brain. Every justification she had given me made it all worse.

“Samantha, you kept my fucking child from me.”

“Jack—”

“We would have figured out a way to talk to your brother and your family, and we would have made it right. But you took that option away from me. And you took seven years of her life away from me.”

“I know.” She wiped her face with her sleeves. “I’m so sorry.”

“If I hadn’t seen you at the Super Bowl, would you have ever told me?”

It appeared like she was thinking about my question, but she was shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

My arm went back, my fingers twisted around the bottle, and I tossed it as hard as I could toward the wall. It flew through the air, beer spilling onto the floor, and when it smashed, it made the loudest noise.

The only sound that followed was Samantha’s sobs.

I looked at her and hissed, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Jack, I—”

“Get the fuck out, Samantha. I don’t want to see your face.”

Her tears were streaming faster. Her lips and her chin were quivering.

I didn’t give a shit.

Every drip that came from her eyes only disgusted me more.

The sight of her did, too.

“I know it was wrong. I know I should have tried harder. I’m so sorry—”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

She stood and backed up to the far side of the kitchen. “How can I make this right?”

I shoved my hand in my pocket before I searched for something else to throw. “You can’t. You’ve done enough damage. Now, get the fuck out.”

I heard her rush through the living room and go into the foyer, her fingers pounding on the button for the elevator.

Before it opened, I had a question to ask, so I moved into the next room, which gave me a full view of her. “Samantha?”

She glanced over her shoulder with the tiniest bit of hope on her face.

There was no reason for that.

I wasn’t going to throw her a goddamn bone.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to let me see her, or do I have to hire an attorney?”

She put her hand over her mouth for a few seconds, and then she gradually moved it down. “Just give me a chance to tell her first. Once she knows, I promise I won’t keep her from you.”

Now, she wouldn’t.

How fucking nice of her.

“Get out!” I roared again and turned around, heading straight for the bar that was on the other side of the living room.

I lifted a bottle of scotch, twisted off the cap, and held it to my lips. The liquor burned my throat, but it was the only thing that was going to make me feel better tonight.