Page 33 of Well Played

“How about I think about it overnight?” I pick up my keys and phone, standing and extending my hand. “My daughter needs me. My ex-wife is going to have my balls for picking her up from school, but it will be worth it if I get my first hug in the six months since I ran out of money for lawyers.” There’s no point telling a billionaire that the only lawyer I could afford walked away once the DNA results came in.

“I’ll have my lawyer call you and ensure someone meets you at the school.” Lloyd takes my hand. “I respect a man who puts family and loyalty first. Welcome to the Southern Mavericks.”

A FATHER’S HUG

Bronx

With my heartpounding and tears threatening to dismantle my tough footballer reputation, I race through my daughter’s primary school, confident that Lloyd’s lawyer has confirmed my parental rights as Charlotte’s father stipulated on the birth certificate. I know I should be grateful that Charlotte’s mother and sperm donor love her enough to fight to cut me out of her life, but surely having three parents who love her is better than two?

“Hey, princess.” I try and stay composed as Charlotte launches herself into my arms while I fight back tears. My little girl has grown so much—has it only been six months? Six months of no cuddles, no pizza and movie nights, no Charlotte.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, you came. I missed you so much.”

“Of course, I came. I missed you more and love you more.” I shower her with kisses, savoring the scent of her strawberry shampoo that floods me with memories. Memories of holding her for the first time. Her first smile that could have been gas, but Sloan and I agreed was a smile. Her first giggle, and herfirst toothache with crying that went on for days. The first time I believed her when she only wantedone more book, and all the other important minutes which turned into years.

I also remember the overwhelming pain of discovering my ex-wife had cheated on me for our entire relationship, and that thesperm donor—Sloan’s lover—who created my daughter wanted to cut me out of her life.

That first night I cried myself to sleep on the floor of my daughter's room not knowing whether I could call her my daughter or not, only to wake knowing that being a father wasn't about DNA or genetics. It was about being there when she calls, and loving her even if it takes years for us to find a way through the mess.

“Tell me what happened?” I kneel to meet Charlotte’s gaze. Even without blood, she has my eyes and my full attention.

“Chloe Marshall is not a nice person,” Charlotte says with hints of teenage attitude. “She said that you're not my daddy. She told everyone in the class that mummy's new boyfriend is my real daddy and that I can't have two daddies. She said I have to choose. I said, I choose you and she said that's because I'm a dumb baby.” Charlotte glares at her teacher and squeezes my hand. “So, I punched her. I punched her in the nose, and it started bleeding and now I can go home with you.”

There are no words but inside I’m cheering that Charlotte still considers me her father. I pull my daughter in for a tight hug before standing to address her teacher—and stop.

Leaning against the teacher’s desk is a stunning woman in her mid-twenties struggling not to smile. The last thing I should be thinking about is a woman, especially my daughter’s teacher, but her eyes warm me in places I thought were frozen.

“Ms Caton,” I say, pulling myself together and extending my hand. “I’m Bronx Parker, Charlotte’s father. On behalf of my daughter, I apologize for the class disruption.”

“Mr. Parker, please call me Willow.” She shakes my hand. Does it make me a bad person to notice her left-hand doesn’t have a ring? “Chloe’s parents understand there has been family turmoil and take some responsibility. It appears Chloe relayed private conversations which triggered your daughter’s response.”

“Is that a polite way of saying that my wife’s friends have been discussing our recent family changes which are impacting my daughter’s relationships at school?”

“Many children find it difficult to adjust to changing living arrangements.” Her concerned smile seems genuine, and I’m already lost in those turquoise eyes. “Charlotte has adjusted better than most, but she often talks about missing her father.”

“I love my daughter—she’s everything to me.” I refuse to dis Sloan in front of Charlotte. “Who else has been talking about ourfamily dynamics?”

“I understand yourfamily dynamicshave been shared among other parents, and some children have been sharing those insights at school,” Willow explains delicately as little ears listen.

Before I can think, Sloan barges in, almost ripping Charlotte from my arms. “Charlotte, Charlotte, oh, Charlotte,” she cries. “I'm sorry you had to call your father ... I mean, Bronx.”

“Heismy daddy,” Charlotte pushes her mother away and stands with hands on her hips. “He's my daddy and you can't force me to call anyone else,daddy.”

“Ms Caton, thank you for contacting me,” I interrupt, one arm around Charlotte, spying an impeccably dressed man stride toward us. My lawyer? “I assure you that my ex-wife and I will work together for my daughter's best interests.”

“She’s not your …” Sloan starts before the stranger pushes forward and takes control.

“Thomas Woodham, representing Mr. Parker.” I want to fist pump the air—Lloyd came through. “I’m authorized to provide compensation for any medical expenses and have received the Marshall’s agreement to keep the incident off the school record provided Mr. Parker is afforded access to his daughter effective immediately.” To Sloan, he adds, “Here is my card. I suggest your lawyer contacts me to establish a formal schedule that meets Charlotte’s best interests in building and maintaining close relationships with all parents so she is no longer at risk of schoolyard insults.”

“You’ve won, for now,” Sloan snarls as Charlotte collects her school bag. “But once we get her birth certificate reissued with her real father on it, you won’t have a leg to stand on.”

Ten minutes later, I walk out of the school with my daughter and memories of Willow Caton’s smile. Oh, and a text message from Lloyd McMillan confirming our next meeting.

Did I just score a hat trick?

FAN GIRL

Willow

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