Page 75 of Seven of Hearts

But the person on the other side wasn’t Kristin, Will, or one of my siblings.

It was Leah’s dad.

“Mr. Holloway.” I hated how surprised I sounded, but he was the last person I expected to show up on the porch.

“Logan,” he said, a little chipper. As if this was totally normal. “I was hoping you and I could have a chat.”

I glanced down the porch to the DeRossis’ house. Leah’s car was still there, but she was inside. “Sorry you had to drive all the way out here, but these are my work hours, and Leah’s at work as well.”

His smile was that of a retired corporate shark. A little slower moving, but just as sharp. “I think you can spare a few minutes out of your day. After all, you’ve got that big, important vice president title.” His chuckle was dry. “I’ve never known a VP who couldn’t call the shots from time to time.”

He was baiting me, and I wanted to take it.

Leah had told me about the screaming match she’d had with her mom. From the looks of it, her father wasn’t coming in peace. He was coming to get his personal pound of flesh.

“Then I guess you know some pretty lazy VPs. So that’s the second thing you’ve gotten wrong: you don’t know me, and I’m not lazy.”

Even though John Holloway was retired and probably on his way to go play golf, he had thrown on a blazer. Probably for the intimidation factor.

It didn’t work.

Much.

John just laughed. “Come on, Logan. Let’s have a chat. It’ll be faster than you trying to close that door in my face the way my daughter did to her mother.”

I didn’t like the way he called Dr. Holloway, “Leah’s mother.” It was distancing language. Cold and impersonal.

That was his wife, who he had chosen before Leah was ever around, and yet he didn’t relate to her that way.

Leah was going to be an incredible mother. But first and foremost, she was mine.

The reality of how I felt about her nearly knocked the wind out of my lungs.

On the drive to and from visiting my dad, I had slowly unpacked everything I hid away in my mental stores that had to do with Leah Holloway. I laid them out for organization and inventory. There was no denying what I felt for her, I just didn’t have a plan for the practical application of those feelings yet.

I always needed a plan. A strategy so that I knew how to navigate all the ins and outs. That compulsive need probably circled back to wanting to control everything, but that wasn’t the case with Leah.

I just couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.

Over the last six months since that fateful drunken night, she had become the one person I wanted more than anything, and the only person I couldn’t bear to lose.

When our son was born in a few months, that feeling would grow exponentially.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Mr. Holloway said as he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a checkbook. “I can see that you’re trying to do better than your old man, and I applaud that. I’m prepared to make this worth your while. We can work out visitation if you’d like to remain in contact with the child after it’s born, but this nonsense with Leah has gone on far too long.”

“Get off the property,” I clipped as I reached for the door handle.

He didn’t flinch. “I don’t think you understand the deal I’m offering you. I’m giving you a chance to put this mistake behind you. I’d assume a man like you would want that. Or maybe you’re not as smart as you pretend to be. You can play house all you want, but I will not let you drag my daughter down to your level. I will not let this infatuation and farce of a relationship with a murderer’s son go on any longer.”

Six months ago, someone throwing what my parents had done in my face would have sent me into a manic spiral of needing to prove myself.

But I didn’t need to prove myself to John Holloway.

He was just a pathetic sad sack who was simply used to being belligerent enough to get his way. He didn’t care about Leah. He didn’t care about my son. And I’d be damned if I let him think he had any power over me, who I loved, or who I was lucky enough to be loved by.

The click of his pen might as well have been a gunshot.

“Name your price,” he growled. “Don’t hold back on my account. You want six figures? Name it now. Because if you pass up this offer, there won’t be another.”

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