Page 23 of Single Chance

“No need,” Chloe said. “I have at least two unused tests at home. They’re yours. If you want moral support, you can test at my house. Holden’s out for the evening.”

I inhaled slowly, trying to settle myself down as I looked from Chloe to Presley. “If I’m not pregnant, and I honestly don’t think I am, then something weird is going on. So…yeah. I’ll take you up on that.”

I couldn’t pass up the offer of moral support and girlfriends who’d help me through, whatever the results ended up being.

Chapter Eight

Chance

Parents who joked about locking their daughter in a dungeon until she was thirty had a valid idea.

Was it a mistake or was it fortunate that I’d checked Sam’s location on my phone between the second and third games of ping-pong and discovered she was at the beach? In the dark? In late January? Temperature in the low thirties?

Her safety was paramount, so I supposed it was a lucky catch, but as I left Kemp, my table tennis partner, hanging with one game left, I was just about ready to throw my hands up and tell her to do whatever the hell she wanted since she clearly had no intention of following my rules.

“I’m sorry, man,” I said to Kemp after breaking the news to him.

He brushed it off with a shake of his head and a wave. “Dude, don’t think twice about it. Go get your daughter.”

“You really think it’s illegal to lock them in their room?”

He laughed. “Get out of here. Good luck.”

A shit ton of luck was what I’d need to get my daughter through her teen years unscathed. Doing it without her hating me would be nothing short of a miracle.

I walked out of the community center into the cold evening, biting down on the urge to punch walls on the way.

Sam had always been a daddy’s girl, even before her mother had died. When she’d turned eleven, everything had changed, almost overnight. She growled at me, was embarrassed by me, shut down on me, yet still sometimes hugged me and told me she loved me. Puberty was like that, or so all the parenting websites and books said, but what they couldn’t tell me was how the hell to navigate it. I’d been over my head for three years and counting. Or really more like fourteen.

I got into my SUV and headed the few blocks to the town’s private beach. As I turned onto Honeysuckle Road, my adrenaline started pumping. I had no idea what I’d find. I was a thousand percent sure I wouldn’t like it though.

There wasn’t a parking lot for the beach, so I pulled up parallel to it, my headlights catching a group of seven or eight kids huddled near the restrooms. As I stopped, I killed the lights, squinting through the darkness for a sign that one of them was my daughter.

Before I could decide my next move, my question was answered. Sam’s snow-white knitted cap gave her away as she hurried across the moonlit sand toward me.

Relief that she was okay warred with anger and lingering fear for her safety. With the engine still running, I lowered the window, watching her every step.

When she was a few feet away, she whisper-demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“Get in the car, Samantha.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stomped around the front to the passenger door.

“Thanks for ruining my life,” she muttered as she got in.

“Follow the rules and I won’t ruin your life.” Clenching my jaw, I peered across the way at the group, but they’d drifted out of my line of sight, undoubtedly on purpose, and were likely on the other side of the restrooms.

Those kids weren’t my problem.

Hell, that wasn’t entirely true. “Do they have alcohol?” I asked Sam.

When she didn’t answer, my tension crawled higher. I hadn’t battled this one yet. I wasn’t ready for it. This was my little girl. My formerly sweet daddy’s girl who I couldnotlet anything bad happen to.

“Samantha.”

“I didn’t drink anything,” she said quietly, stopping me.

“You didn’t?” I studied her profile across the front seat, assessing.

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