Page 55 of Mile High Daddy

She eyes me like she doesn’t quite believe me but doesn’t press. “Well, if you’re not interested, I’m taking my break in five minutes,” she teases. “Might have to go test my flirting skills.”

I force a small laugh, shaking my head. “Go for it.”

She winks before heading toward the back, leaving me standing there, my pulse still racing.

I exhale slowly, turning back to the counter and gripping the edge to steady myself.

Months. It’s been months. I shouldn’t still feel like this. I shouldn’t still be looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him lurking in the shadows.

Mikhail isn’t here.

He can’t be.

I ran. I disappeared.

I built a new life.

And I pray every day that he never finds me.

When I first got here, I didn’t think I’d stay.

I never planned that far ahead.

I arrived in Camden Hill, a small university town in upstate New York, with nothing but a fake ID, a wad of cash my mother sent me, and a backpack stuffed with a few clothes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to start over.

Mom handled everything—an apartment rental under a new name, forged paperwork, a backstory that was simple enough to hold up under scrutiny. The ID she gave me says my name is Leah Carter. It feels foreign on my tongue, but I use it anyway.

The questions still linger, though.

How does my mother know how to do all of this? How does she have people who can create new identities, secure apartments under the table, and transfer money without a trace?

I’ve asked her, more than once.

She refuses to answer.

The only thing I do know? She knows more about Mikhail than she’s letting on.

She won’t talk about it, but I can hear the tension in her voice whenever I bring him up. The only thing she ever says is,You need to be careful, Lila. You don’t know what he’s capable of.

But I do.

I knowexactlywhat Mikhail is capable of.

And I know he hasn’t stopped looking for me.

That’s why I keep my head down. I don’t make close friends. I work the morning shifts at the coffee shop, I go home, I avoid unnecessary attention. It’s easier this way.

It has to be.

Because I have someone else to protect now.

I rest a hand against my stomach, feeling the soft swell beneath the loose sweater I’m wearing.

I’m almost seven months along now.

At first, I thought I was losing my mind. I convinced myself it was stress, that my cycle was just delayed because of everything I had been through. But my mother convinced me to take a test. I went to a small clinic outside town, paid in cash, and got the confirmation of what I already knew deep down.

Mikhail’s baby.

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