Page 61 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

When he steps into the warehouse, I shoot Rhett a questioning look. He just shakes his head and brings me an enchilada plate, which is exactly what I wanted. How does Jack figure these things out?

Rhett joins me at my desk to eat with me. Sterling and Jack lumber in when we’re half done. I get a kiss to my temple from Sterling before he sits himself at the empty desk behind Rhett with his food.

Jack leans against another empty desk with his plate. They eat like military men, shoveling, chewing, barely talking. And they each eat twice as much as I do.

I let myself eat the whole plate—two enchiladas, refried beans, and a mountain of Mexican rice with guac and the rest of my sauce. It is so good that I lean back in my chair and pat my stomach. I could totally take a nap right now.

I swear I only close my eyes for a few seconds, but when I open them again, it’s just Jack and me.

He leans against the side of my desk, his expression no longer sullen like it’s been since he returned with lunch. Instead, he looks angry. Worried.

I’m up straight, fear and apprehension swirling my food in my overstuffed stomach. “What happened?”

Jack peers around, and already, I’m shutting myself down, putting those walls back up to brace for whatever’s coming my way. He pulls out an opened letter with my name on it and a lawyer’s office stamped in the upper left corner.

First, my anger boils that he’s opened my mail, but it’s amplified when I think about the texts Alistair’s sent me since I left. The ones threatening to have Reese taken from me.

They seemed so empty. Like just another one of his manipulations, but this…?

I stand, snatch the envelope from his grip, and rip into it.

It’s a letter informing me that Alistair is fighting for full custody of Reese, even though she’s not his genetically. He can’t do this. There’s no way he can do this. No way a judge would sign off on this. Right?

Right?

My eyes blur with the thought that if anyone can pull it off, it’s Alistair. God, he can’t take my baby.

And if Child Protective Services do, they can’t let Alistair have her. I don’t want to think about the horror of a life she might have with him.

I blink away the haunting what-ifs. The ones that, before, would have sent me right back to him to keep them from happening.

Hands smooth down my arms, and I pull back, glaring at Jack. I barely suppress the urge to turn my back on him so that he can’t read the page, but he’s already seen it.

Anger fights back my panic enough for me to get through the entire page.

Alistair claims that he spent a significant amount of time, effort, and money on Reese. That I’m incompetent as a mother. That I can barely think for myself, and I relied on him for the brunt of the childrearing.

What a load of shit.

But he has references. Of my character.

Panic is winning again. He’s friends with all of my professors from school. His other friends all work in prestigious jobs—lawyers, police captains, senators. They all came to his damn parties.

Fuck, I can’t breathe. My chest is tight, and I can’t get enough oxygen.

I curl in on myself, hands crumpling up the paper.

Jack’s hands are on me again, and my vision wavers in and out before I push at him again, slamming into him with my fists. But it’s a repeat of the last time we did this.

“It’s not official. It hasn’t been filed,” Jack tells me quietly.

“How do you know that?” Instead of trying to hit him, I yank my wrists back, but he still doesn't let me go.

“Because I made a phone call to the courthouse. I know people.” The determination hardening his features renews my anger.

“Stay out of it. I don’t want you asking around about my daughter. About my ex.”

“Sloane.”

---