Page 27 of Bad Boy Billionaire and the Single Mom

“Then…I’d be happy to at least talk about what should happen going forwards.”

There’s a mix of gratitude and hope in Matthew’s voice as he responds, "Thank you, Lily. I understand that it won’t be easy, and I’m willing to do the work. I want to be a father to Emma.”

“I’m glad to hear that because it’s what I want too. She deserves to have you in her life,” I admit.

I could be bitter about it, especially since he’s made so many mistakes. But at the end of the day, he is her dad. I can’t stop him from seeing her and I don’t want to. Even if he sees her once a month then that is better than him dropping off the face of the planet for months at a time.

“Great. I’m in town tomorrow morning. I’ve started a new job and I’ll be busy during the day. Could we meet first thing? Say eight?” he suggests.

I start work at nine so I could meet him before then and use my job as an excuse to not hang around too long. The idea of sitting and talking to Matthew all morning isn’t a nice thought. I can meet him, plan a time to reintroduce him and Emma, and then head off to work. I know it’ll be hard to tell Blake. He understands the pain and trauma I’ve experienced from Matthew. I know Blake will be supportive but he’s protective of me and of the people he loves. It’s going to be challenging to make him see that Matthew deserves a chance.

“Okay.”

With a deep sigh, I agree to meet with Matthew, aware that it will dredge up emotions and memories I’ve tried to bury. It’s not because I harbor hope for a romantic reconnection, but because I believe in the importance of closure, growth, and co-parenting for the sake of our daughter’s future.

Chapter 18

Blake

Iwakeuptothe sound of labored breathing and I’m confused for a moment. I’m at home—Olivia’s—and I look down next to me. Sometime in the night, Ethan climbed into my bed without waking me. There is a warmth radiating from his small body. I sit up, forcing away the tiredness as I realize something is wrong. I reach for his head, placing a hand over the flushed skin. Panic floods through me. I can feel the heat from his skin on my hand. He has a fever. My heart starts pounding with worry but I tell myself to stay calm. It’s just a temperature but he still needs Tylenol.

I slip from my bed and make my way downstairs to get the children’s liquid pain relief. I pass Olivia’s room and her bed is empty and made. She must be still out on her date. I glance at my watch and it’s just before midnight. I’m glad my sister is having a good time with this new man of hers, Eric. Even though Olivia is picky, she only has good things to say.

I grab the medicine and a thermometer and head back upstairs, taking them two steps at a time. Ethan is sprawled out on my sheets and has kicked the blankets off. I sit to the side of him as I prepare the medicine. I gently press the thermometer into his ear. It flashes a sad red face with 102 written underneath it. I give him a soft shake. I know I need to get his temperature down. I’m not sure what’s causing this, but it came on so suddenly and with such a high temperature, too. He must have some kind of virus or flu. Ethan felt fine all day so it surprises me to see him like this.

“Ethan, buddy,” I say softly, attempting to rouse him. “You need to take some medicine.”

He grumbles but opens his mouth. Relieved that he understands me, I press the syringe against it and thankfully, he takes it.

“Good boy,” I tell him.

I strip his night clothes off with a little difficulty. It’s getting harder as he grows bigger. I settle beside him, curling around him protectively. His small body feels fragile against mine, his skin still burning with fever. I stroke his hair gently, hoping that my touch brings him comfort.

The room is dimly lit, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. I can’t shake off the unease that gnaws at me. Ethan’s labored breathing and flushed cheeks are alarming signs that his condition is worsening. I can feel the responsibility pressing down on me, the weight of being the sole caregiver in this moment of crisis. I try not to panic as I stare at him, watching his chest rise and fall rapidly.

Desperate to bring down Ethan’s fever, I reach for the aircon remote and turn it up, hoping to offer some respite from the heat that radiates from his body. Even with the Tylenol, and the cool air, his fever still feels stubbornly high, refusing to yield. I reach for the thermometer again. This time it flashes 103. It’s going up.

Suddenly, Ethan’s body convulses. Panic engulfs me as I hold him close, my heart hammering with fear. My mind races. I’m flooded with thoughts and questions. What do I do? How can I help him? The overwhelming urge to protect him at all costs takes hold of me, driving away any semblance of calmness or rationality. I know I need to get it together and fast.

I scramble to grab my phone and dial the emergency services, my fingers trembling slightly.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator’s voice echoes through the receiver.

“My son is having a seizure,” I blurt out, my voice strained with worry. “He has a high fever, and it won’t come down. Please can you send someone? My wife died having a seizure. I don’t know what to do.”

All logic seems to fly from my mind. All I can think about is how the last time this happened, it was Sarah’s body I was gripping as Ethan screamed.

“Okay, what’s his name, please?”

The operator remains calm and composed. She guides me through a series of questions. I answer as best I can, but my words are rushed and filled with anxiety. Each passing second feels like an eternity as I wait for their instructions, desperate for guidance on how to help my son.

“Stay on the line with me,” the operator says reassuringly. “I’m sending help your way. In the meantime, try to keep your son safe and comfortable.”

I nod, even though the woman can’t see me. I gently pick him up, putting him on the floor and then I place a pillow beneath his head, ensuring that he doesn’t hurt himself during the seizure. The sight is terrifying, his small body convulsing uncontrollably, and a surge of helplessness wash over me. I know I need to grab him some things to take with us. He needs clothes and toiletries but—

“Daddy!”

The sound pierces through my panic.

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