The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

I rise to a stand, staring out into the dark night at the city’s lights below, hands behind my head, the sound of my mother’s voice echoing through my head. You loved her once. So? That isn’t going to get her out of this mess. The fact that I felt something the second I saw Penelope in her brother’s doorway means nothing right now.

We can’t turn back the hands of time. You can only look forward.

Still, I have people I’ll have to explain all this to. Managers and PR people because the media will find out, and no doubt they’ll spin this into something embarrassing. A love child, they’ll call Skipper. They’ll make it seem like Penelope is only out for my money. They’ll make it seem like I knew about the child and ignored her on purpose. They’ll…

The media will try to blow up any bridge between us we try to build in the upcoming days.

No.

It’s best I say nothing—not even to Elias—though he is one of my best friends.

I pull my cell out of my pocket and check to see if anyone has texted. Correction: check to see if Penelope has texted.

I’m disappointed to see that she hasn’t.

Disappointed to see that I’ve only gotten messages from a teammate, my agent about an endorsement deal, and my cousin Robbie, who’s getting married and giving me details about his bachelor party.

Unable to stand it any longer, I fire off a message to Penn.

I’m hungry for more information. More details. More pictures of Skipper.

My daughter.

Holy shit, my daughter.

Dark hair.

Dark eyes.

A dimple in her tiny face.

My heart squeezes, and I take myself to the couch, sitting down. Resting my face in my hands, I feel myself begin to cry.

I have a daughter.

My mother would have been a grandmother. Dad would have been a grandpa.

My shoulders shudder when the tears come, thinking about all those wasted years.

Gone.

Would Skipper have come to find me once she got older? Would Penelope eventually have told her? Kids ask these things, right? At some point in her life, Skipper would have begun to wonder why there was no other parent, yeah? Don’t kids do that sometimes when they get old enough to compare?

Will she blame me for not being around?

Will she like me? What if I scare her?

You don’t scare her. She’s met you already. She walked right up to you and sized you up, brave little shit.

I want to know everything about her, and I want to know it yesterday.

Suddenly, I’m restless.

I cannot sit in this hotel room. I cannot sit here idly waiting for tomorrow, not when there are things I want to know.

“How long are you here?” Penelope is walking alongside me down the street. A walk to nowhere. No plan, no destination, no agenda.

I just knew I couldn’t stay cooped up in that hotel room, and I also wasn’t interested in having a conversation over the phone. Or text. Or video chat.

We were together hours ago, but I had to see her again.

I shoot her a sidelong glance. “As long as it takes.”

She nods, shuffling along in her warm jacket, hat, and mittens. It’s not freezing out, but I’d told her I needed to walk.

Walk and talk and think.

She’s as cute as a button, and I hate myself for letting my brain go there. This person who betrayed me.

Betrayed Skipper, too, in a sense.

“Does she ever ask about me?” I pause. “I mean, not me specifically, but…”

“I understand what you mean, and…yes, she does sometimes ask. She is well aware at this age that she doesn’t have a second parent. Uncle Davis does his best to fill that gap, but yeah, she’s beginning to ask every now and again. Sometimes after she has a playdate at a friend’s house, if the dad is home, she’ll ask where hers is.” Penelope hesitates. “And her friend Madison has two moms, so she asks where her other mom is, too.”

We walk on in the quiet night, the streetlights flickering, seemingly lighting up one by one as we pass a large park on our right.

I gesture to enter it, and we head in, both meandering toward a bench at the far side.

“Are you going to take me to court?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I think we should start with…a playdate or something. I want to meet her again. Get to know her.” Start there. Realistically, I wouldn’t be around much. Not with my schedule, not with all the games and the travel. Being on a championship team takes time and dedication, so it isn’t as if I would be fighting for full custody. Who would watch her, a nanny while I worked? But I am her dad, and I will need a DNA test to confirm it, and I want the time with Harper that I am entitled to.