There’s a perfectly good explanation for this. She’s confused.

“That’s right. Do you have representation, Ms. Cassidy? Someone I should be calling about this matter?”

“I still don’t understand.” I rubbed my forehead because my brain hurt. I couldn’t wrap it around this woman’s words. “There is no custody case.”

“Yes, technically you are correct. Not until you’ve submitted the child to the court-ordered DNA testing, which is why I’m calling you now. You see . . .” she continued, but I didn’t hear her, not really. I caught snippets here and there, something about taking Patrick to a clinic so he could have his cheek swabbed.

“Stop.” I straightened in my seat, holding my free hand out in front of me. “No. That’s not right. Bryan has Patrick’s hair. I gave it to him weeks ago for the test.”

“Correct. But, with all due respect, Ms. Cassidy, we have no way to confirm the hair came from the child in question. In order for the child’s parentage to be independently established, a new sample must be collected in front of a witness of Mr. Leech’s choosing.”

“Did he—?” I blurted, then stopped myself, needing a minute to gather my thoughts.

Did he request this? I wanted to ask. And if so, when? Weeks ago?

It must’ve been weeks ago. Over a month ago, most likely.

“How long ago did Bryan make this request?” I asked evenly, ready to explain to his solicitor that her information was old.

“Monday,” she said.

I blinked.

“Monday,” I repeated. The ringing in my ears returned as I choked out, “He requested this, this new test, on Monday? As in yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“But how did he get a court order so fast?” I asked and thought at the same time. Surely there was some error here. Surely I should be doubting the legitimacy of this woman’s claim.

She’s a reporter . . . I stiffened at the new theory, a different kind of worry flooding my veins. It was only a matter of time before reporters started sniffing around. I knew this. Once word got out that Bryan had a son, there would be interest from the fans.

“I can share with you that Mr. Leech’s father had a hand in aiding the order through the system, but no additional details will be forthcoming.” The woman sighed, as though she were losing patience. “May I suggest you find a solicitor, Ms. Cassidy? This process will be greatly expedited if you secure representation.”

This last part gave me pause. Why would a reporter push for me to hire a solicitor? That makes no sense. Shouldn’t she be trying to pump me for information?

She was still talking. “In my experience, it’s in the interest of both parties to communicate exclusively through their representative. It greatly increases the likelihood of an amicable agreement.”

Amicable agreement?

AMICABLE AGREEMENT?

WHAT THE FUCK?

Staring at my desk, the truth tsunami crashed over me.

Bryan wanted a paternity test. He’d asked his father to rush it through the courts. He wanted a witness present to ensure I didn’t try to tamper with the results.

And then, once the results came back . . . custody case.

“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth with my hand as a sob escaped my lips before I could catch it, tears of panic stinging my eyes.

Bryan was going to try to take Patrick from me. This was my every nightmare come true, just like I’d feared, just like I’d told Sean.

Why is he doing this?

What happened to Bryan’s profession of love? Had that just been an act?

If so, that meant I was still the same gullible fool I’d been five years ago.

The woman was speaking again but I didn’t hear her. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t think. I felt too much—anger, resolve, anger again, fear, anger a third time—and the feeling of too many emotions at once muted my other senses.

I let the phone drop from my ear, leaving it on my desk as I fumbled to stand. Numbly, I left the physio room, stumbling into the hall and robotically walking to the locker room. He would be there. It was after drills, and he would be with his teammates.

Or he might be with the offensive coordinator, going over notes. Or he might be at home. Or he might be off somewhere with another woman. Who knows?

Clearly I didn’t. Clearly I didn’t know him.

Propelled by irrational fear, I crossed the threshold, glancing at his locker. It was open. He was there, or at least close by.

“Who you looking for?” Ronan called to me. I glanced at him. He was huddled close to Daly and Malloy, watching something on an iPad, likely game footage.

I moved my mouth but no sound came out. Ronan frowned, his eyes flickering over me with concern.

“Oi, are you okay?” He broke from the huddle, crossing to me and placing a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “Do you need Sean?”

I nodded wordlessly, because I did need Sean. I needed him. I could trust Sean, but no one else.

No one else.

“Daly, page Cassidy. Tell him to hurry.” Ronan led me over to a bench and guided me to sit, squatting in front of me and asking gently, “Hey now, do you want to tell me what happened?”

I didn’t know how to respond and, as it turns out, I didn’t get a chance. Bryan entered the room at just that moment, dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, toweling his hair dry.

My eyes snagged on him immediately and my heart leapt.

I love him. The thought burst through my mind, grabbed and seized my heart. For a fraction of a second I rejected my earlier conclusion. I rejected it completely, to the marrow of my bones.