Chapter 6
six
. . .
Riley
On Tuesday, Al left for his road trip, and the next day, an endless stream of deliveries showed up.
The crib and high chair arrived before he left, but I should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.
Between the changing table, rocking chair, five boxes of diapers and wipes, and nearly every age-appropriate toy stocked by the upscale baby boutique, I think Emmy will be set for a while.
It took three loads of laundry to wash all the baby clothes and blankets he bought—everything is pink and frilly, and undeniably adorable. She’s going to hate it. But I can’t deny I admire the way he’s dived in headfirst.
I’ve organized the living room the best I can, but the place is small, and there are a lot of toys.
Emmy is on a play mat for tummy time, and Al is lying on his belly beside her, cooing at her. I refuse to melt for this big, burly hockey player going gooey over his baby.
He came home around three o’clock in the morning. I was changing her diaper when he stopped in the doorway, still in his suit, and I swear my heart nearly melted out of my chest when he took over, wrapping her in her sleep sack and rocking her to sleep.
I expected him to sleep in, especially after his late arrival. But to my surprise, he was downstairs with her, making her bottle and preparing a mashed banana, by the time I woke up.
We can do this. We can raise Emmy together, give her the life she deserves.
Right as the thought crosses my mind, a knock thumps on the door, and I blow out a breath, wiping my hands on my pants.
“You ready for this?” I ask.
Al groans under his breath as he lumbers to his feet. “Not at all.”
He opens the door, and somehow, my hand finds its way into his. I don’t know who needs the support more, me or him.
Joanne, the social worker, looks around the cramped Mattapan townhouse with a pinched look on her face. She’s in her late fifties or early sixties, small and hunched over, with her gray hair cut in a bob.
Immediately, I think of every inexperienced, overworked social worker I’ve ever come into contact with, every single person who has let me down in my life, and I shiver. She has the power to take away my baby—to destroy all of our lives.
I won’t give her the satisfaction.
“I hope you’re not expecting special treatment,” she says right off the bat.
Confusion flashes across Al’s face before he raises an eyebrow. “I’m not. Why would I?”
She scowls. “Your job and your money don’t matter to me. What’s important is Emilia.”
“Emmy,” I correct helpfully. “We call her Emmy.”
Joanne squints at us, her gaze dropping to our joined hands. “Right.”
Hastily, I pull my hand free, then hold the door open. “Come on in.”
“And you are?” she asks, brandishing her clipboard.
“Riley Lucas. I’m the temporary guardian.”
“In Arizona.” The distaste on her face makes my stomach clench.
“Yes. But Emmy’s father lives here. So we’re here.”
“Interstate adoptions are… tricky.”
“But it’s not an adoption,” Al says. “I’m her biological father.”
“Except you’re not on the birth certificate.” Joanne looks almost victorious. “I see here that you’re suing for custody.”
The color drains from my face, and my eyes widen. “What?”
“I’m suing the state to establish paternity and petition for custody, yes,” Al states. He squeezes my shoulder. “This is the way we have to do it. Until then, Emmy should remain with Riley.”
“Except she brought her to Massachusetts, which means she should be with a Massachusetts foster family,” Joanne cuts in.
I shake my head. “No. She stays with me.”
“It’s not your choice,” she says, almost snidely.
I start toward her, ready to give her a piece of my mind, but Al yanks me back.
“The suit includes a request for Emmy to remain in Riley’s care,” he says. “I have no intention of pulling my daughter away from the only person left in this world that she knows.”
“Hmph.” Joanne does not look pleased. “We’ll see about that.”
My hand covers Al’s on my shoulder, lending him support. “We only want what’s best for Emmy.”
“Well, let me take a look around.”
We fall silent while she continues the interview, answering her questions without volunteering any extra information. Al’s lawyer briefed him, and he relayed the basics to me, but I’ve spent enough time dealing with harried social workers to last a lifetime.
I went into the system when I was six years old, when my mom died of an accidental overdose.
My father was already in prison on a domestic violence charge, and he’s since had his sentence extended another forty years for various infractions while inside.
When I was younger, I wondered why he didn’t love me enough to come rescue me from foster care, but once I was old enough to know what he did to her, and what he tried to do to me, I realized what I went through was a cakewalk compared to what life with him would have been like.
Every year on my birthday, I’d receive a letter from him, but after I was twelve or thirteen, I started shredding them, unread. I want nothing to do with a person who has that much evil inside them.
Emmy will never suffer the same fate as I did. Not if I can help it. She has a parent who loves her, and she has me. She will not have to go through that.
Al swoops her off the floor, booping her on the nose and grinning when she laughs. He’s only spent a few hours with her, interspersed across the two days he’s been home, but he’s clearly a natural with her.
We make it through the rest of the inspection easily enough, and then I put Emmy down for her nap. On my way back downstairs, I’m surprised to find Al opening the door to his sister.
Cari.
I can’t believe I thought she was his girlfriend. The family resemblance is so strong, it’s impossible not to see it now.
“Hey, Riley,” Cari says with a bright smile as she settles on the couch. “I wanted to see my niece.”
My heart warms at the idea of Emmy having an aunt. Family.
“She’s napping, but as soon as she wakes up, she’s yours,” I promise.
Cari pouts. “I don’t suppose you’d wake her up to play?”
At that, Al laughs, the sound springing a rogue flight of butterflies in my stomach. “Even I know you don’t wake up a sleeping baby.”
“Fine.” She huffs, but I swear a smirk twitches her lips. “Tell me about you two. When are you getting married?”
I recoil. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Looking to him for backup, I find Al glaring at his sister, almost like he’s angry with her.
Then he runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before giving me a pleading look. “Just hear her out.”
“Well, you have custody,” she drawls. “And Al is trying to establish paternity. If you get married, he’ll automatically get custody as your spouse. Isn’t that how it works?”
Staring at her, I try to follow her thought process. “No…”
“Well, think about it,” Al says, leaning forward. “If we’re together, she won’t have to go to a foster family. She can stay with us.”
Aghast, I stare at him. “But—married?”
“On paper only,” Cari adds with a laugh. “It looks better if he’s banging the new wife than banging the nanny.”
“We aren’t sleeping together,” I insist.
“Right. Definitely not,” he says, as equally resolute.
As much as I don’t want to sleep with him, his clear rejection stings. Am I that unattractive? Do I exude man repellent from my pores?
“There’s too much at stake here,” Al continues. “I would never jeopardize Emmy’s security for a fling.”
Okay, that makes me feel moderately less insecure.
Back to the question at hand… “I can’t believe you want to get married.”
“I don’t want to,” he says, blowing out a breath. “But my agent thinks maybe we should.”
“This is insane.” Pacing through the small living room, I wave my hands in the air. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“It’s only until we get paternity established and Emmy can be mine, officially,” he says. “Please. For Emmy?”
I hesitate, latching on to the sincerity in his pleading tone.
“As soon as everything is finalized, you can get divorced,” Cari says. “Outside of us and the social workers, nobody has to know you’re not Emmy’s mother. To the rest of the world, he’s just… marrying the mother of his child.”
I don’t want to be the mother of his child. I’m her aunt. Carter is her mother. My heart squeezes, and my grief threatens to overtake me once again. I don’t want to erase her when she’s already been taken so ruthlessly from our lives.
But I understand not wanting to get into the whole baby-mama drama with his career in the public eye.
“It gives you more protection than being her nanny. It gives you security.” He winces. “There would be a prenup, of course. A few years. Maybe two? Just so it looks legit and not like…”
“I don’t want your money.” I wave the concern away. “I don’t want to be separated from Emmy.”
“You don’t have to be.” Al rises from the couch and approaches me. He takes my hands in his. “Marry me, Riley, and you’ll never have to be separated from Emmy again.”