Chapter 52 Carl
CARL
The coffee in my hands has gone cold, but I don’t notice.
I’m sitting across from Detective Mike Rodriguez, an old friend from my playing days who joined the force after a career-ending injury.
The evidence spread across his desk makes my blood boil.
“We got him, Carl,” Mike says, tapping the warrant with his pen. “Your tip about Mica Torrino paid off big time.”
Three days. It’s been three days since Trisha dropped that bombshell about being pregnant, and I’ve barely slept.
Between processing that news and dealing with this stalking situation, my mind’s been spinning like a washing machine on the fritz.
“What did you find?” I ask, though part of me doesn’t want to know the details of how that bastard has been terrorizing her.
Mike flips through the photos. “Surveillance equipment, telephoto lenses, hundreds of pictures of Trisha and the team. He’s been watching her for months, Carl. We also found the missing equipment from your road trips.”
My jaw clenches. “Son of a bitch.”
“Gets worse. He had detailed plans of her apartment building, her work schedule, even Rebecca’s school pickup times.” Mike’s expression darkens. “This guy’s been planning something big.”
The protective instinct that’s been simmering in my chest for weeks now roars to life.
The thought of that psychopath anywhere near Trisha or little Becky makes me want to put my fist through something. But there’s more than just them to think about now.
There’s the baby. My baby. Maybe.
Christ, I might be a father again at forty-eight.
“Since he’s a felon and this violates his parole in about six different ways, he’s looking at serious time,” Mike continues. “We’re talking years, not months.”
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by something else. Something that feels suspiciously like hope.
With Mica out of the picture, maybe Trisha can finally breathe. Maybe we all can.
“Thanks, Mike. I owe you one.”
“Just take care of that girl. She’s been through enough.”
As I drive home, my thoughts drift to the conversation I need to have with Trisha.
I asked her to come over tonight, and I know she’s nervous.
Hell, I’m nervous too. But there are things that need to be said, decisions that need to be made.
The house feels too quiet when I walk in. Krystal’s at a sleepover, which is perfect timing. This conversation needs to happen without little ears around.
I’ve been thinking about Krystal a lot these past few days. About the adoption papers I filed last month when I got the all-clear from my oncologist.
No cancer. Just a scare that made me realize how precious time really is.
My daughter’s been in and out of rehab for two years now, showing no signs of wanting to be a mother to her own child.
Krystal deserves stability, deserves someone who’ll be there for her unconditionally.
Just like this new baby will.
The doorbell rings at exactly seven, and my pulse kicks up a notch.
When I open the door, Trisha stands there looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
She’s wearing a simple blue sweater that brings out her eyes, and her long black hair is pulled back in a ponytail.
She looks young and vulnerable, and something in my chest tightens.
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside. “Can I get you something? Tea? Water?”
“Water would be good.” Her voice is soft, uncertain.
I lead her to the living room, noting how she perches on the edge of the couch like she might bolt at any second.
When I hand her the glass, our fingers brush, and I feel that familiar spark of electricity.
“First, I have some good news,” I begin, settling into the chair across from her. “Mica’s been arrested.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“The police searched his place today. They found evidence that he’s been stalking you—photos, surveillance equipment, the works. They also found the team equipment that went missing on our road trips.”
The glass trembles in her hands. “He’s been…all this time…”
“He’s going back to prison, Trisha. For a long time. He can’t hurt you or Rebecca anymore.”
Tears well up in her eyes, and she sets the water down with shaking hands. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
“It is.” I want to go to her, to pull her into my arms and promise her that everything will be okay, but I force myself to stay put. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
She looks up at me, those dark blue eyes so expressive I can read every emotion flickering through them.
“I filed adoption papers for Krystal last month. My daughter…” I run a hand through my hair. “She’s not getting better, Trisha. She doesn’t want to be a mother, and Krystal needs stability. She needs someone who’ll be there for her.”
“That’s wonderful, Carl. You’re a good grandfather. A good father.”
The way she says it, with such conviction, makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Which brings me to what we really need to talk about.”
Her posture stiffens, and I can see her walls going up. But I press on.
“The baby, Trisha. I’ve had three days to think about it, and I need you to know something.”
She’s holding her breath, waiting.
“I’m happy about it. About the baby.” The words come out rougher than I intended, thick with emotion I didn’t expect. “I know the timing isn’t ideal, and I know the situation is complicated with Jake and Ash, but…”
I lean forward, needing her to understand.
“It doesn’t matter to me who the biological father is. What matters is that you’re carrying a child, and I want to be part of that child’s life. I want to help raise him or her, to be there for every milestone, every scraped knee, every bedtime story.”
Her lips part in surprise and her tears threaten to spill over.