Page 127 of Daring the Hockey Player

Clare stares pointedly at me like she doesn’t believe me. “The kid obviously doesn’t think you are. Maybe I should sit with her.”

“Excuse me?” I’m appalled by her suggestion.

“Would you like me to sit with you, sweetie?” Clare asks Amelia.

Amelia glances from me to Clare. The kid doesn’t know what the hell is going on, and neither does the woman sitting one row in front of us.

Amelia unlatches her seatbelt and wiggles around me to get out of the aisle. I grab her waist, not letting her run around like a maniac on an airplane. Now isn’t the time or place for her to run free.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to remove your hands from the little girl,” the stewardess says, exchanging a brief glance with Clare.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m her father!”

“You need to calm down, sir,” the flight attendant says.

Amelia’s eyes widen, and she scurries away from me after I lash out at the stewardess. She climbs into Clare’s lap, which is not helping matters.

“She’s my daughter,” I say.

The stewardess bends down to Amelia’s level. “Is that man your father?” she asks the little girl.

Amelia’s eyes widen, and she glances from me back to the stewardess. We’re all met with silence.

Fuck.

“Amelia, come back to your seat,” I seethe, trying my best not to raise my voice, but my jaw is tight, and my hands are bunched into fists.

I don’t blame Amelia. It’s the stewardess and the nosey blonde who have decided to muck into other people’s business.

Amelia doesn’t respond to me, and why would she? We barely know each other. Doesn’t she get that if she leaves me, she’ll be back in foster care? She had to be put in emergency placement with a family until I arrived. Does she want to go back?

“Sir, sit down in your seat,” the stewardess says.

“Is this how you treat your first-class passengers? You kidnap their children?”

“You’re right, sir. I apologize. How about you show us photos of your daughter on your phone? Then we can clear up this entire misunderstanding before having to get the authorities involved.”

Amelia has been in my custody for less than a day. I don’t have pictures of her on my phone.

“I can’t do that,” I say.

There are no emails from the social worker regarding Amelia, either. Everything was handled by phone or by my assistant.

“That’s what I thought,” the stewardess says.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I stand to explain the situation without Amelia overhearing it all over again.

“Sir, you’re going to have to sit down. We’re going to be landing soon.”

Not soon enough.

I grumble and plop back down into my seat. I swear I’ll never fly commercial again.

The young gentleman who was in seat 1A climbs into the row beside me, trading seats with Amelia while Clare buckles her seatbelt.

I should be the one fastening her seatbelt and looking after her. She’smydaughter.

As we land, the flight crew announces that no one is to get up from their seats because there’s been a hiccup, and the authorities need to be brought onto the plane.

Fuck.

Could this week get any worse?