Page 109 of Desperate Games

I stagger back a step, hand flying to my belly. My pulse roars in my ears.

“No. No, that’s—that’s insane.”

“He filed, Andy. With a lawyer.”

My chest tightens, and I can’t breathe.

Because Callie? My sweet girl with the green eyes, the one who curls her tiny fingers around my pinky like it’s a lifeline, who calls me my Andy when she’s half-asleep—she’s ours.

“Remy, he can’t—he doesn’t even know her!” I whisper fiercely, like if I speak too loudly, Callie might hear. “He left her. He abandoned her. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“I know,” Remy says, voice low, lethal. “I know, Baby. But the court doesn’t see it like we do. They see blood. DNA. I called our lawyer, though.”

My knees wobble, and I grip the counter to stay upright. Tears blur my vision.

“What if, what if they let him take her?”

The words break out of me, raw and terrified.

Remy’s on me in a second, his arms bands of steel wrapping me close, his mouth hot at my ear.

“They won’t. Do you hear me? They fucking won’t. She’s mine. She’s ours. And no one—no one—is taking her from us. But I needed to tell you because Julio is dangerous. He has connections. I’ve got guys on him now, watching him. But I need you to be aware, Baby, okay?”

“Okay, but if he wins?—”

“He won’t.”

I want to believe him.

God, I want to.

But in my chest, fear blooms, ugly and sharp, because my father’s words are still echoing in my head—are you sure you want this? Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak.

And all I can think is what if I already have?

Because I’m not sure my heart can survive losing Remy. And if we lose Callie, I don’t know what he will become, but he won’t be my Remy. Not anymore.

I just know that our marriage, us—none of it can survive losing Callie.

Later that night though, I fake it like a champ.

I paste on my bravest smile and clasp Callie’s tiny hand in mine as we walk into her preschool holiday show.

She’s dressed like an angel—literally, wings strapped on with elastic, a halo made of silver tinsel that keeps slipping into her eyes.

“Mommy Andy, do I look sparkly enough?” she whispers, tugging my sleeve.

My heart stutters. She called me Mommy Andy. It’s a first.

And I think my heart is breaking under the weight of so much love.

“You’re the sparkliest, Baby Girl,” I murmur, kissing her soft cheek before sending her backstage with her teacher.

When I turn, Remy’s watching me with a look that makes my knees weak—equal parts pride, devotion, and something darker.

We don’t talk about Julio here. We don’t talk about lawsuits or custody filings.

Tonight is Callie’s night.