Page 30

Chapter

Thirty

Grace

Grace stared at the text from André the night before. What did it mean that she’d texted him first? Last night she’d justified it by convincing herself it was the only reasonable option. She couldn’t text Country or Jenna since she had no idea whether this visit would amount to anything. She couldn’t text Tyler or one of the other guys because they were close with Country . . . and that’s where the argument lost steam.

André was close with Country. Wouldn’t texting him hold the same amount of risk that he’d mention something? And yet, sending that message had been automatic.

As soon as Grace got home after her hasty exit from Dusty Rose, she jumped onto her laptop. Finding the letter to Hope’s birth dad didn’t take long. She’d been through the records so many times, she knew exactly where to look. Brady McGinnis. The letter was rerouted through the Department of National Defence forwarding, and by the time it reached him, he’d been out of service six weeks. He’d moved. No follow-up. No certified mail. Just a single attempt, and it died in the system.

She could get in touch with Veterans Affairs, but since it was a weekend, she opted for internet sleuthing and searching public records. She found him. Brady McGinnis had moved back to Calgary and his address was updated two months ago when he registered for provincial healthcare. After searching a few socials, she found a dating profile with pictures of him in his military gear. Same guy. It had to be.

“Grace?”

She blinked. Looked up. Her contractor, Matthew, stood a few feet away, arms crossed. “Sorry.” She slipped her phone into her back pocket. “Yes?”

He pointed toward the far wall, now lined with new baseboard trim and a fresh coat of eggshell paint. “Colour okay?”

Grace nodded. At this point, she didn’t have any colour opinions. It wasn’t abrasive, and this project was almost finished. It would’ve taken a sewer-green to make her even consider repainting.

Matthew nodded. “The last cabinet doors are being installed Friday. The new electrical passed inspection this morning. Fire code stuff’s done. Plumber came and signed off on the hot water system. After that it’s just touch-ups and a deep clean.”

She turned slowly, taking in the space—the wide hallway, the updated lights, the muted scent of fresh paint still clinging to the air. It wasn’t flashy, but it was beautiful. Clean. Functional. Safe.

“It looks . . . ” She exhaled. “It looks really good , Matthew.”

He grunted. “Not perfect. But up to code and then some. You’ll make your money back three times over.”

Grace smiled and nodded, clearing her throat to fight the emotion building there. She exited into the main foyer, then out the front steps. Outside, the late March sun blazed through the large east-facing windows, glinting off the remaining patches of crusted snow.

She turned and looked at her reflection in the windows. This was hers. A sense of pride and gratitude washed over her. This gift didn’t erase the hurt Troy caused when their marriage ended, but enough time had passed that she could accept it for what it was. Troy cared as much as he was capable of caring.

The thought sent a drop through her belly, and she clutched her scarf to her chest. Was she any better? Sure, she wasn’t chasing after her next potential partner, but she was putting up her own brand of emotional walls.

André scared her. The idea of opening up to anyone again was terrifying, but what she was feeling for him made the fear ten times worse. Troy had signed divorce papers and jumped from woman to woman to avoid getting vulnerable. She took the even easier route of going radio silent.

Grace swallowed hard and pulled out her phone. She made a note to contact Troy’s real estate agent, Gina, to see if she could bring in a photographer early next week. Hopefully they could get it listed as early as the first few days in April.

She walked to her car and slipped into the driver's seat. Just as she hit the start button, her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

Grace glanced over and saw her mom’s name scrolling across the screen. She hit Answer.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Well, hi, sweetheart!” Her mom sounded bright for that early in the morning. “Just checking in to make sure you’re still planning to be here by Easter?”

Grace nodded automatically. “Yep, that’s the plan.” One week. The building would be listed. The charity game would be over that weekend. And depending on what she found out at her next meeting with Brady McGinnis, she’d at least have something to bring to their court date. But that was something she could work remotely. There would be no reason for her to stay in Calgary after that point.

She flicked on the defrost and stared out the windshield, watching condensation melt into rivulets that traced the curve of the glass.

“Perfect. I booked your haircut for the Saturday before. Nadia had a cancellation. You know how far she books out.”

Grace blinked. Right. The throwback to home was almost jarring.

She was going home. The realization should have made her relieved, and a part of her was. The part that was tired. The part that wanted to crawl back into her old life even though she saw clearly now how much it was lacking.

It was Toronto. Her apartment, her practice, her espresso machine and overpriced ergonomic desk chair and whole-wheat morning muffins from the bakery on Queen Street that always got her order wrong but somehow remembered her name.

It was home. Wasn’t it?

So why did her stomach feel like it was lurching sideways? Why was she thinking about girls’ nights at Dusty Rose and nachos at hockey games and Sunday Suppers and bonfires in Curtis’s backyard?

Grace cleared her throat. “Sounds great.”

“You okay, honey?”

Grace loosened her scarf and made her voice lighter. “Just tired. The reno’s been a lot. And we’ve got the charity game this weekend.”

Her mom hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a lot. I’m sure it will be such a relief to be back to your old routines.”

Yes. That sounded like her. Safe. Predictable.

But the truth pressed hot and heavy under her ribs. She’d been checking flights without booking. She hadn’t answered her assistant’s email about which clients she wanted to schedule first.

Her mom sighed. “Well, we’ll have champagne ready when you land. And maybe something from that little bakery you like. The one with the raspberry almond tart?”

Grace swallowed. “Perfect.”

_____

Grace turned the corner, and there was André leaning against his truck. Ball cap pulled low, black hoodie stretched across his chest, faded jeans, and slip-ons. Her breath stalled.

“Wanted exercise this morning?” he called.

Grace gave him a look. “It seems someone took the last good parking spot.

He pushed off his truck and gave her a crooked smile. “You snooze, you lose.”

“I was coming from another meeting. Ran a bit late.”

“Yeah?” André fell into step beside her.

“For the renovation. Just an update.”

“I hear it’s almost finished.”

She nodded. “Yep. Should be able to get it listed next week, hopefully.”

André didn’t respond to that, which meant they walked up the front steps in silence. The house was a modest split-level tucked on a quiet street. Not falling apart, but not thriving either. The siding needed a power wash. The shrubs out front didn’t look like they’d be making a recovery from their winter hibernation.

“You going to tell me what this is about?” André asked.

Grace froze in front of the door. Right. She’d asked him to come but hadn’t given him any details. “This is Hope’s birth father. He was supposed to receive a letter about the adoption, but it didn’t ever get to him. Now he’s back in Calgary.”

“His information was in the file?”

Grace pursed her lips. “Nope. I Google stalked him.”

André grunted. “He knows we’re coming?”

“Umm, yes.”

“He knows about Hope?”

“He does.” She swallowed her nerves as André observed her, nodding slowly.

“Did you tell him?”

Grace scoffed. “No, I would never do that. The last thing we need is another parent petitioning.”

“So we’re here because . . . “

“Because I think he’s the reason Amey is going after Hope.” Grace raised her hand and knocked twice, not sure if André was regretting his decision. Finding Brady had been easy enough, but figuring out whether he knew about Hope? That was another story.

She would take the profile she made on Hinge and her personal chat with Mr. McGinnis to her grave.

Seconds passed, then a minute. Grace shifted her weight on the step. After what felt like a year, she knocked again. That time, there were sounds inside the home. Footsteps approached, and the door creaked open.

“Uh, hey.” A man stood in the gap, his hand on the door frame. Early thirties, thick build, dark hair buzzed short, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“Hi, are you Brady?”

He pulled the door open another inch. “Grace?”

She nodded. “Grace Fairbanks. This is André Leclerc. He’s a . . . friend.”

He shook both their hands. His grip was tight, not rude. Just tense. Wary.

He stepped back so they could enter the house, and Grace’s skin prickled as André put a hand on her lower back. Her nerves immediately calmed. Yes, it may have been stupid to waltz into a stranger’s home like this, but somehow with André there, she felt completely safe.

The air smelled like reheated coffee and burnt toast. The furniture was sparse, functional, but clean. No pictures on the walls. No clutter. The blinds were drawn halfway.

He led them to a small kitchen table. There was a cane leaning against the fridge.

“Man, I thought you wanted to hook up when you DM’d me.” He ran a hand over his head and sat down.

André gave her a look, and Grace straightened her shoulders before taking a seat across from him. André sat beside her, moving his chair so their thighs were nearly flush. “Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure you knew the situation.”

Brady nodded. “I didn’t even know she existed until six weeks ago.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Letter got sent to the wrong address. I’d moved bases twice. Finally made it here after my release.”

André exhaled. “You were overseas?”

“Four years. Two in Latvia, one in Poland, and a shit rotation back home. Didn’t even know Amey kept the pregnancy. She said she was getting rid of it.” Brady leaned back in his chair. “Didn’t believe the letter at first. Thought it was some scam. Then I texted her. Asked if it was real.”

Grace leaned in. “What did she say?”

He shrugged. “Said she took care of it like we planned, but I don’t know. It felt different. Knowing a baby existed. A little girl. I was pissed.”

“I would be,” André muttered.

Grace wanted to kick him under the table, but Brady’s expression brightened. “Right? I didn’t mean to blow up her life, but I was crashing out.”

André glanced at her. Perfect. So they both didn’t know what that meant.

Grace folded her hands on the table. “What did you say to her?”

Brady glanced away, rubbing his jaw. “I told her she had no right to give my daughter away without my permission. I was going to get a lawyer and sue.”

The pieces clicked together. Amey’s financial situation was unstable at best, nonexistent at worst. Grace had wondered often how she was paying Patel to oversee this petition in the first place. A lawsuit? That would be astronomical. “Were you serious?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Maybe. But that weekend Amey told me she could get her back. Said it wasn’t final.”

Grace worked to keep her breathing even. “Are the two of you planning to raise her together?”

“Together? Nah. Amey and I aren’t a good fit. We were never really together.”

Grace blinked. “So . . . you’re going to raise her? Alone?” Panic rose in her chest. She wasn’t here to judge whether Brady was fit to be a father, but looking around the room . . . she was sure as hell judging his fitness.

André dropped a hand on her knee. “Bud, you working?”

Brady nodded. “Yep. Gordon’s. Construction.”

“Nice. That’s a good gig. How much are you making?”

Brady’s mouth twitched. “Sixty. Hoping to go up to seventy-five by the end of summer.”

André’s hand tightened on Grace’s leg, and she dropped a hand from the table, covering his with hers.

He flipped his palm and laced their fingers, then gave a soft squeeze. “I get it, bud. This has to be heavy. But she’s with a family—she’s been with them since birth. Do you want to tear that apart?”

Brady’s jaw clenched. “I haven’t even seen her.”

“Because Amey closed the adoption,” Grace explained. “The family—Jenna and Gentry—they’re good people. Loving. Stable. They were never pushing for it to be closed.”

“What if I want to be part of her life? I didn’t get a choice.” Brady blinked fast, trying to hide his emotion.

Grace counted to three as she inhaled. “No one’s saying you can’t be. We could explore open adoption—visits, letters, a relationship. But you and Amey aren’t in a place to co-parent. You’d be introducing a custody battle where none existed.”

He stared at the wall. Silent for a long beat. “Custody?”

Grace nodded. “Listen, I know I’m biased in this situation. I believe your daughter is in a beautiful home, and I believe in the process that was followed. I know Amey doesn’t believe she was given all the information?—”

“What?” Brady frowned. “Wasn’t given what information?”

Grace’s jaw tightened. The petition wasn’t public record, which meant she couldn’t give him specifics. Her heart sped in her chest. She was already on shaky legal ground, but this was Country and Jenna. Maybe there was a way to work around it. She had to find something that could stop this petition in its tracks. “She’s saying . . . certain steps in the process weren’t fully explained to her. That she didn’t understand all of her rights before signing.”

Brady made a low sound in his throat. “That doesn’t track. She was pissed at me when I reached out. Said I’d already missed the window.”

Grace’s heart ticked faster. “What window?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. She said I’d already bailed on her, which isn’t true.” He pulled out his phone. “I can show you if you want. She told me she signed, that it was done. That’s when I went a little crazy.”

Grace could barely breathe as he scrolled. His thumb flicked over the screen, then he paused, squinting. “Here. Found it.” He turned the screen to her.

Amey

I already signed the papers. The ten day window is up. The social worker sent you a letter and you never responded. You had your chance to be involved.

The timestamp was perfect. It was before the petition. Weeks before. And she knew. Grace’s stomach bottomed out. “Can you forward that to me?”.

Brady nodded. “On Hinge?”

Grace’s cheeks heated. “No, no, just—here.” She focused hard on her screen, pretending André’s eyes weren’t boring into her soul, and opened her contacts. She handed Brady the phone and had him type in his number.

When he was finished, she texted him, then waited for a buzz in response. When it came through, she held her breath. The message sat there, damning and undeniable. A loaded gun for court. Grace opened her case app and archived the screenshot immediately.

Holy shit. This was it. This was the hole in Amey’s case.

She exhaled slowly, her whole body vibrating. She only had to keep Neel Patel from finding out she’d given Brady sensitive information. But had she? She hadn’t exactly told him what Amey’s petition was, and Amey had technically already exposed everything by saying the adoption was under scrutiny hadn’t she? “Thank you, Brady. I know this is a lot.”

He ran a hand over his buzzed hair. “I just want to be part of my kid’s life. I didn’t get to choose anything.”

Brady walked them to the door. André shoved his hands in his pockets, and Grace pulled her coat tighter around herself. They exited the house and walked in silence past his truck. He didn’t stop, instead following her to the corner. As soon as they were out of eyesight and earshot, Grace stopped and whirled toward him.

“They’re going to get to keep Hope!” she hissed, shaking with relief. “Can you believe that? She knew about the ten day window. I knew she knew it. Her social worker checked all the boxes, and now I have proof.” Grace turned in a circle, tipping her head to the sky. “This is exactly what I needed.” When she lowered her eyes, André wasn’t smiling. “What?”

He wet his lips, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

André blew out a breath, hunching over and pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. “This doesn’t feel right.”

She gaped at him. “Doesn’t feel right?”

André met her eyes, setting his jaw the way he always did before he said something she was going to hate. “Amey filed a petition with false information, and that was wrong. I get that. I hate that it’s putting Jenna and Country through the ringer. But this dude? He didn’t know he had a kid. She kept that from him, and now he’s in the shit about it and we’re going to slam this home? Cut him off?”

“I never said he’d be cut off. I said we’d discuss options?—”

“Yeah, the lawyers will decide for him. Meanwhile he’s never met his damn daughter.”

Grace snapped her mouth closed. She drew a deep breath and exhaled. “If he decided he wanted Hope, he would have a case to fight the adoption, André. I’m trying to save Jenna and Country.”

He took a step back and dragged a hand over his jaw. “I don’t think this is something you can control, Grace. What if he changes his mind in a year? Two? How is that going to impact Hope?”

“How is it going to impact our friends?”

He winced, pain flickering through his features. “If it had been your dad. If he didn’t know?—”

“That’s not fair. Don’t you dare use that against me?—”

André stormed forward and pulled her into his arms so fast, she forgot to breathe. She stiffened, but as his hand rubbed up and down over her back, she couldn’t help but sink into him. Tears pooled in her eyes as his heart beat against her cheek.

“I told you that first night that there’s always a reason for a fight.” His voice rumbled through her. “But you—Grace, you’re out here dropping gloves with every damn thing that breathes.”

“This is something worth fighting for.” She pushed against his chest, but he held tight.

“Not the point. You’re trying to kill every penalty yourself and refusing to pass the puck.”

“Don’t give me that hockey shit.” She wrestled her arms between them so she could look up into his face. “You can’t say a damn thing. Not when you’re busting your ass for Heads Up?—”

“I’ve got a team.” His hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. “And you do too, if you would stop being a stubborn ass and use us.”

“I texted you! I asked you to come?—”

“And now you’re going to let everyone else in, too. You’re going to stop questioning whether you’re making the perfect choice because there isn’t one. You’re not going to jeopardize your career because you don’t want to make a mistake.” He drew a deep breath, and his arms relaxed an inch. “I’ve done this before. When everything happened with Luc. I’ve learned this the hard way, and I don’t want you to burn out like I did.”

Grace’s mouth went dry. “But the stakes are too high and?—”

“To hell they are. The only way we lose is by cutting each other out, do you hear me?” His jaw flexed. “You’re trying to win the game with a five-man forecheck and no goalie.”

Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come.

“You don’t have to take every shift, Grace. You don’t have to carry the whole ice. Sometimes . . . ” He leaned in, forehead pressing to hers. “Sometimes, you have to trust your teammates to take the drop.”

Her breath hitched, the ache in her chest threatening to bury her. “What if I can’t?”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

She shook her head, throat too tight to answer. He pulled back enough to see her face, eyes burning into hers, and she was suddenly standing inside that plastic tube, waiting for the floor to drop out from under her. “I don’t think I’m built for letting go.”

He smiled. “Yeah, you are. You just haven’t seen what it feels like when someone’s got your six.”