But this morning, possibility and probability came together to open up a can of whoop ass on him. He still hadn’t completely recovered, but he didn’t have the luxury of waiting to tell Millie. He’d spilled the beans to Danny McMillan, and no matter how sneaky the former quarterback thought he was, Ty knew it was only a matter of time before Kate put the full-court press on the poor man and forced him to spill his guts.
Hefting his duffel bag, he shut off the lights and wound his way through the warren of cubicles between his office and the trophy-lined corridors. The majority of them commemorated achievement in women’s basketball, but if Ty was reading his team correctly, this could be the year the men started their climb.
He’d set their sights on making the NCAA tournament the following March, but truthfully, he’d settle for a bid to the National Invitational Tournament. Some form of postseason appearance was becoming an imperative. He had only two years left on his contract, and he needed some wins in the professional arena to counterbalance the mess his personal life had become. If he couldn’t spark a winning tradition, the more conservative factions around these parts would start gunning for his job. Division I coaching salaries were too high for the results to be anything less than satisfactory. Sure, he’d turned out a top draft pick, but he couldn’t convince the kid to stay and play out his eligibility. The prospect of losing talent to the draft was a double-edged sword all coaches had to swallow, but few could say they’d lost their marriage to it as well.
The drive to Millie’s house was short. Too short. He sat parked at the curb, the engine off and his gaze glued to her front door before he’d even started to work out what he’d say.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he tried to think of a way to spin this latest whammy, but he couldn’t. He was no Millie Jensen. It was getting damn hard to find slivers of hope in the muck his life had become. And it was only going to get worse. His gut was in knots.
His attorney assured him support, custody, and visitation would be simple enough to work out, but the man didn’t see the trapped animal look in Mari’s eyes. She was scared, and her fear terrified Ty.
Even as an undergrad, Mari had been too sure of herself. Calculating. At the time, he’d mistaken her ambition for confidence. Now, the blinders were off. His ex-wife was a woman accustomed to getting her way, but now her plans were being thwarted, and it was his fault. He didn’t need his psych degree to know exactly how this game had played out.
She’d tried to convince Dante the child was his, but the kid had been an academic all-American. Dante’s math skills were sharp. Terrified of being saddled with a kid at twenty, he nipped his relationship with Mari in the bud. Then, he sicced his team of fancy new lawyers on her to discourage any further pursuit.
That left Mari with two options: going home to her family in disgrace or reconciliation with him.
Ty laughed out loud when she broached the subject in the lab waiting room. He had to admit, Mari was at the top of her game. Pregnancy seemed to suit her. She was all dewy skin and wide eyes. Her hair was glossy and sleek, a waterfall of spun gold cascading over her shoulders and flowing over her breasts. She wore the diamond he’d given her. Her nails were polished in pale, innocent pink. The tip of one fingernail was adorned with tiny rhinestones. As if a two-carat center stone surrounded by baguettes wasn’t quite enough bling for her.
I want us to be a family.
The words rang every bit as false in his head as they had the first time he’d heard them. She didn’t want a family; she needed a fallback. And she was so sure he’d fall into line. That rankled. She’d never asked how he was, what might be going on in his life, or even if he was seeing anyone. Like the spoiled woman she was, she assumed her once-favorite toy would be waiting for her whenever she felt like playing with him.
He’d told her no in the gentlest terms he could manage, though she didn’t really deserve the consideration. Lord knew she hadn’t thought twice about his feelings when she’d run off with Dante. But he wanted to be the bigger man. A better man. He didn’t want to hang on to grudges or let what happened between them taint any relationship he might have with the child she carried. So he’d been firm but as kind as he could manage, promising to be supportive of the pregnancy and the baby if the child was indeed his, but nothing more. When she pressed him, began asking questions she no longer had any right to ask, he shut down.
When the technician—who would explain the test results, the margin for error, and provide them each with a copy of the findings to give to their respective lawyers—called them into his office, Ty saw the flash of fear in Mari’s eyes. But by the time they took their seats, Mari’s shields were back in place, her eyes narrowed and focused on the file folder on the man’s desk.
Ty would never forget that folder. Plain manila. Crisp, not yet dog-eared from use. The name printed on the label. Mari Ransom. Divorced or not, she still had the legal right to that part of him.
“The tests show a high probability that you are indeed the father of Ms. Ransom’s child,” the man began in a voice totally devoid of emotion.
It hardly mattered if the
