Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(32)

“I’m not trying to take her back,” she hissed. “That is one of the first things I said to you because I knew that was what you’d assume. Yes, I had a DNA test done so that I can be added to her birth certificate. But that tiny line on a piece of paper is all I’m trying to take from you. She adores you. I’ve heard her speak less than ten sentences and almost all of them were about you.” She bobbed her head from side to side and used a baby voice that was eerily and uncomfortably similar to Rosalee’s. “‘My daddy got me a unicorn cake. My daddy won’t let me have a ferret. My daddy pees standing up but he said I shouldn’t.’”

Christ. Yeah. That was my baby girl.

“I’m not trying to change that. I’m not even trying to get in the middle. All I want is to know her.”

“And what the hell made you think you can handle that responsibility now? What happens when the past comes back or when life gets hard again? You can’t come into her life just to disappear again.”

“I have no intention of disappearing. I bought a house and have a construction company coming to set up a place for my studio in the back. I never thought I’d come back to Jersey. But if this is where Rosalee is, then this is where I want to be.”

I’d never thought I’d go back to Jersey, either. But Ian had lived nearby and I’d desperately wanted to get Rosalee out of the city. Those ninety miles between my house in Leary and Watersedge were just enough so that I didn’t have a nervous breakdown every time I hit the Lincoln Tunnel.

I’d spent a lot of years avoiding all things Watersedge. I’d anonymously donated millions to a charity that helped families who were affected by the tragedy as soon as I had been financially able. It was a cowardly way out, but it was all I could do at that point. The mall was only a ninety-minute drive from my house in Leary, but I hadn’t stepped foot in that town since the day I’d left.

Now, with Hadley though, Watersedge had come to me.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” I asked.

“I’m not perfect, Caven. I have my moments. PTSD and depression don’t ever disappear. But I’ve been working so damn hard for the last four years to get my life to a place where it doesn’t own me. If anyone can understand that, I know it’s you.”

I cut my gaze away, not wanting to acknowledge just how accurate she was.

“Look,” she said. “Bottom line. Given our unusual history with each other, a custody battle between the two of us is going to be the gossip story of the decade. I’d like to avoid that as much as possible. I don’t want my past dragged into the present any more than I’m guessing you do. So let me be clear with you. I haven’t filed and have no plans to file for any kind of custody. I’m coming to you as a person. I’m asking you to give me a chance. Let me show you who I am. Let me gain your trust. Get to know me and then and only then, if you feel comfortable, let me get to know my daughter.”

I stared at her. I had beyond zero interest in getting to know Hadley Banks. But she was right about the media. They would have been enthralled with our shit-show. I’d worked too hard to escape the shackles of my DNA to ever go back to living in my father’s shadow. And that was exactly what would happen if I, son of mass murderer Malcom Lowe, had a custody battle with Hadley Banks, survivor of said mass murder. It didn’t matter what she’d done in the past.

I would be all but crucified in the public eye for keeping Rosalee from her.

“I need to go,” I said, sliding out of the booth.

Her face crumbled. “Caven, please. I’m not here to hurt either one of you. I just want—”

“I heard you,” I snapped, digging my wallet out of my back pocket. I tossed a twenty on the table before lifting my gaze back to hers. “You file nothing. Not even to have your name added to her birth certificate. You stay away from my house. You stay away from my daughter. You stay away from me. Forget my phone number. I don’t want any more texts or late-night pleas. I’ve heard everything you have to say.”

She rose to her feet, stepping into my space, and craned her neck back to look up at me. “Please don’t do th—”

“And I’m going to think about it.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears, making my gut wrench. I didn’t know what it was about this woman, but in the span of one conversation, I’d gone from wanting to have her thrown under the jail to having the most ridiculous desire to promise her that it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t okay.

It would probably never be okay. For either of us.

“I don’t know what the hell is happening right now, Hadley. I don’t know whether to believe you. Assume you’re lying. Apologize. Cuss you out. In some ways, none of this makes sense. In others, it explains a lot. But I need time to think. This is my daughter we’re talking about.”

“I know,” she mumbled from behind her hand before remembering to remove it. “I appreciate you even considering this after everything that’s happened.”

“I mean it. No contact. No legal action. Nothing. You push this and I promise I’ll push back so hard you’ll be out of the picture completely.”

And then it happened. On a day dictated by a pendulum of emotions, Hadley proved she had one more up her sleeve.