slept, smiling.
She slept, thinking of Riley Chase.
A baby called Riley. A little girl …
Eighteen years ago his daughter had been born and he hadn’t known. Marguerite had chosen to have her alone, or with her formidable parents, rather than let him into her life.
He’d thought he’d loved her. He’d thought she’d loved him.
He had no idea what love was. What family was.
He’d watched Pippa with Amy, and felt the strength between them, the instant bonding of two strong women. That was what he didn’t get. Didn’t trust. Bonding.
Family.
His daughter was coming. It was doing his head in; delivering Amy’s baby, thinking back to how it could have been if he’d been deemed worth being a partner, a father. Family.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. He needed to sleep. Get his head under control.
Or surf. Better. No matter how tired he was, surf helped.
He strode out of the hospital, headed for the beach.
The thought of Pippa stayed with him. Pippa holding a baby girl.
Too much emotion. His head felt like it might implode.
When all else failed, surf.
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