Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 41

Derek Hollins is testing me, and he's good at it.

Week two of his mandatory sessions, and he's developed a strategy. Show up just late enough to be annoying but not late enough to document. Answer questions with questions. Make comments that skate right up to the line of inappropriate without crossing it.

"How are you feeling about your integration with the team?" I ask during Monday's session.

"How are you feeling about your integration with Nielsen and Velasco?" He smirks. "Must be complicated. Sharing, I mean."

I don't react. Don't blink. Just write a note on my pad—deflection, sexualized commentary, boundary testing—and continue.

"Let's focus on your experience. Have you connected with any teammates outside of practice?"

"Have you connected with any teammates outside of practice? Oh wait—" He laughs at his own joke. "You definitely have."

Note: Repeated personal attacks. Pattern emerging.

"I notice you're redirecting our conversations toward my personal life rather than engaging with therapeutic goals. Can you tell me why that is?"

He shrugs, all false innocence. "Just curious. You're an interesting person, Doc. People talk about you."

"What do people say?"

"That you're good at your job. Professional." The word drips with irony. "That you keep things very... separate."

I let the silence stretch. He's waiting for me to fill it, to defend myself, to give him something. I give him nothing.

"Our time's almost up," I say finally. "Same time Thursday?"

His smirk flickers. He expected more resistance. "Sure. Can't wait."

After he leaves, I sit in my office and document everything. Word for word. Timestamp. Behavioral observations. The file is growing thick with evidence of what he's doing, even if I can't prove why.

The strain follows me home.

I snap at Mateo for leaving dishes in the sink. I'm short with Axel when he asks about my day. The babies pick up on my tension—Aria fusses more than usual, Elio clings to my legs, Sören watches me with those too-observant eyes.

"Mama's tired," I tell him, even though he can't understand. "Mama's just tired."

By Thursday, I'm grinding my teeth in my sleep. Axel mentions it gently over breakfast—the sound woke him up, he's worried, am I okay? I say yes because saying no would require explaining, and explaining would require admitting that Derek is getting to me even though I swore he wouldn't.

Thursday's session is worse.

He misses the appointment entirely. No call, no message. I wait the full hour in case he shows up late, then document the absence and notify his coach.

Friday morning, he appears at my office door unannounced. No appointment. Just shows up, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place.

"Sorry about yesterday. Had a thing."

"Sessions need to be scheduled in advance. I can see you on Monday at our regular time."

"What if I want to see you now?" He steps inside uninvited. "I'm having feelings. Isn't that what therapy's for? Feelings?"

My pulse spikes but my voice stays even. "If you're experiencing a mental health crisis, I can refer you to our on-call support. For regular sessions, please schedule through the system."

"You don't want to help me?" He's moving closer. Not threatening, exactly, but definitely encroaching. "I thought helping was your whole thing."

"My thing is maintaining professional standards. Which includes scheduled appointments and appropriate boundaries."

"Boundaries." He tastes the word. "Yeah. Cassian said you were big on those. Right up until you weren't."

The name lands like a punch. He watches my face for the flinch. I refuse to give it to him.

"Monday, Mr. Hollins. Ten AM. I'll see you then."

He holds my gaze for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression—frustration, maybe. The realization that I'm not cracking the way he expected.

"Monday," he finally agrees. Turns and leaves without another word.

I close my door. Lock it. Sit down and breathe through the adrenaline shaking my hands.

He's escalating. The uninvited visit, the physical proximity, the direct mention of Cassian—he's pushing harder because the lighter tactics aren't working. Which means either he'll give up, or he'll try something bigger.

I'm betting on bigger.

That evening, I snapped at Mateo again. Something stupid—he loaded the dishwasher wrong, the bowls were facing the wrong direction, it shouldn't matter but suddenly it matters enormously and I'm lecturing him about water circulation patterns while he stares at me like I've grown a second head.

"Selene." He catches my wrist gently when I reach for the dishwasher door. "Stop."

"The bowls—"

"Are fine. They're bowls. They'll get clean." He tugs me away from the kitchen, toward the couch. "Sit. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to—"

"You've been wound tighter than Axel's game-day schedule for two weeks. You're snapping at dishes. You ground your teeth so loud last night I thought there was construction outside." He pulls me down beside him. "What's happening at work?"

I want to lie. Want to say it's fine, I'm handling it, nothing to worry about. But the exhaustion wins.

"He's getting to me," I admit quietly. "Derek. I told you I'd be unbreakable and instead I'm coming home and yelling about dishwasher optimization."

"That's not him getting to you. That's you being human."

"I can't afford to be human. Not right now. I have to be perfect at work and perfect at home and perfect—"

"No." His voice is firm. "You don't have to be perfect here. Save perfect for him. Save bulletproof for your office and your sessions and your documentation. But when you walk through that door—" He gestures at the front entrance. "You get to be messy. Tired. Wrong about how dishwashers work."

"I'm not wrong about the dishwasher. Water circulation is—"

"Selene."

I stop. Take a breath. Let myself feel how tired I actually am.

"He mentioned Cassian today. By name. Like he wanted me to know this is all connected."

Mateo's jaw tightens. "And you didn't murder him?"

"Wanted to. Didn't. Professional standards." I lean into him, letting his warmth anchor me. "He's going to try something bigger. I can feel it. Everything so far has been testing, probing. The real move is coming."

"Then we'll handle it. Together." His arms come around me. "You don't have to carry this alone. I know you're used to being the strong one, the one who handles everything. But you've got backup now. Use us."

Axel appears in the doorway, reading the scene with one glance. He crosses to the couch, settling on my other side, hand finding my knee.

"What do you need?" he asks. No preamble. No questions about what's wrong—Mateo's presence tells him enough.

"I don't know," I admit. "I don't know what I need."

"Then we'll figure it out together." His thumb traces circles on my knee, steady and grounding. "Whatever he's planning, we face it as a unit. That's the pact, right? No one spirals alone."

The pact. The promise we made about first words and jealousy and messy feelings. It applies here too, apparently. To all the hard things, not just the ones we anticipated.

"He's going to come for me," I say quietly. "Cassian. Through Derek. He's going to try to destroy what I've built."

"Let him try." Mateo's voice is fierce. "He doesn't know what he's up against."

I wish I had his confidence. But sitting between them, surrounded by their certainty and their warmth, I can almost believe it.

Almost believe we can win this.