Текст книги "Hold On"

Автор книги: Kristen Ashley

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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

I lifted my head to look at him and kept talking.

“Good times. The only really good times probably for the both of us that weren’t clouded by the shit of life or my bent to be a pain in her ass. So I like water. Maybe it’s because I just like water. But I think it’s because Mom busted her ass to give me those times and it means something to me because my mom means something to me. And because it reminds me she gave me the most important thing I ever got—all I need to be a good mom to the kid I got. I couldn’t call myself Cher Lake or Cher Ocean or Cher Beach. So I picked Rivers. It works.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It works.”

But the way he said that, my attention on him sharpened.

And when I saw what I was pretty sure I saw, I accused, “You’re plannin’ a vacation for you, me, Ethan, and maybe even my mom somewhere near water, aren’t you?”

The faraway look in his eyes vanished and he smiled at me.

“Caught,” he whispered.

God, it had happened.

No, it kept happening.

I’d hoped. For the first time I’d hoped—hoped I was wrong that life couldn’t get better.

And he kept proving me wrong.

“You’re never gonna get a new house at this rate,” I warned.

“Yeah, I am,” he replied. “Shower sex with you is fantastic. Sink sex with you is out of this fuckin’ world. But you only got one bathroom in your pad and your boy is right next door to that and right across the hall from your room. And when you and Ethan come for sleepovers, I’m good with getting creative but not a big fan of having my options limited. So at least one of us needs a house that offers me options. Since it’s doubtful you can even disassemble your tribute to the flower generation and reassemble it in a new place, much less wanna do that, it’s up to me to find it. And a man will go to great lengths for options, which include the possible option of future vacation sex.”

“You’re gonna break the bank in order to secure fuck options?” I asked.

“Am I a man?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you realize that’s a stupid question?”

I started laughing. “Yes.”

“So I won’t bother answering it.”

I gave in to laughing.

As I was doing it, Merry joined me at the same time he rolled me so I had his weight and heat covering me.

When I was done, I slid a hand up his chest to cup his jaw.

“Prepare for gooey,” I warned.

His eyes were still lit with humor, but with my words, one side of his lips tipped up.

“Sock it to me.”

I didn’t delay in socking it to him.

“You don’t just make me happy, Merry. You keep making me happier.”

His face got warmer and more beautiful than ever.

“That’s the goal, brown eyes,” he whispered.

“You’re an overachiever,” I whispered back.

He didn’t reply.

He kissed me.

Then it was his turn to make love to me.

And there it was again.

Merry making me happier.

* * * * *

Garrett

Monday Morning

Garrett slid the pancakes he’d made in front of Ethan, who was sitting at the table.

He headed back to Cher’s stove.

Cher was at the countertop, bent over it, the ball of one foot resting on top of the other one, her eyes to a pad of paper on the counter.

“You’re still into the Star Wars theme?” she asked the paper, her question directed to her son.

“Yeah, Mom,” Ethan answered his pancakes, slathering butter on them.

“R2-D2 cake?” she went on, scribbling on the paper.

“Yep,” Ethan confirmed.

“Chocolate?” she kept going.

“Affirmative.” Ethan was now soaking his pancakes in syrup.

No.

Submerging them.

Watching that, Garrett felt his lips tip up before he turned his gaze to his woman. “How many pancakes you want, babe?”

“Two,” she muttered distractedly, still scribbling. “Thanks, gorgeous.”

He turned to the griddle and poured batter.

He was putting the bowl aside when he heard a noise like someone was shoving air with their tongue through clenched teeth.

He cut his gaze to Cher.

She was still bent over the counter but twisted to look down her side at him, her lips pressed together, eyes big, and she jerked her head.

He had no fucking clue what that was about.

He was going to learn.

She twisted back to look at her boy.

“Haven’t heard from your dad, kid.” She drew in breath and then offered, “You want me to give him a call? You’ve never invited him, Peg, and the kids, though they know about your extravaganzas and probably would wanna come. You think this year’s the year?”

That was what it was about. She needed him alert and at her back when she introduced something that might be tough to talk about with Ethan.

Or, more to the point, she needed him alert for Ethan.

Fuck, that felt good.

“Don’t call. Don’t care he comes or not,” Ethan muttered, shoving pancake in his mouth.

She gave it a few beats before she suggested, “It’s been a while, honey. Maybe you should give him a call.”

Ethan, chewing, looked to his mom and swallowed.

“It’s been a while, yeah. You think that’s long enough for him to learn not to be a loser?” he asked.

Garrett saw in profile as Cher bit her lip.

That meant no.

“Right,” Ethan said, and looked back to his pancakes. “Don’t care he’s not at my party. Really won’t care if he doesn’t give me a call. It’s not his birthday that’s comin’ up. He’s missed a bunch of mine. His choice whether he’s gonna miss more.”

“You did tell him you didn’t want to see them again,” she reminded her boy.

“If I told you that, would you leave me alone forever and ever?” Ethan returned.

Cher bit her lip again.

That time it meant not a fucking chance.

Yeah.

Ethan Rivers might be only nearly eleven, but he had his head screwed on straight.

Cher opened her mouth, but Garrett said quickly and quietly, “He’s right, baby.”

She twisted to look down her body at him again.

“If Schott wants a part of Ethan’s life, he’s gotta make the effort,” Garrett finished.

She took Garrett in. She twisted back and took her son in.

Then she said, “Right,” and looked at her pad of paper.

She was blowing it off, but it was pretend. He saw the tense line of her shoulders.

She was worried about her kid, but she wasn’t going to baby him. She was going to let him make his own decisions.

It was a good call. It was time for her to give Ethan that and for Ethan to learn how to do it right.

He’d touch base with her later, after he dropped Ethan at school, to make sure she was good.

Garrett turned back to the stove and flipped the pancakes.

Then he felt it, so he turned back.

Ethan was looking at him.

He had a weird look on his face. Suddenly, his shoulders came up really high, almost to his ears.

He mouthed, “Thanks,” quickly dropped his shoulders, and gave his attention back to his food.

Garrett looked back to the griddle.

In his line of work, Garrett had seen it time and again.

As much of a loser as Trent Schott was, any boy felt the absence of a father straight through everything that he was.

Everything.

With a good father who wasn’t perfect but gave it his best shot, Garrett didn’t know if it was better to have that hole go unfilled than to have some moron make a half-assed attempt to fill it. And with Dave as his dad, Garrett would never know the answer to that.

He just had to hope that one day Ethan would find him and share it so he could do whatever he could to help him get past it.

On these thoughts, Garrett felt a burn that he could only extinguish knowing they had a reservation for Swank’s and he had an envelope on his bar at home with three Colts tickets in it.

He flipped a pancake, calling, “You gonna want more, bud?”

“Yeah,” Ethan answered. “One, maybe two. Thanks, Merry.”

“Whatever you want, kid,” he muttered to the pancakes.

He said those words and felt it again. Ethan’s eyes on his back. Maybe even Cher’s too.

He didn’t turn.

He made his woman and her son pancakes.

* * * * *

Wednesday Evening

“I thought he was full of it,” Ethan declared before he lifted his eyes from his plate. “But Brendon did not lie.” He raised his fork, which had a chunk of steak skewered on its tips. “You can cut these steaks with your fork.”

“It’s a miracle,” Grace muttered, all dolled up, looking nearly as pretty as her daughter in part because of the happy smile she was aiming right then at her grandson.

But she was wrong.

It wasn’t a miracle.

It was a prime cut of beef that cost fifty-three dollars.

It was also worth every penny. And Garrett knew that to be true as he watched Ethan shove the chunk of steak into his mouth, his eyes going round with marvel.

He felt something slink up the leg of his trousers and looked to his woman at his side.

Now he was wrong.

Grace looked pretty.

But all done up for their night out, Cher was fucking dazzling.

She was also looking at him.

And her look told him she loved him. It also told him she loved what he was giving to her son.

So yeah.

Absolutely.

A fifty-three-dollar steak was a damned expensive steak.

But it was worth every fucking penny.

* * * * *

Thursday Afternoon

Garrett stood on the porch, looking out to the water.

He’d finally had time to schedule the viewing.

And there he was.

The bathrooms were in worse shape than he’d thought.

The rest of it was better than he could’ve imagined.

Especially the view.

His real estate agent stood with him.

“I’m not sure they’re going to accept that offer, Garrett,” she remarked.

“The place needs work,” he told her, something she knew.

“They’re aware of that, which is why they’ve dropped the price seventy-five K.”

“Comps show my offer is not an insult,” he returned.

“Maybe so, but the market is reviving.”

He turned to look at her. “Make the offer. Be cool about it so they don’t shut us out. There’s room to move.”

“You might need a lot of room. They give the impression they’re entrenched.”

He looked back to the water.

I like water.

“I gotta get back to work,” he murmured, then turned again to his agent, leveling his eyes on hers. “Make the offer. I don’t care you gotta make magic, Diane. Get me this house.”

“Okay, Garrett,” she replied.

He nodded.

He then took another look inside the opened door at the big great room, its fantastic kitchen, its phenomenal hearth, all the warm and welcoming space.

He turned the other way and took a last look at the water, which could be seen from the kitchen. The living room. The study. The room that could be Ethan’s. The master suite, which was all the way on the other side of the house from the study and other two bedrooms.

And with one last glance at his agent, he went to his truck and got back to work.

* * * * *

Saturday Morning

Garrett was on his way out the door to head to Cher’s to help her with Ethan’s party when his phone rang.

After glancing at the screen, he took the call.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“I made magic,” Diane said.

Garrett smiled.

Chapter Twenty-Two

On Top

Cher

“I’m sorry, we don’t have more tiki torches.”

“How can you not have more tiki torches? This is a party place. We’re having a luau. A luau is a party. Which is why I’m shoppin’ at a party place. And you can’t have a luau without tiki torches.”

“Sir, it’s October in Indiana.”

“So?”

“We sell down stock of tiki torches after summer in order to make room for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas items.”

“You should be ready for every occasion.”

“We pride ourselves in being that. That’s why you currently have twelve tiki torches here. But I’m afraid we don’t have more right now. And just a suggestion, next time, should you want something in high quantities, if you give us a call beforehand, we’ll be happy to order it for you.”

“Twelve isn’t a high quantity. It’s a perfectly reasonable quantity unless you need twenty, and I need twenty.”

“Again, I apologize. We just don’t have twenty.”

“I barely have enough leis and grass skirts. And, just to say, neither are very high quality.”

“I’m sorry you think that as well, sir. But—”

“Yo!” Merry barked.

I jumped at the sound, pulled from my focus on my extreme annoyance at being an audience to this sheer ridiculousness when Merry and me had a ton of Star Wars and other party shit in four collective baskets, a cake to pick up, decorating to do, and later, merrymaking to achieve for my son.

Plus, my mother was at my house with my kid, helping me get ready by doing what she called “light cleaning.” This meant she was going to move shit around to where she thought it should be, which was what she always did when she jumped at the chance to do some “light cleaning” before some event I had at my house. This also meant it’d take weeks to find the shit she moved, something which was nearly more annoying than the selfish, thoughtless, in-a-hurry human population you encountered when you were out running errands (but just nearly).

Needless to say, I didn’t have time for an asshole on a tiki torch mission in Indiana for a luau he was giving in fucking October.

I looked up at Merry to see he agreed.

He’d also shoved his jacket back on both sides and had his hands on his hips.

There was no badge on his belt, seeing as he was off-duty.

Thus, I wondered how this would go.

That said, Merry was tall and lean and badass. The guy with the torches was not tall and was kinda doughy, so I had high hopes it would go well…and, hopefully, fast.

“You wanna move this along?” Merry suggested, though it didn’t come close to sounding like a suggestion.

“It’s my turn at the register,” the man in front of us sniped. “You’ll get your turn.”

“I’ll get it a lot faster, you give it up about tiki torches you aren’t gonna get, seein’ as this guy can’t conjure them from thin air,” Merry returned, shifting his torso to the side only slightly to indicate the line that had formed behind us, which had at least three other customers waiting to check out. “You do that, you can get on your way so the rest of us can get on our way.”

This was a faulty strategy.

He’d called out to the man’s civility.

Since the man had none, that was totally not going to work.

“I hardly need your attitude on a day where I’m looking forward to hosting a luau,” the man retorted.

There it was. I was right.

He didn’t give a shit that he was affecting all our days with his attitude about fucking tiki torches.

“Ditto, turkey,” the woman behind us snapped.

Surprised, I looked back at her to see a blue-haired, sharp-eyed lady with a basket filled with Frozen-themed party plates, cups, like-colored streamers and balloons, and a second basket filled almost to overflowing with bags of fake snow.

“My granddaughter got one year older today and I obviously am not getting any younger, especially waiting in this line,” she declared irately. “I’m not really looking forward to watching Princess Anna’s demonstration of sisterly love for the seven millionth time. But I’d rather do that than expire, waiting at the cash register of a party store, watching a grown man pitch a fit over tiki torches.”

“Yeah,” agreed the lumbersexual guy at the back of the line who had shaggy hair, a long, scruffy beard, was wearing a plaid shirt, and holding an enormous bouquet of pink and silver balloons with some Mylar ones mixed in that said, Sweet Sixteen. “Buy your tiki torches and go.”

The guy in front of us got red in the face, shoved the torches and baskets filled with leis and grass skirts toward the clerk, and snapped, “I’ll get them elsewhere.”

“Good luck with that,” Merry muttered.

The guy shot him a filthy look before he stormed out.

“Next,” the clerk said, dumping the unwanted luau items behind him to clear the register area, doing this with practiced nonchalance, gazing expectantly at Merry and me like all that hadn’t happened.

Then again, he probably had twelve situations like that every day.

This made me glad I was a bartender. People tended to kiss bartender ass to get what they wanted. You didn’t, your ass got ignored and your glass stayed empty.

On these pleasant thoughts, we got our Star Wars stuff. We took it out to Merry’s car. Then Merry headed us toward Marsh to pick up the R2-D2-shaped chocolate cake.

“Just to say, you totally get a blowjob for even going to a party store with me,” I declared as Merry pulled out of the parking lot. “You get another one for gettin’ in that dude’s face. But you didn’t flash your badge and scare the bejeezus out of him, so the month of ‘any time, anywhere head’ is yet to be earned.”

“Baby, can’t flash my badge at a party store to get some guy to stop bein’ an asshole.”

I looked to him. “You did it with the BMW bitch.”

He glanced at me before he looked back at the road. “That was good timing. My badge was already on my belt. Today, I’m off duty.”

I turned to face front again. “I need to take you grocery shopping with me when you’re on duty.”

“They kinda frown on that too, sweetheart, the me-on-duty part being operative, seein’ as they actually want me to work when I’m on duty, not go grocery shopping.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, but I did it grinning because he was funny when he was being rational.

“Gotta say, it’s good to know I got two blowjobs in store, so I probably shouldn’t point this out and give you ideas, but you don’t seem to hesitate goin’ down on me, even if I haven’t done something to earn your mouth.”

“Good point,” I kept muttering (and grinning).

“Though, the promise, brown eyes? Sweet.” Now Merry was muttering.

“Glad you think so.”

He drove.

I sat in his truck, grinning.

“Cher?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an overachiever too.”

I felt my chest depress.

I turned my eyes to him.

He was also grinning.

“Fuck,” I groused.

“What?” he asked.

“Making you happy makes me even happier.”

“You say that like it’s bad.”

“It is.”

He glanced again at me then back at the road, his brows drawn, his face dark. “How is that bad?”

“Because it means you’re always one-upping me on the happy. I can’t make you happy without you making me happier because I’m making you happy. It’s a vicious cycle where you’re always on top. And that’s bad.”

“I know some times when you’re on top that make me a fuckuva lot happier than you are.”

His words and the memories they invoked gave me a nice shiver.

And experiencing that, I shared, “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Trust me, baby. When you ride me, I watch you come, but I feel what you give to me.”

“I feel what you give to me too.”

“You come harder on your back. That’s when I’m givin’ it to you. When you’re on top, you’re givin’ it to me.”

This was definitely true.

“So there are times when you’re on top with the happy in more ways than one,” he finished.

I faced forward again, mumbling, “That makes me feel better.”

Merry reached out and nabbed my hand, holding it.

And more happy.

“Glad I could be of service,” he murmured.

“Stop being perfect,” I ordered.

He chuckled.

“And awesome,” I went on.

He kept chucking.

“And funny, smart, sweet, and hot,” I finished.

His hand squeezed mine hard as he burst out laughing.

And there it was.

I was on top.

* * * * *

“Is there something I can do, Cher?”

A bunch of people were stuffed in my kitchen with me, one of them being Rocky, who’d just asked that question.

It was time for cake.

But it was also a birthday party with fifteen kids and twice that many adults paying homage to my boy for being awesome (and turning eleven), so there was always something to do.

“Yeah, babe. Can you grab the ice cream?” I asked, unearthing R2-D2 from his flat, white box.

“Absolutely,” she murmured, pushing her way to the fridge.

I felt a hand warm on the small of my back as I saw another hand offering me two boxes of candles, one box of blue, one black.

“Need a light?” Merry’s voice rumbled into my ear.

I twisted to look up to him. “Yeah, gorgeous. And can you grab the plates and forks and get everyone in the living room?”

His hand slid down to the top of my ass, fingers curved around my hip, and gave a squeeze. “You got it.”

He dropped the candles on the counter by the cake, dug in his jeans pocket, pulled out a lighter, and tossed that on the counter too. Then he bent and kissed my neck briefly before he took off.

“Everyone in the living room,” he announced as he went. “Time for cake.”

“My big brother…domesticated,” Rocky remarked.

I looked to her to see she had a tub of ice cream in her hand and her eyes aimed where Merry was herding people out of the kitchen.

She turned to me and her smile was big.

“Looks good on him,” she declared.

“Your brother always looks good,” I replied.

Her big grin got bigger.

I dipped my head to her middle. “Congrats, by the way. Merry told me.”

She balanced the tub of ice cream in one hand in order to put her other to her belly. “Thanks.”

I turned to the cake and snatched up the candles.

Rocky got close.

“You want some?” she asked.

“Want some what?” I asked back, shoving candles in the cake and feeling weird doing it. R2-D2 was also my favorite Star Wars character and shoving candles in his middle (even if that middle was pure frosting) felt like stabbing my favorite teddy bear.

She put the ice cream on the counter and took some candles from me, starting to help.

“Some kids,” she explained.

Rocky and I weren’t tight like Vi and I, Feb and I, Frankie and I, or even Dusty and I were. We knew each other. We liked each other. But I was closer to Tanner.

But she was my man’s sister.

It was time.

“Yeah,” I said softly.

“Cute baby girls with your brown eyes,” she replied softly.

I looked to her. “Cute baby boys with his blue ones.”

She smiled again.

This one wasn’t huge, but it said a whole lot more than both the others had and all it said was good.

“We need help in here?”

Rocky and I turned to the door to see Dave walking in.

“Yeah, Dad, go in the living room and pull the curtains so we have dark for the candles,” Rocky ordered.

“Gotcha,” Dave said. He gave me a grin and turned right back around.

“And make sure people have their cameras ready!” Rocky bossed right before he disappeared through the doorway.

He lifted a hand to indicate he’d heard and was gone.

“I’ll get a knife,” she muttered. “Ice cream scoop?”

“That drawer there,” I said, jerking my head.

I finished with the candles and grabbed the lighter to start lighting.

“Baby, ready?”

I twisted again and saw Merry had six packages of Star Wars plates held sandwiched in one of his big hands, a package of plastic forks in the other. The living room beyond him was dimmed. All was ready.

“Ethan in place?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Merry answered.

I smiled. “Then yeah, honey. All ready.”

He smiled back, turned, and stopped dead.

I stopped dead too.

This was because there was a loud banging on the door.

Very loud.

And from that loud, you could definitely read angry.

Very angry.

What the fuck?

Merry glanced my way, then tossed the plates and plastic silverware aside and prowled out.

With a quick look at a perplexed Rocky, I tossed the lighter aside and hurried after him.

I hit the kitchen doorway to see forty-seven people crammed into my not-very-big living room, a room draped in black-and-blue streamers; black, blue, and silver balloons bunched and stuck in corners and around the ceiling light; and black plastic Darth Vader head-shaped trays and white plastic Stormtrooper head-shaped trays filled with Chex Mix, M&M’s, honey-roasted peanuts, or Fritos littering every surface available.

And all of those people were silent as the angry knocks kept coming.

I also saw my son’s confused face turned to the door. Merry was struggling his way through bodies to get to it, but Colt was already there.

Colt opened it.

“Stop knocking,” he bit out when the knocking didn’t stop because whoever was doing it was doing it on the storm door.

“I demand to see Cheryl!”

Fuck.

Peggy.

I looked to Ethan, who no longer looked confused.

His face was pale and his eyes were on me.

“It’s cool. Everything’s cool,” I said to the room at large but turned to the closest adult, who happened to be Dave. “Do me a big favor, Dave. Can you get my son in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing, honey,” Dave muttered.

I pushed through bodies, eyes to the door where Merry now was with Colt.

But he was pushing through the storm.

And he was pissed.

Colt was following him.

And he was pissed too.

Shit, this was happening outside.

I looked back at Dave, who was halfway to my kid.

“And, uh…shut the blinds in the kitchen, would you?”

“Mom!” Ethan cried.

“Give me and Merry a second, baby,” I requested.

Bad choice of words, especially with all these folks around.

“I’m not a baby!” he snapped.

I made it to the door and focused on him. “I need a second, kid. Merry and me need a second. You know we’ll give it to you when we know what’s going down. Just let us see the lay of the land first. Okay?”

Dave had his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. Feb was close too. Vi was pushing their way.

Ethan was glaring at me.

Then he bit out, “Fine.”

“Go with Dave and Feb, you with me?” I asked.

“Whatever,” he muttered, getting up from his seat on the floor by the coffee table, which had been cleared for cake placement, candle blowing, and ice cream scooping, the edges of the table and the floor around it littered with presents.

All ready for the good stuff.

Fucking Peggy.

I set my teeth, gathered my wits, tamped down my fury as best I could, and stormed out of my house.

Merry and Colt had managed to get her halfway down the walk.

I didn’t know what was happening. I just saw through the two men’s bodies she had one arm gesticulating.

She also had her daughter in a stroller and her son on her hip.

And my son was right then being hustled into our kitchen just before he was supposed to get cake, ice cream, and spoiled rotten by people who loved him, all because Peggy was having whatever fit Peggy was currently having.

In other words, I might have succeeded a little bit in tamping down my fury.

But I didn’t hold tight enough to the reins.

I rounded Merry, did it with velocity, but got no further when his fingers caught the back waistband of my jeans and I came up short.

I didn’t need proximity. I wasn’t going to belt a bitch who was holding a baby.

I had the use of my mouth.

So I used it.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” I asked.

She turned to me, face contorted with what appeared to be more rage than I had.

“Where’s my husband?” she bit back.

“I don’t fucking know,” I answered.

“Refrain from cursing in front of my children,” she ordered.

“Get your kids outta my yard and I won’t have to,” I retorted.

“I want to talk to my husband,” she demanded.

“Then find him wherever he is and talk to him, something you’re not gonna be able to do here, seeing as he isn’t here,” I returned.

“He’s stopped going to meetings,” she declared on a toss of her hair.

“I don’t even know what you mean, but whatever you mean, I don’t care,” I replied.

She bent my way. “Meetings,” she hissed. “To keep out the devil.”

“My guess, NA,” Colt waded in to explain.

Oh crap.

“And he’s also stopped coming home,” Peggy went on.

Shit.

I took a small step back as what was happening here penetrated.

And what was happening here was not good.

“Is he here?” she asked.

“Like I said, Peggy, no,” I answered far more calmly. “I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He hasn’t been home in over a week,” she informed me, like this was my fault.

I said nothing.

She kept the information flowing. “He also hasn’t been to work.”

Oh man.

She was screwed.

“It’s his son’s birthday party. I was certain he’d be here,” she declared.

It was my turn to share some information.

“Then you don’t know Trent, Peg, because he doesn’t give a shit about his son.”

“He’s his father,” she snapped. “A father goes to his son’s birthday party.”

“He hasn’t been to one yet,” I reminded her.

“That’s because you,” she leaned toward me, “wouldn’t let him.”

I drew in breath.

I had to hold on and not get mad again. She was up shit’s creek. She knew it but was denying it and looking for someone to blame or take it out on.

But in the end, she’d go home to betrayal and abandonment.

When she was gone, I’d go into my house to watch my kid eat cake and open presents, my man at my side and everyone we loved who loved us back crammed in my little Janis Joplin living room.

So I could find it in me to be patient.

“That’s because Ethan wasn’t comfortable with it,” I explained, something she well knew.

“That’s because you weren’t comfortable with us being a part of your son’s life,” she fired back. “Trent wanted more.”

“Peg, seriously, think about it. You wanted more.”

“Trent wanted it,” she hissed.

“Trent is the guy who knocked up his girlfriend. That’s it. Even with the minimal effort he put into winning his son, all of it at your demand, so all of it really for you, he’s always just been the guy who knocked up his girlfriend.”

“That’s not true,” she snapped.

“He’s the guy who knocked up his girlfriend,” I repeated quietly. “He’s only been playing at being a father because it made you happy.” I glanced swiftly at her kids. “And I think that hasn’t changed.”

She lifted her chin and reiterated, “That’s not true.”

I looked at her with her kids in my yard and saw bravado.

She was giving it her all.

But she couldn’t hide it.

Her husband, a recovering addict, had disappeared. She had a part-time job and two young kids.

She was terrified.

I knew that feeling.

Something moved over her face.

I braced.

“He emptied our bank account.”

Oh shit.

“Peg—” I began.

She tossed her hair again and spoke over me. “He was angry about the last visit we had here. We fought. He told me I was pushing too hard with Ethan and with him, whatever that means. How can you push a father too hard to be a father?”

It sucked that in that moment, I cared that it sucked for Peggy she was getting this wake-up call.

“He told me I needed to cool it because you were dating a police officer,” she kept going. “Then he became distant. Then he was just…” She threw out a hand. “Gone.”

I drew in breath.

Before I could speak, Merry did.

“It’s Ethan’s party. Your husband isn’t here. I completely understand how his recent behavior and him not coming home is concerning you, but as unkind as you might think this is, it’s Ethan’s day and we need to focus on Ethan. We’re all sorry that you’re going through this, but it’s highly unlikely your husband will show up here or contact Cher or Ethan. However, if he does, the only thing we can give you is our promise we’ll notify you. Other than that, your problems are yours, Mrs. Schott. You need to take them elsewhere.”

I thought that was kind of harsh, though it was all true and someone had to say it. And it was cool that Merry made it so it wasn’t me who had to be the bitch to get her gone so we could get back to my kid.