Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
paper cuts
SOREN
Jamie's hands were on the practice pad, feeling the vibration of the beat I was trying to teach him, and I'd explained the pattern three times already but couldn't tell if he was getting it or if I was just doing a shit job of communicating.
His face was scrunched up in concentration, tongue poking out between his teeth the way it always did when he was working through a problem, and I should have found that endearing but all I could feel was the exhaustion of trying to be present when my brain was somewhere else entirely.
“Like this?” he signed, demonstrating the rhythm with his hands against the pad.
I watched him and realized he'd actually nailed it, but it took me a full three seconds to process what I was seeing because my thoughts kept sliding back to Montreal.
“Yeah,” I signed back, forcing a smile I didn't feel. “That's perfect, Jamie. You've got it.”
Jamie deserved better than a teacher who was barely holding himself together.
Jamie's grandfather was in the kitchen making coffee, the smell of it drifting into the living room where we'd set up the practice kit.
Finn was away with the team doing drills or training or whatever playoff prep looked like when you were a rookie who'd just scored two clutch goals.
The house was quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of Jamie's practice and the sound of my own thoughts screaming at me.
You're too much chaos.
I'd known this would happen. Had known from the second I'd started wanting him again that it would end exactly like this.
“Soren?” Jamie was waving his hand to get my attention, and I realized I'd completely zoned out while he'd been trying to show me the next part of the pattern.
“Sorry, bud.” I refocused on him, or tried to. “Show me again?”
He demonstrated the rhythm, and I watched his hands move but couldn't make my brain process what he was doing well enough to give useful feedback.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I almost ignored it because I was supposed to be teaching. But the buzz came again immediately, insistent in a way that made alarm bells go off in my head.
I pulled it out and saw Talia's name on the screen with a single word in the preview:
Talia
Pineapple
I was on my feet before I'd fully processed the decision to move, already grabbing my jacket and looking for my keys. Jamie's grandfather appeared in the doorway with a mug of coffee and a concerned expression.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“No. I'm sorry, I have to go. Family emergency.” The words came out too fast, tripping over each other in my rush to get them out. “Can you tell Jamie I'm sorry? I'll make up the lesson, I promise.”
“Of course. Go. Be safe.”
I was out the door and in my car within thirty seconds, hands shaking so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition. My mind was racing through every possible disaster that could have triggered the code word.
The drive home took twenty minutes that felt like hours. I broke at least three traffic laws and didn't care, because all I could think about was that single word sitting on my phone screen like a bomb.
I pulled up in front of the house and the first thing I noticed was that everything looked normal. No police cars, no ambulances, no obvious signs of disaster. But Talia's text meant danger, and I trusted her judgment more than I trusted my own eyes.
I took the stairs two at a time and burst through the front door already braced for whatever crisis was waiting inside.
What I found was worse than anything I'd imagined.
My parents were sitting on the couch in my living room like they had a right to be there. And standing next to them was a man in a suit I didn't recognize, holding a leather briefcase and looking at me with the kind of professional courtesy that made my skin crawl.
Talia was standing near the kitchen, arms crossed and face pale with fury. Micah was on the other side of the room looking like he wanted to disappear into the walls. And Poppy was nowhere to be seen, which sent a fresh spike of panic through my chest.
“Where's Poppy?” I demanded, and my voice came out harder than I'd meant it to.
“In her room,” Talia said quietly. “I told her to stay there.”
I looked at my parents, then at the suit, then back at Talia. “What the hell is going on?”
The man in the suit stepped forward with his hand extended like we were at a fucking business meeting. “Mr. Vale, my name is Richard Morrison. I'm an attorney representing your parents in a custody matter.”
I didn't shake his hand. Just stared at him and felt the bottom drop out of my world.
Custody matter.
Those two words rearranged everything I thought I understood about this situation.
“They're trying to get Poppy back,” Talia said, and her voice was shaking with barely controlled rage. “They showed up with a lawyer and court paperwork saying they want to regain custody.”
The room tilted again, and I had to grab the back of a chair to keep myself steady. “You're fucking kidding me.”
“I assure you this is quite serious,” Morrison said in that calm, measured attorney voice that made me want to punch him.
“Your parents have retained my services to file a petition with the court for modification of the existing custody arrangement.
They believe they've made significant progress in addressing the issues that led to the initial loss of custody, and they wish to be reunited with their daughter.”
“Bullshit.” The word came out flat and hard. “They haven't addressed anything. They're the same manipulative, alcoholic nightmares they've always been, and they're not getting anywhere near Poppy.”
My mother made a wounded noise, pressing her hand to her chest like I'd just stabbed her. “Soren, please. We've been sober for eight months now. We've been going to meetings, working with a counselor, trying so hard to get better. We just want a chance to be a family again.”
“You were never a family.” I could hear my voice getting louder, could feel the control I usually maintained slipping through my fingers like water. “You were two people who had kids and then spent years making those kids' lives a living hell until the courts finally took them away.”
“That's not fair—” my father started, but I cut him off.
“Fair? You want to talk about fair?” I was shaking now, rage and panic and exhaustion all colliding into a fury I couldn't contain.
“You abandoned us. You chose alcohol over keeping us safe.
You let the house fall apart, let the bills go unpaid, let your kids go hungry so you could keep drinking.
And now you show up with a lawyer and court papers thinking you can just take Poppy back like the past however many years didn't happen?”
“The court will determine what's in Poppy's best interest,” Morrison said, still infuriatingly calm. “Your parents have documentation of their sobriety, their counseling sessions, and their improved living situation. They have a legitimate case for modification of custody.”
“Where did you get the money for a lawyer?” The question came out before I could stop it, because that detail was wrong in ways that made alarm bells scream in my head. “You couldn't afford rent last month. How the hell are you paying for legal representation?”
My parents exchanged a glance that I couldn't read, and my father cleared his throat. “We've been saving. Prioritizing what matters.”
“That's a fucking lie.” I looked at Morrison. “Who's actually paying you?”
“My retainer agreement is confidential,” he said smoothly. “What matters is that your parents are exercising their legal rights to petition for custody modification. You'll be served with official notice within the week, and you'll have the opportunity to respond through your own legal counsel.”
He pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase and held it out to me. I stared at it like it was a live snake.
“This is a copy of the petition we'll be filing with the court,” he continued. “I'm providing it as a courtesy so you can begin preparing your response.”
I took the envelope because not taking it would have been admitting how much this was destroying me. The paper felt heavy in my hands.
“We don't want to fight you, Soren,” my mother said, and her eyes were already welling up with tears that I knew from experience could turn on and off like a faucet. “We just want to be part of Poppy's life again. We've changed. We're different now. Can't you see that?”
“No.” The word came out quiet but absolute.
“All I see is the same pattern you've always run.
You show up when you need a thing, you lie about being sober and stable long enough to get what you want, and then you disappear again and leave us to clean up the mess. I'm not letting you do that to Poppy.”
“The court will decide—” Morrison started, but I turned on him with enough fury that he took a step back.
“Get out of my house. All of you. Get the fuck out right now before I call the police and have you removed for trespassing.”
“We have a right—”
“You have no rights here. This is my home. Poppy is my legal responsibility. And you're leaving. Now.”
My father stood up, and I saw him start to move toward me before Talia stepped between us with her arms crossed and an expression that said she'd physically remove him if necessary.
“You heard him,” she said, voice cold as ice. “Leave.”
Morrison gathered his briefcase with the kind of professional efficiency that suggested he'd been through confrontations like this before. “You'll be hearing from us through official channels. I'd advise you to retain legal counsel as soon as possible.”
They left in a procession that felt like a funeral march—Morrison first, then my mother still dabbing at her eyes, then my father with one last look that was probably supposed to convey regret but just looked like calculation to me.
The second the door closed behind them, the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright drained out all at once.