Chapter 18
The Real Pickup
JONAH
After a drive blurred by rage and panic, I hit the edge of Gwen’s gravel driveway, her beat-up mailbox leaning like it’s sick of this shit, too. Her vintage Buick is parked, all proud, in the weeds. I jam the SUV into park so hard I might snap the shifter off.
The police are here, Gwen standing on the porch talking to them. She’s crying, with her pearls, sweater, and martyr complex. Nothing’s changed.
“I’ll do the talking if I have to.” Zoe’s voice goes razor sharp. “Don’t give her anything she could use against you.”
I grunt. No promises.
I’m up the porch in four steps, and the officers show me that Gwen has a Kinship Caregiver Affidavit, along with a copy of the school’s pick up list with her name on it, so there’s nothing they can do.
How in the hell did she get all that?
I want to punch a wall, but I’ve got custody on the line. One bad move, and I end up being the psycho dad who can’t control himself.
Zoe’s behind me, hand on my shoulder, her palm keeping me from launching. My breaths come quick, shallow.
The door swings open.
Eli bolts out first, arms wide. He’s not scared—he’s fucking relieved.
He comes at me and I kneel, catching him midair, barely getting my arms up in time before he wraps around me and burrows in.
Everything else blanks out—just me and him.
He squeezes—crushing. Then when he sees the police officers, he says, “Gwen told me you said I could come.”
A punch to the chest.
Lie.
My voice is toast. “So glad to see you.” I don’t dare discuss Gwen.
He pulls back, studying my face.
My jaw’s tight enough to crack teeth, but I force myself to look him in the eye. “Always call me if you’re not sure. Okay? Always.”
He nods, then swipes his sleeve across his face like it’s nothing. But I know better: I’ll be telling his therapist to make sure Eli has a safe place to talk about this.
The police leave, and Gwen goes inside to get Eli’s backpack.
Zoe crouches next to Eli, protective energy cranked to max. “Hey, Eli. I have a magnetic travel chess set in my purse, and I’ve been practicing. Like, a lot. You think you can still beat me?”
His whole face lights up. “Absolutely.”
“Great. Let’s test that theory.” She gives my shoulder a quick squeeze as she stands, her way of saying you’ve got this. Then, when Gwen comes back outside, Zoe says, all sugar and knives, “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Eli smiles. “Thanks, Gwen. For the snacks. And for the pie.”
“You’re very welcome, Eli.” She hands him the backpack. “You be good for your dad. And—” she shoots me a glance, “—you remember what I told you. You can always call me if you need anything.”
Eli looks at me, then at her, then shrugs and heads to the car with Zoe.
The chess set works; I hear them arguing over board placement instantly.
And then it’s just me and Gwen Anders, standing in her front entryway. One step from a courtroom, one step from a street fight.
I don’t even bother with pleasantries. “You took my child.”
She laughs—polite, brittle. “I had permission, Jonah. He’s my grandchild. He even shares my last name. The principal, Ms. Finnegan, knows me through Rosie. She was thrilled I’d been united with my dead daughter’s son. You can imagine what that means to an old woman like me.”
I shake my head, my vision going red. I want to scream, and that old rage that’s been controlled and buried rises up. I press my lips together so hard they go numb, but this can never happen, even one more time. I grit, “If you kidnap my son again, I’ll end you.”
“Kidnap?” This time, her laugh is nervous. “Please.”
“You know what you did,” I say, low, “and you know you won’t be allowed to do it again. Once I get custody, this is done.”
She smiles wider, like a shark. “Exactly. You won’t let me see my own grandson. That’s why I have to win custody, which I will do.” There’s no doubt in her voice. She thinks she’s got this in the bag, and the confidence in it makes my skin crawl.
“We’ll see about that.” I pivot, then stomp off, my boots rattling the loose floorboards.
A tightness sits in my chest that’s not adrenaline anymore—it’s fear. This isn’t going away just because I want it to. Gwen’ll use every trick, every sad story, every favor she’s got left.
But first, I need to get my kid out of here.
In the SUV, Zoe’s at the wheel. I guess she figured I’m in no condition to drive, and she’s probably right. Eli’s already buckled in, chess set open in his lap.
I slide into the passenger seat, then slam the door. I need to talk to Zoe, but not in front of Eli.
He glances up at me in the rearview mirror. “You should go do drills, Jonah. It will lower your stress levels.”
I blink. “Since when do you know about stress levels?”
He shrugs, straight-faced. “Since everyone around me is always talking about mine. For me, reading helps. Zoe says exercise is best for you. Also, you really need to improve your game so they’ll let you play again. You’re gonna get even worse if you don’t.”
I bite back a laugh. The urge to hug him and headlock him at the same time is overwhelming.
“Man, you’re a tough customer,” I say, mouthing thanks to Zoe as she drives down the road. “They gave me time off to be with you. And yeah, do drills. Which sucks, by the way.”
“If they suck, that means they’re hard. If they’re hard, the only way to get better is to do them more. Mom told me anything worth doing isn’t easy.” He pauses. “Is hockey worth doing?”
I didn’t see that one coming.
A lump the size of a puck jams in my throat.
Zoe settles her hand on mine, her skin cool and steady. “Yeah. Is it?” She glances at me—and it’s not a challenge or a dare. It’s real. Like maybe she’s been waiting for me to answer it for weeks.
I swallow. “It was. It still is when the pressure’s off. But lately, I’ve been struggling, and I’m not happy when I’m letting myself and my team down.”
Eli leans forward, voice clear and sure. “So get better. I believe in you.”
Four fucking words. I believe in you.
If you told me two weeks ago that this’d matter more to me than any locker room speech or press interview, I’d have laughed you off the ice. But right now, it just about breaks me open.
My voice goes rough. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know, buddy. I mean… Eli.”
He grins, toothy and bright. “You can call me buddy if you want.”
Zoe swipes the corner of her eye. But I can’t look away from Eli—not now, not ever. He’s still holding the black queen, rolling it between his fingers.
The rest of the drive is a blur, but not in the way the first one was. I still hate Gwen. I still want to put my fist through a wall. But there’s something else now—a flicker of hope that what’s broken between Eli and me is healing.
When we pull into the garage at home, Zoe kills the engine and Eli’s already unbuckling. Then he hesitates, like he’s waiting to be told what comes next. Waiting for someone to give a shit about what happens to him.
“We’re ordering burgers and fries for dinner.” I ruffle his hair after we both hop out. “And you pick the movie tonight.”
He perks up, blue eyes bright. “Anything?”
“Anything. Unless Zoe objects. In which case, she’s wrong.”
Zoe grins. “I’m never wrong, but I’ll allow it.”
Eli snickers, running ahead with his backpack slung over one shoulder, all the drama and stress rolling off. Kids bounce back faster than I can even process.
Zoe hangs back with me in the driveway, face tilted up, glasses reflecting the soft sun. “Today sucked. But you did good.”
I love it when she looks the way she looks now. The glasses, her overall badass vibe where she proves she’s really a cross between a pit bull and a librarian.
I want to kiss her, but I can’t. I just nod, the words jammed in my throat.
Inside, the house is warm and smells like cinnamon from whatever Zoe dumped in the slow cooker this morning. More and more, it feels like a home, not a metal box with nice furniture.
I pause in the kitchen, hand on the counter, letting it all sink in. If Eli hadn’t been waiting for me at the door, if he’d been scared or lost or—fuck, if something worse had happened—I have no idea what I would’ve done.
But here he is.
I breathe, shaky.
Here we all are.
Still standing, still fighting, still in the game.