Chapter Four #2
“No?” I blink up at him, flashbacks of my own twisted past, racing through me. “You can’t just say no. You’re her guardian. She has no one else.” I take a deep breath. “If you choose not to go forward with the guardianship, you’ll need to—”
“She’s not mine,” he interrupts, fists clenching at his sides. “Marlee moved on a long fucking time ago. She started another family. The child—” He shakes his head. “She’s not my kid, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not here to speculate your relationship to Aurora ,” I say, purposefully reminding him of the baby’s name. “I’m here to follow the court’s orders. And the order is that I inspect your residence to see if it’s fit to bring a newly orphaned child into it.”
And apparently, to break the worst news a person can hear to a man who looks like he’s already battling demons.
Suddenly, Kade spins and half-stumbles, half-collapses onto a worn leather couch. A puff of dust erupts, swirling through the golden sunlight streaming in from the only visible window. The contrast between the bright day outside and the heavy, suffocating darkness inside isn’t lost on me.
Unsure what else to do, I follow him in, leaving the door open.
The professional side of me knows I need to be doing my inspection. It’s the perfect time. He’s distracted, likely has no idea I’m even here, but when I hear him choke out a barely audible, “Oh, fuck ,” I find myself moving closer.
Closer to him, to his pain.
His huge hands drag over his face, gripping his temples like he’s trying to wake himself from a nightmare. I don’t talk, or ask any questions, letting him process, while I do the same.
“Is she okay?” He looks up, his eyes dim but coherent. “The baby? You said there was an accident.”
“I don’t know much, but from what I’ve read, she’s stable and in a temporary hospital placement until further decisions are made.”
He nods absently, but the far-off look in his eyes sends a pang of something uncomfortable through me.
I want to sit, but the room is chaos—wires tangling under furniture, clothes in piles, dishes stacked in the sink. The desk chair is blocked by a mountain of God knows what. The couch is clear, but for some reason, the idea of sitting next to him makes my nerves riot.
Instead, I dust off the least offensive spot on the coffee table and sit cross-legged, perching my notebook on my knee. Kade watches my every move in a daze, his eyes landing on my heels, where they stay.
The desire to kick them off and burn them races through me. I uncross my legs, dropping both feet to the floor and lean forward.
“I know this is a lot, Mr. Archer, but things need to move quickly here,” I explain, careful with each word.
“There’s a court mediation hearing scheduled in Wildwood one week from today.
The judge will assess your suitability as a guardian.
I’ve been asked to conduct the preliminary oversight until the social worker assigned to Aurora’s case returns from medical leave. I—”
I break off, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, but inevitably, the words lodged in my throat break free. “I apologize for the way I informed you. That wasn’t my intention.”
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at the floor, his broad shoulders hunched forward like the weight of the world has settled there.
I make a mental note to get his phone number for future contact. I’ll likely need to go over all this again when he’s processed the shock.
“You’ll need to be sober,” I add gently. “Showered. Dressed nicely. Try to get some rest before. The judge will expect—”
“Fuck.” His head snaps up. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”
My spine stiffens. “Excuse me?”
“You walk in here like you’ve got it all figured out. Drop this shit on me, actin’ like I’ve already failed.” His voice is low, but the barely contained rage behind it crackles through the room. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
The weight of his words slams into me, but I refuse to flinch. Not for him. Not for anyone.
My jaw tightens, and I fight to keep the tremble from my voice.
“I’m doing my job, Mr. Archer. This is a child’s life, not a game.
” I shove to my feet, the old coffee table scraping against the linoleum tiles, and step toward the door.
“Maybe if you weren’t halfway through a bottle of whiskey on a Wednesday afternoon, you’d have the sensibility to take the advice I’m giving you. ”
His head cocks, his lips lifting in a cruel smirk as he gestures to the room at large and leans back on the couch, legs spread wide.
“Well, go on then, darlin’. Tell me all the ways I’ve fucked up for just existing. Tell me how I’m not good enough.”
My throat tightens, but, fine.
Fine.
If he wants to hear my initial impressions, he can have them.
“Where should I start?” I jerk my chin to the overflowing trash can, the sour stench of beer and old food practically radiating from it. “The scent of last week’s leftovers? Or maybe the piles of dirty laundry on every available surface.”
I point toward the low-hanging light fixture that’s missing half its bulbs, the remaining one buzzing like a mosquito. “Mood lighting, very chic. Perfect for creating that warm, inviting ambiance every baby dreams of.”
I shift to the wall of glowing monitors, their wires snaking across the floor like some tech horror show.
What the hell is this shit?
“But hey, if Aurora needs a nightlight, at least she’ll have the comforting glow of whatever post-apocalyptic first-person shooter you’re starring in, while drunk, midday.”
My eyes snap back to him, voice dripping with false cheer. “Shall I go on, or are we both clear on why I’m concerned?”
He barks out a bitter laugh, shoulders shaking with the force of it. “Oh, is that what this is? You meet me once and I’m drunk, so that somehow equals deadbeat?” His lip curls. “Bet you’ve got all kinds of assumptions about the asshole in the sweatpants, don’t you?”
Do not look at the asshole’s sweatpants, Georgia.
“I don’t need assumptions,” I snap, jabbing a finger toward the empty bottle graveyard. “You’re making it real damn clear.”
He pushes to his feet, towering over me.
The sudden movement makes my pulse spike, but I stand my ground, aware of all my exits and the pepper spray in my bag.
Kade’s broad chest rises and falls with each furious breath, and for a second, we’re locked in a silent battle—my frustration meeting his fury head-on.
“You don’t know shit about why I’m like this,” he growls. “But that won’t stop you from writing me off, will it? Just check the box. Another fuck-up unfit to be a…”
He trails off and looks away, his chest heaving.
I grit my teeth, every muscle in my body screaming to turn and walk out. But I don’t. Instead, I lean forward, matching the fire in his gaze with my own.
“I don’t write people off, Mr. Archer,” I bite out, remembering all the times people did exactly that to me. “But I sure as hell report what I see. And right now? All I see is a man who’s perfectly content to drown himself in cheap whiskey while the rest of the world picks up the pieces.”
He scoffs, the sound low and venomous. “Yeah? And what do you see when you look in the mirror, Ms. Walker?”
I don’t answer, I can’t.
Not when his words are so close to my reality, I barely keep from flinching. Instead, I simply glare at Kade until he breaks.
“Get out,” he barks.
“Gladly.”
I don’t hesitate. Every nerve in my body screams for the exit, and I’m more than ready to oblige. Snatching my bag from the floor, I shove the file inside and sling it over my shoulder. My spine stays straight, shoulders squared, and despite the trembling in my hands, my steps remain steady.
“I’ll see you at the mediation.” My voice is clipped as I grip the door, glaring at the bare expanse of his chest. “Try to be sober. And wear a shirt next time.”
I spin on my heel, making it two steps before his low voice rumbles behind me, the sound crawling over my skin like a challenge.
“If you’ll be there, I make no promises.”
I’m still wondering what he was referring to when I walk into my rental that night.
The liquor, or the shirt.