Chapter Sixteen #2
“What are you doing here?” Sawyer warbled from behind him. Finn looked over his shoulder to see the kid standing in the doorway of the living room, arms wrapped protectively around his middle.
Finn vibrated, torn between the urge to stay put and keep these people away from his—this kid—and the impulse to wrap Sawyer in his arms. To hug and hold him until he stopped trembling.
Sawyer’s breathing was fast and shallow, and from the lack of colour in his face, he was clearly headed toward a panic attack.
“We’ve come for you, cupcake.” Cunt tried to step closer. Finn blocked her way. “If this… this whore would get out of our way.”
“Don’t call him that!”
Finn couldn’t take it anymore. Fuck it. These people were in the house. Finn couldn’t prevent that now. But maybe he could get Sawyer farther away.
He strode away from them and pulled Sawyer into his arms. “You’re okay.
I got you. They can’t hurt you. Okay? Keep your eyes on me.
” Where could Finn send him? The rec room downstairs was pretty well soundproofed.
It didn’t lock, but there was an attached bathroom that did.
Finn could put some music on, maybe? Something loud with a lot of swearing.
“Get your hands off our grandchild, you pervert!” Dickhead yelled, which was when Zulma made her presence known.
Finn wondered what had taken her so long.
She descended the stairs from the upper level with a cool poise that had to be deeply ingrained. “Good afternoon. I’m Zulma Gutierrez-Hernandez from the Children’s Aid Society. And who are you?”
That stopped Mr. and Mrs. Asshole in their tracks… until Dickhead scoffed. “Says you. How do we know you’re not another one?” He flung a hand in Finn’s direction. “For all we know, Robert’s got a whole harem.”
“Well,” said a calm, authoritative voice from the open doorway, “for one, I’m not a sultan. Or a sea lion.”
“Robert!” Apparently they couldn’t use anyone’s preferred name. “Don’t be disgusting.”
“Right. I’m the disgusting one.” Robbie stepped into the house and placed himself between the grandparents, and Finn and Sawyer.
Finn took the opportunity to enact the scraps of his plan. “Go downstairs,” he murmured. “Put on some loud music. Lock yourself in the bathroom. We’ll text you when they’re gone, okay?”
Sawyer nodded gratefully and thundered down the stairs to the basement without looking back.
“Young lady, don’t you dare ignore us—”
Zulma finished coming down the stairs to the main level. Finn took three paces toward the front of the house until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Robbie, Zulma just to Robbie’s right, forming a human wall.
“You don’t have a granddaughter,” Robbie interrupted firmly. “And if you can’t fix your attitude, you’re not going to have a grandson either, because I will use every resource at my disposal to protect that kid from the damage you’ll do to him.”
“Robert, this woke nonsense—”
Robbie deliberately turned his face away from the assholes—who squawked at his rudeness—and looked at Finn.
He touched his hand. “You okay?” Then his eyes caught on Finn’s, and he inhaled sharply.
“What happened?” he asked, tracing his fingers gently along what Finn suspected would soon be a spectacular bruise.
Finn grimaced. “Had a little run-in with the door. I’m okay, though.”
Finn might be okay, physically, but Robbie looked like he was going to put his fist through a wall. Or his father’s face. Whichever was closest.
Zulma took in the scene—Robbie flickering between concern for Finn and rage at his parents; Dickhead and Cunt becoming increasingly belligerent in their attempts to defend their asshattery—and calmly interjected, in a voice that somehow carried over everyone else’s, “Quiet, please.”
Somehow that worked. Holy shit. If Finn and Robbie did ever have more kids, Finn was getting Zulma to teach him that.
“Now. Am I correct in deducing that you two are Clive and Deborah Zeiger? Sawyer’s grandparents?”
That’s right, Finn thought, Sawyer’s grandparents. Except for how they didn’t deserve the title.
Dickhead and Cunt, aka Clive and Deborah, straightened their shoulders. “That’s correct.”
Zulma nodded. “And I understand that the court has awarded you a supervised visitation that’s scheduled for next week?”
Not the fuck anymore, it wasn’t.
“That’s correct,” Deborah repeated.
“Then I will see you at that appointment. However, at this moment, I am conducting an interview with Sawyer and, now that he has arrived, Robbie. I would be happy to set up a time to speak with you before or after your visitation next week.” She produced a card and presented it to Deborah.
“I’m sorry, but this simply isn’t a good time.
I’m speaking with Sawyer now, and I’m sure Robbie wants to look over Mr.… ?”
“Graham,” Finn supplied when she looked at him.
“Mr. Graham,” Zulma continued, inclining her head, “to ensure he does not require medical attention before continuing to speak to me. Now, can I trust that you can find your own way out, or will Mr. Graham have to make good on his offer to call the authorities?”
Fuming and huffing and radiating an aura of you haven’t heard the last of us!, Clive and Deborah left.
The door closed loudly behind them.
Robbie locked it.
“Well!” said Zulma bracingly. “That’s certainly going to be a fun report to write. Mr. Zeiger, can I recommend you invest in a doorbell camera?”
Robbie’s shoulders slumped. “I have one,” he said. “I just haven’t hooked it up to Finn’s phone yet.” Then he seemed to process the earlier part of the conversation. “Wait. I’m sorry, but this is exactly why I can’t allow Sawyer to have even a supervised visit with his grandparents. They’re—”
“Heinous?” Zulma suggested. She shook her head. “Yeah, that appointment will be ‘postponed’”—she made air quotes—“until the courts make their recommendation for permanent guardianship.” She paused. “Mr. Graham, I suggest you find some frozen peas for that eye.”
That sounded like a good idea. Suddenly Finn’s head was throbbing.
“And you, Mr. Zeiger—”
“I’m going to get my kid,” Robbie said.
Zulma inclined her head. “Of course. But may I also recommend you consult with your lawyer regarding the advantages and disadvantages of filing criminal charges against your parents, with regards to your custody suit.”
Robbie heaved an enormous sigh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “One thing at a time. Kid first.”
“Go,” Finn told him. “Zulma can make sure I don’t pass out while I ice my face.”
By the time Zulma left—she graciously agreed to reschedule the remainder of Sawyer’s interview and didn’t even bother trying with Robbie, saying she’d call him to set something up—the three of them were a mess.
“I really,” Finn said, lying on the couch with a bag of peas on his face, “do not want to cook dinner.”
Sawyer gave a halfhearted cheer. “No green beans!” He was curled up in the oversize armchair across from Finn, limbs pulled up in his Oodie, hood up, only his face visible.
Robbie himself was flat on the floor, being crushed under the weight of his own guilt. He should’ve been here. He would’ve been here, if he hadn’t picked the worst possible time to do something so selfish. “Guys… I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Did you invite them over?” Sawyer asked.
Robbie would’ve shot to his feet to defend himself, but God, what a day. “What? No, of course not.”
“Cool,” Sawyer said. “Not your fault, then. But like, you’re gonna have to get us dinner because Finn’s probably too concussed to drive.”
“I’m not concussed,” Finn protested. “I’ve been concussed.”
“Wait, seriously?” Robbie attempted to sit up. Nothing happened. He and the carpet were one organism now. “Why didn’t I know that? When? How?”
“How do you think?” Finn’s tone was half bitchy, half wry. “You’re not the only professional athlete in the room.”
True, but ice dancers didn’t do the same sorts of jumps figure skaters did, right? So how—
Finn sighed. “Paris got too close during a camel spin and it was lights out.”
A brief moment of blessedly uncharged silence.
Then a staticky noise as Sawyer tried to smother a laugh but it came out through his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said through the subsequent giggles, “I’m sorry, head injuries aren’t funny—”
“They’re a little funny,” Robbie interrupted, failing to bite down on his own smile. “Sometimes.” He could picture Paris in the ridiculous yet elegant looking move, poised on one leg, bent forward with her body and other thigh parallel to the ice, while she spun.
Finn huffed. “I’ll concede that it looked pretty funny.”
“It’s on video?” Sawyer demanded and Finn groaned.
“I’m not showing it to you.”
“Please!”
“No.”
“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“Nope. Don’t try those eyes on me, kid. I’m not your dad; I can resist them.”
Sawyer huffed back. “Doubtful.”
“Right,” Robbie said before things could devolve further. “What are we ordering for dinner?”
“Happy Meal with extra nuggets. And hot mustard dipping sauce. And a McFlurry. And a Big Mac with a large fry.”
Normally Robbie might try to get more veggies and fewer carbs in his kid, but fuck it, today he deserved to eat whatever he wanted.
Robbie pulled his phone from his pocket. Ordering food didn’t require him to stand up. “You got it. Finn, what about you?”
“You don’t think Sawyer ordered enough already?”
Robbie scoffed. “You think he’ll share?”
“I won’t,” Sawyer said. “Get your own fries. No taxes.”
“Told you,” Robbie said smugly as he opened the app. “So, Finn, burger?”
“Well, if Sawyer isn’t sharing… crispy chicken without the bun and extra-large fries.”
Robbie dropped his phone and lifted his head enough to look at Finn. “Pardon?”
“What?”
Robbie looked at Sawyer, who was making a face back. Are you hearing this? Robbie asked, and Sawyer’s horror-twisted expression very clearly said, Yes I am, and I can’t believe it either.
“Do you have something against chicken sandwiches?” Finn asked.
“You want a chicken sandwich without the bun?”
“Yeah?”