Chapter 13 #2
“I think the court will see a pattern.” I stare at the clean line of the joint I just sanded. “As I said, if you have an issue, call my lawyer.”
“God, you’re such a—”
I end the call and drop the phone face down.
My pulse ticks in my wrist. Something in me has been off the last few days, and I’ve been trying to tamper it with busywork.
Vanessa’s calls don’t help, nor does the fact that I’m struggling to concentrate at work; whenever Mya walks into a room, my brain goes full-on territorial, like I have any right.
I dust off my hands then head back to the house. Inside, it smells like whatever sweet thing Maggie baked earlier. Bri is at the kitchen island, hunched over her sketchpad, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth. Colored pencils explode in a bright fan around her.
“Whatcha got there, Piglet?”
“Wolf,” she says without looking up, shading the fur along the animal’s neck. “But this time I’m trying moonlight. Like it’s shining on one side.”
My chest softens. It’s her favorite animal. She’s been obsessed with wolves ever since we watched a documentary about them some time ago. “Looks good.”
Bri tilts the page towards the light, squints, then adds a darker line. “Can we put it in the frame near the stairs when I’m done?”
“Of course we can.”
She smiles, pleased. “What were you doing in the shed? I heard the loud cutter.”
“Window bench for the breakfast nook. Art-supply storage.”
Bri perks. “For me?”
“Mostly you,” I tease.
She grins and goes back to shading. I don’t mention her mother’s call. The guilt nips anyway, but I know how this goes. I’m not letting my kid get her hopes up only to see them come crashing down.
My phone rings a second later. This time it’s my lawyer.
“Work call,” I tell Bri, tapping the counter. “I’ll be in my office.”
“’Kay.”
Once inside, I close the door and answer. “Ryan.”
“Worth,” he says, voice clipped. “You free?”
“I’m here.”
“Just got a heads-up from opposing counsel.” Paper rustles on his end. “Vanessa retained a new firm. They’re filing a motion to modify custody.”
“On what basis?”
“Allegations of withholding access, parental alienation, the usual garbage. They’ll push for expanded visitation as a first step.”
Heat flares behind my eyes. I cross to the bar cart, pour two fingers of Black Briar and knock it back.
“She called me from an unknown number twenty minutes ago,” I say, setting the glass down hard. “Said she’d ‘fly back’ if I agreed to a meeting. She’s in Asia. I told her to go through you.”
“Good,” Ryan says. “Don’t engage further. Send me the number and any texts.”
“She doesn’t text. She calls, throws grenades and runs.”
“Then we’ll defuse them. I’ll file a response with a proposed structure: supervised, incremental, contingent on consistency. We’ll attach the school records, counseling notes, your documented attempts to arrange contact in the past.”
My jaw ticks. “She didn’t say goodbye to Bri when she left. You put that in bold.”
“It will be in bold, underlined, and highlighted,” Ryan assures me. “Breathe. We’ve got this.”
I force air in and out. “Send me drafts tonight, if you can.”
“You’ll have them. But Worth, you need to prepare yourself,” Ryan says slowly. “This isn’t just about her sudden reappearance. It’s about how the court is going to perceive you. Custody cases live and die on perception, not just facts.”
I scowl. “Perception?”
“Yes. Your reputation. The way the media frames you. To the public eye—and therefore to a judge—you look like a man who rotates women like cufflinks. There are tabloid spreads, photos of you on yachts, gala after gala with different women. It paints a picture of… instability, even if that’s not the truth. ”
My hand curls into a fist. “I’ve raised Brianna alone for ten years. Where the hell is the instability in that?”
“I know that. You know that. But a judge won’t look at the day-to-day reality of your parenting.
They’ll hear Vanessa spin a narrative that you’re distracted, unreliable, too busy parading women around to provide a steady home.
And if she hires the right attorney, they’ll use your public image to undercut you. ”
The words settle like stones in my gut. He’s not wrong. I’ve seen the articles myself.
“If Vanessa pushes this, she’ll argue that Brianna deserves the stability of her mother’s home. Even if that mother abandoned her,” Ryan adds.
I slam my hand against my desk, startling even myself. “She left us. She doesn’t get to just waltz back in like it never happened.”
“I agree. But the court cares about appearances. About what looks stable, predictable, family-friendly.”
I drag a hand down my face, pulse pounding in my ears. “So what do you suggest? That I stop breathing until the paparazzi go away?”
Ryan lets out a long exhale. “I suggest you show the world that you’re not what the tabloids say you are. That you’re not a playboy—you’re a partner. A father. A man with roots.”
I snort bitterly. “And how the hell am I supposed to prove that?”
“Show that you’re capable of a committed relationship. The court doesn’t want to see a revolving door of women. They want to see stability. A partner who’s been around, who knows your daughter. Someone who can testify to your home being a steady environment.”
My stomach knots, instinct screaming at the absurdity of all this. I rub at the back of my neck, unsure what to say.
“Consider it, Worth. As your friend, I’d hate to see you lose Brianna.”
The fear of losing my daughter squeezes me harder than my pride. Before I can think twice of my next words, I blurt out, “I’ve actually been dating someone. We’ve kept it private.”
Shit. What am I saying?
“That’s great, then now’s the time to make it official. Before Vanessa makes her move.”
After Ryan and I hang up, I pour one more finger of liquor, stare at it, before leaving it on the cart.
Back in the kitchen, Bri looks up.
“Soup?” I ask, exhaling through my tight chest.
“Soup,” she confirms as I reach for a pot. “And grilled cheese. With garlic butter.”
“We must never forget the garlic butter,” I say, dead serious.
Brianna laughs, bright enough to sand the edge off the day.