Chapter 14
fourteen
HUDSON
It’s pouring with rain on Monday morning, which is kind of appropriate for my mood. Because even though my kid is practically jumping with excitement in the car, I absolutely don’t want to be anywhere near this fucking house today.
I pull into the driveway and let out a long breath. If I had any other choice, we wouldn’t be here. But I’m trying to be the better man here – and more importantly, Doctor Methi thinks it’s important for Ayda’s healing that we’re here today.
She deserves to know where she comes from. That’s what all the best therapists tell me. But as I unbuckle my kid’s seat belt I still feel that sick impending doom in my stomach.
“Darling!” an expensive English voice calls out. “Come here to Granny.”
And Ayda – because she’s a kid and she loves her grandparents as much as I loathe them – does exactly that, running into the arms of the elegant woman standing on the doorstep of what is probably her sixth home.
Her husband – Dennis – walks to the bottom step of the porch and shoots me a warning look. Not that it affects me other than making me want to punch his face. But I’ve been wanting to do that for the last two years.
Ever since they stole my daughter away from me.
Ayda’s mother and I dated casually. Or at least I thought it was casual. She thought it was more. She was an English model living in Manhattan and I was a damn idiot.
It was only when I was trying to break things off gently – mostly because she made it clear that she was expecting a ring – that she told me she was pregnant. And then her family got involved.
Turned out the sweet little model with a cute accent came from a hugely wealthy family. Her father is a third generation financial baron. Her mother the daughter of a duke.
“Hudson,” Dennis says, not holding his hand out. We’re way beyond handshakes now. We were from the first time they encouraged Ayda’s mother to flee the US, despite Ayda being a US citizen, and bring her to the UK to ‘wear me down.’
And then, when Ayda’s mother died unexpectedly in a car crash, they refused to let me bring her home. We fought for custody for almost a year. And at no point did they tell me that my daughter – my vibrant, intelligent, beautiful daughter – hadn’t spoken a word since she’d been removed from the wreck of the car that killed her mother and been taken to the hospital.
Those months without seeing my daughter were without a doubt the worst months of my life. Yes, she was conceived under less than ideal circumstances, but from the moment I held her in my arms I knew that my whole world had changed.
I smelled her soft, new baby hair and made a promise that I’d always protect her.
It killed me that I couldn’t protect her from her mother’s desire to wear me down or her grandparents’ desire to keep her from me.
And now, I’m having to face the two people I loathe the most, because Ayda loves them, and even though they hate me, they love her, too.
“Dennis,” I acknowledge the tall, thin man dressed in a suit despite being on what I guess is a vacation. When we agreed to the visitation arrangements, I offered that they could meet up with Ayda four times a year. So they bought this house right over the water from Liberty Island.
Thankfully they only come when it’s their time to see Ayda. I already know that they’re flying back to London at the end of the week. The rest of the time the house lays empty, save for the staff they’ve hired to maintain it.
I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a Henley today, because I won’t be going into work at all. Though Dennis and Catherine hate it, there’s no way I’m leaving Ayda here unsupervised.
Yes, her name is on every do-not-fly list that exists, and if they take her I'll bring the full fucking wrath of the law down on them, but I also know the wheels of justice turn so fucking slowly it hurts.
I can’t put her through another custody case.
“Happy birthday, darling,” Ayda’s grandmother says, taking her hand. “Come see the swing set we bought you.”
A fucking swing set that she’ll use four times a year at the most. And not today because it’s raining.
I keep my mouth closed and follow them inside.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Dennis murmurs to me.
“Yes I do.”
Their butler – or whoever he is – closes the door behind us as we follow Ayda and her grandmother through the grand hall and into the living room that overlooks their huge yard.
“Garden’s looking nice,” I say to Dennis, who’s still looking like he’s sucking a lemon.
“Cut the bull,” he says, making me lift a brow. “What do I have to pay you to let us see our granddaughter without you skulking around?”
I let out a long breath. I should be surprised it’s taken him this long to ask. “You know that’s not going to happen,” I tell him. “And you know why.”
“It’s not like we can take her anywhere. You’ve made sure of that.”
“Didn’t stop you last time,” I murmur.
“Come on, dear,” Ayda’s grandmother says, squeezing her hand. “The cook made you a cake. Let’s get some and then you can open your gifts.”
She shoots a dirty look at me and takes Ayda along the hallway to the kitchen, leaving Dennis and me alone.
“You have these visits because I offered them,” I tell him. “I’m very happy to cancel them if you can’t behave.”
His already-beady eyes narrow. “If you cancel them, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Not as much as I regret agreeing to them.”
“Why isn’t she talking yet?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Because her mother stole her from home and traumatically died, then you traumatized her even more by not letting her see me for months,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
“Is she still going to therapy?”
He knows she is. I also allow Dr. Methi to send them a report – heavily edited by me – each month. I’m a fucking saint, if I’m being honest. They deserve nothing from me.
But I’m playing the game. Letting them see her enough that it looks like I’m being magnanimous. If they try to take me to court again, I’ll point out how generous I’ve been.
“She’s doing fine at therapy.”
“And at home? Are you even there at all? Every time I open the newspaper you’re making a new deal.”
“I’m keeping a roof over my daughter’s head.”
“We offered to pay you whatever you need,” he says, sounding wheedling now.
This is one of the reasons he hates me the most. Dennis is a man who’s used to buying everything and everybody. And I can’t be bought.
Nor can my daughter.
During the custody battle they tried everything. To pay me to give up, to pay me to live in England.
And when I made it clear that wasn’t happening, they demanded to pay for a full-time nanny – who would almost certainly report back to them – so they could stay in control.
He hates that I don’t need them. It’s the one advantage I have.
“What’s that on your neck?” he questions, changing the subject again.
“What?” I frown.
“Is it a bruise?”
Jesus fucking christ. That hickey. Truth be told, I’d forgotten about it. If I was wearing a collared shirt, it probably would have been hidden.
“I was wearing a tight shirt to Ayda’s party. Probably that,” I say smoothly.
“Dennis, come sing “Happy Birthday”,” his wife calls out. It’s obvious from her tone that she’s deliberately excluding me.
Which is just fine. I know they love my kid as much as they hate me. They won’t do anything to her, and they can’t take her anywhere while I’m here.
“Go ahead,” I say, giving my daughter’s grandfather a humorless smile. “I’ll wait here. I have some phone calls to make.”
He shoots me the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen before he turns on his heel and stomps off.
It should give me some satisfaction, but I’m still annoyed about the hickey. There’s no way he should have seen it. I’m off my fucking game.
I reach up to touch it. It’s not tender, but it’s still a chink in my armor I didn’t need to have. My mind wanders, remembering the way Skyler gave as good as she got in my office. The way she scraped her teeth against my skin, her nails against my scalp.
The way she tasted on my tongue.
When I see her I’m going to give her hell for this fucking hickey.
And next time I’m wearing a damn turtleneck.