16. Pope
SIXTEEN
Pope
The air conditioning bites through my suit jacket as I follow Warren Carter into his office. After the soupy Palm Beach heat outside, the chill is jarring, not at all unlike this entire situation.
"Take a seat, Mr. Carrigan." He gestures to the chair across from his glass desk. No small talk, no coffee offered, which I appreciate.
I settle into the leather chair, already liking Vic's recommendation. Warren's tailored black suit and strong jaw signal exactly the kind of no-bullshit approach I need.
"Please, call me Pope."
“Alright, Pope.” He flips open a folder.
“I’ve reviewed the preliminary paperwork, so let me make sure we’re on the same page.
You’re currently serving as Lennon’s temporary guardian.
The arrangement was meant to last until Camila Reyes finalized her divorce and secured housing big enough for her, her two children, and Lennon.
She figured about nine weeks. Once she’s ready, she intends to petition the court to adopt him. ”
"That's correct."
His gaze sharpens. “That would have been a fine idea until Chris, Lennon's biological father, decided to step in."
“Yeah. The court already named me temporary guardian, so he’s been with me a little over two weeks now. That’s what I was told. The plan was to hold steady until Camila was ready. She just needed time to get settled so she could give him a stable home.”
"Exactly. But now that we have a third party involved, and he’s petitioned for custody, the court has to weigh him as the biological father. That automatically shifts the landscape.”
"Fantastic. So what does that mean?"
"It means that Chris is asking the court to end your temporary guardianship and name him sole legal guardian. To fight that, you’ll need to show not just why Lennon is better off with you right now, but also that your temporary role leads to a stable, permanent plan. Judges don’t like uncertainty."
I focus on the tapping of his pen on the manila folder, my mind spinning. I realize now there is no sitting back until Camila is ready. I have to act.
My stomach tightens. "Chris hasn't been around for Lennon for most of his seven years. The kid barely knows him." My fists clench against the polished table surface.
"Unfortunately, that weighs less than the fact that he's a biological parent wanting custody. We will need more than conjecture, because the court will still consider him." His eyes remain steady on mine.
"I offered to do this because I wanted to protect this kid from his father, so I will do what I need to do to see that through, no matter what it takes. Of course Chris would show up out of the woodwork."
Warren is unflappable. "Lennon has an estate now. He has his mother's life insurance, a sizable 401k, and the Jacksonville house. My hunch? Chris wants control of that."
"Fuck." The word escapes before I can stop it. "You're right, that's exactly what this is about. For the record, I don't want a cent. And neither does Camila. That's Lennon's, and it'll stay his."
He studies me, his head tilting slightly. "The court won’t just take your word for it. You’ll need to show a clear plan to safeguard those assets for him."
"How do I do that?"
"Propose a trust for Lennon. You can’t set it up yourself until you’re named permanent guardian, but you can make it part of your petition. It tells the court you’re not in this for the money, that you’re protecting him."
I drag a hand through my hair, the frustration a live wire under my skin. "So until the court rules, it’s just what? Hanging out there, waiting for vultures?"
Warren shakes his head. "The funds are frozen under probate right now. No one can touch them without court approval. But if Chris wins custody, he’ll have legal control of both Lennon and the money. That’s why you need to make the strongest case possible before the hearing."
A memory surfaces like a bruise being pressed. I was thirteen years old, waiting by the window all Saturday for Chris to show up. I can still see the rain rolling down the outside of the glass and feel Valerie's gentle hand on my shoulder when it got dark. He's not coming, baby.
"Mr. Carrigan?" Warren's voice pulls me back.
"I won't let Chris get him." My voice comes out rough.
"Alright, let's come up with a game plan. First thing, let's discuss the upcoming meeting with Ms. Black, the guardian ad litem."
He walks me through the process, step-by-step: the meeting, the questions, the observation. Dana Black already set the tempo: a joint observation, then the deep dive. My job is to look boringly stable.
My gut twists, acid burning in my stomach. I can already picture Chris strutting in with that swagger, baby face stretched into a smug grin, those mismatched tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He'll be ready and eager to push every button I have.
"And what am I supposed to do? Shake his hand? Make small talk?"
"You maintain your composure." Warren's eyes lock with mine. "Ms. Black will note any hostility between you. If you look like you're at war with Chris, she'll question how safe Lennon's environment is."
My palms leave damp prints on the polished table. "That bastard doesn't deserve the air he breathes, let alone custody of a kid."
"I understand. But this isn't about what Chris deserves. It's about what Lennon needs."
I close my eyes, forcing slow, deep breaths through my nose. Count to five. Hold. Release for eight. A technique from my college boxing days before matches.
"You're right." I open my eyes. "I'll handle it."
Warren passes me a pen. "Initial here, here, and sign at the bottom. This authorizes me to represent you at the hearing and file our response to Chris's petition."
The pen is heavy in my hand as I mark each page. Each signature binds me tighter to this responsibility I never asked for but now can't imagine walking away from.
"We have a strong case," Warren says as I stand. "But these things get messy. Be prepared."
I step outside, letting the glass door slide shut behind me. The cool night air is a welcome reprieve from the sterile meetings and legal documents that dominated my day.
My hair is damp from my shower, and the salt is a soothing balm on my skin.
Sloane doesn't notice me at first. She's curled into one of the chairs by the table, wine glass balanced on the armrest, hair falling loose around her shoulders.
The sunset casts her in gold, softening the edges of her profile as she stares out at the rhythmic crash of waves.
I move toward the table where a bottle of wine sits in a small ice bucket. Without saying anything, I reach for her glass and refill it before twisting the top off my sparkling water.
She startles slightly, then smiles. "Oh, you're home."
"Yeah, got back about twenty minutes ago and went straight to the shower. It's been a day."
"Thanks for the topper. I could get used to this wine service with an ocean view."
"Complimentary with your stay." The joke tastes awkward in my mouth, but she laughs anyway.
I settle into the chair opposite her, the tightness in my shoulders easing. Something about taking care of her, even something as simple as refilling her glass, is satisfying in a way I don't fully understand.
"Busy day, huh?" she asks.
My jaw tightens involuntarily. Warren's words echo in my head: You maintain your composure. But I push them away. "Work. Meetings. The usual."
"Mmm. Detailed as always."
"How was Lennon's day?"
She takes a sip of wine, her face warming. "Good. He actually helped me make dinner. Cracked the eggs himself for the French toast. We've decided we will go to the grocery store together tomorrow. I think he used to do that with his mom, so I think it will be good for him."
"You're good for him."
"He's good for me. I didn't realize it when I applied for this job, but doing this has been like an extension of my school. I guess it's been a blessing in disguise."
A small knot loosens in my chest. There are so many ways I could take that. "I'm glad it's mutually beneficial."
"He's really settling in well."
The cicadas fill our silence, their hum threaded with the sound of the surf. For a moment, we just exist in the same space, no expectations.
Except there are expectations. The kiss the other day that we’ve both ignored. The hotel room we’ve buried even deeper. Turns out repression is the one thing we’re both good at.
I trace my finger along the rim of my glass, watching her silhouette against the dimming sky. The question feels loaded, but I need to know more about her.
"So, your schooling. You mentioned it's like an extension? You just finished grad school, right?"
She freezes mid-sip, eyes widening slightly. We've been tiptoeing around that night since she arrived, pretending we're strangers who met for the first time at the interview.
"Yeah. Master’s in Pediatric Behavioral Therapy from Clemson University. Good memory." Her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. "Finished just before moving here."
"I remember you mentioned a job when we..." I clear my throat. "At our initial meeting."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "You mean the night we're not talking about?"
"I'm just curious how someone with your credentials ended up at a nanny agency. Didn’t you say that night you moved here for a job?”
She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "The clinic I was supposed to work for called three days after I moved and said they had to postpone my start date by three months due to budget freezes."
"That's shitty."
"Yeah. I'd already signed a lease with a massive termination fee. I couldn't afford to break it, couldn't afford to stay unemployed." She shrugs, the movement catching the last light. "I saw your posting on Elite's website when I was trying to find a temporary job."
"Their loss, our gain."
Her eyes meet mine, something soft and unguarded there. "If I hadn't been desperate, I wouldn't have applied for this job, nor would I have met Lennon. Sometimes the worst surprises lead to the best ones."
I nod, understanding exactly what she means. "Sometimes they do."
The memory of our kiss in the playroom slides between us. It's hot and insistent. I can still feel her pressed against me, taste the mint on her breath.
Our eyes lock. The silence stretches, thick with everything we’re not saying. The legal battle. The nine weeks she’s here. The fact that she’s Lennon’s nanny.
And still, it takes everything in me not to pull her into my arms and let the rest burn.