18. Pope #2
"Pope? Do we have your approval on the staffing cuts?"
I look up, momentarily disoriented. Five faces stare back at me, waiting.
"I need to review the attending physician contracts first. Have Jenkins send me the compensation packages by the end of the day."
My voice sounds normal. Controlled, even. Nobody in this room would guess I'm unraveling from the inside out.
"Our timeline for bringing new patients into the model—" Michael begins.
"Move it up," I interrupt. "We can't afford to wait."
The meeting wraps up fifteen minutes later. I'm the first one out the door, ignoring Robert's attempt to schedule another session for tomorrow.
All I can think about is getting home. But I still have a full day of this shit.
What is happening to me?
The drive home feels like the longest damn twenty minutes of my life. Traffic crawls on Palm Beach's main strip, every red light stretching into infinity. I turn up the AC, loosening my tie with one hand while gripping the wheel with the other.
My phone rings through the car's speakers. Dana Black's name flashes on the dashboard display.
Great. Just what I need.
"Ms. Black," I answer, keeping my voice neutral.
"Mr. Carrigan. I'm confirming our meeting in Jacksonville this Thursday at ten AM. We'll be at the family court building, third floor conference room." Her tone is clipped, professional.
"Yes, thank you. My attorney let me know yesterday.”
"Chris has been notified and will be present, as well."
My jaw tightens at the mention of my father's name. "I'll be there."
"This is an important evaluation, Mr. Carrigan. Judge Collins will consider my observations heavily in determining Lennon's permanent placement."
"I understand."
"Very well. I'll see you Thursday." She hangs up without pleasantries.
I stare at the road ahead, knuckles white against the steering wheel.
Thursday. The day my father gets to waltz in and pretend he gives a shit about Lennon.
The day I have to sit across from the man who left bruises on my mother's arms and convince a stranger I'm the better option for a seven-year-old I barely know.
What if I fail?
The light turns green. I accelerate too slowly, earning a honk from the car behind me.
Sloane needs to know that Lennon and I will be gone on Thursday. What she doesn’t need are the details—the custody fight, the man who fathered us both, the mess that comes with Chris.
Those truths would only drag her into a part of my life I don’t let anyone near. Not employees. Not women. Not her.
She’s Lennon’s nanny. That’s where it should end, no matter what last night blurred.
I’ll keep it simple. A day off. That’s all she needs to know.
My house comes into view as I turn onto the oceanfront drive. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly at the sight. Home.
I park in the circular driveway and grab my briefcase, taking a deep breath before heading inside. The foyer is quiet, but I hear soft voices coming from the living room.
"That's right," Sloane says. "And what does this face mean?"
"When I don't like something," Lennon answers, his voice small but clear.
I round the corner to find them sitting cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by emotion flashcards from the other day. Lennon looks up first, those watchful eyes finding mine immediately.
"Pope's home," he announces, turning back to the cards.
Sloane glances up, her smile hitting me like a physical force. "Hey, you. How was your day?"
"Long." I loosen my tie further, dropping my briefcase by the sofa. "Looks like you two are hard at work."
"We're identifying feelings," Lennon says matter-of-factly, holding up a card with an angry face.
"Oh, is that how you're feeling now that I'm home?”
He giggles. "No, silly."
He then holds up a card with a smiley face, and my chest fills with an unfamiliar warmth.
"Lennon, I need to borrow Sloane for a minute. That okay?"
He nods, already sorting through the remaining cards and organizing them into matching stacks.
Sloane follows me to the kitchen, close enough that I catch the scent of her shampoo. A tiny lump forms in my throat. I want to pull her against me, but I restrain myself.
"Wanted to let you know, Lennon and I need to fly to Jacksonville on Thursday. Can you please make sure the program he goes to knows he won't come that day?"
"Of course. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, standard stuff. We're meeting with the court-appointed agent."
The words are hollow as they leave my mouth.
"Oh." Her eyes brighten. "Do you want me to join y'all to help you with Lennon?"
"No, that's okay. We can handle it."
"I'll have the day off then?"
"Yeah. Sorry for the short notice."
"No problem at all." She smiles, completely unaware of what I'm not telling her. "I can use the time to prep for our homeschool that we are starting on Monday."
I nod, guilt settling in my chest like a stone. Her hand brushes mine as she turns to head back to Lennon, and our eyes lock briefly.
In that moment, the lie sits between us, invisible but heavy.