20. Pope
TWENTY
Pope
Sloane's warm body is pressed against mine, her golden-brown hair spilling across my chest like honey.
She stayed. After the pool, I convinced her to spend the night in my bed instead of sneaking back to her room.
I start to harden as I study her bare shoulder. She's relaxed, vulnerable. Something primal and protective surges through me. I want to build walls around this bed, around this moment.
My cock is fully erect against her thigh, my body's automatic response to her nearness. I breathe deeply, trying to control the desire that seems to consume me whenever she's close.
I trace my finger along the outline of her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise under my touch. "Sloane," I whisper, leaning to press my lips against her temple. "Time to wake up."
Her eyes flutter open, confusion giving way to recognition. "What time is it?"
"Six. You asked me to wake you before Lennon gets up."
She stretches against me, her naked body sliding along mine in a way that makes my breath catch. "I did, didn't I?" A soft smile plays at her lips. "Though right now I'm wondering why I'd ever want to leave this bed."
I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair. "You don't have to. Lennon finding us together wouldn't be the end of the world."
"Pope..." Her hand finds my chest, her touch both connection and barrier. "We agreed."
I nod against her hair. "I know. You're right."
She rises on one elbow, looking down at me with those hazel eyes that seem to see right through my carefully constructed walls. Her leg nestles its way between my two. "Thank you for waking me."
I catch her hand, bringing her palm to my lips. "Same time tomorrow?"
Her smile is answer enough before she leans down to kiss me, soft and lingering. Then she's sliding out of bed, gathering her clothes from where they're scattered across my floor.
I watch her dress, memorizing every movement. The curve of her spine as she bends to pull on her shorts. The way she struggles slightly with her tank top, her hair wild from sleep, and my hands.
"See you downstairs," she whispers from the doorway, and then blows me a kiss before disappearing into the hall.
When she's gone, I lie still for a moment. The sheets beside me still hold her warmth, her scent.
With a deep breath, I force myself out of bed and head for the shower, leaving the peaceful cocoon of my bedroom behind.
The shower hits my back, hot water easing the tension in my shoulders. This is the only place I get to think clearly these days. The scalding water is a shield against the chaos my life has become.
My phone vibrates on the counter. Warren's name flashes on the screen.
I turn off the water and wrap a towel around my waist, leaving wet footprints across the marble floor.
"Warren. You're calling early."
"I wanted to catch you before your day starts because I'll be in court most of the day. We need to finalize details for tomorrow."
I grip the phone tighter. Tomorrow. The evaluation with Chris and Dana Black. The thought of seeing my father makes my stomach churn.
"What do I need to know?" My voice is steady despite the anxiety crawling up my spine.
"Ms. Black wants to observe you and Chris with Lennon separately, then together. As we discussed, she'll assess the interactions and overall suitability for a report she's preparing for next week's hearing."
I run a hand through my wet hair. "Any word from Chris or his attorney going into this?"
"He's claiming he's been trying to establish a relationship, but you've prevented contact. Complete bullshit, obviously."
"He hasn't tried to contact me. He's a fucking liar."
The bathroom mirror fogs as Warren outlines strategies. I wipe a clear patch and stare at my reflection. I look like him. The same jawline. It makes me sick.
"The court wants what's best for Lennon. My hope is that is clear from this meeting.”
“Well, he has a history of being a drunk abuser who abandoned his kids.” My voice echoes off the tiles.
"Unfortunately, that isn't on the record. So we have to show. He will crumble under the accountability. Just keep that anger in check tomorrow. Chris will try to provoke you."
I close my eyes. "Got it."
After hanging up, I immediately dial Lenoir.
"Morning, boss." Her voice is crisp, efficient.
"I need you to confirm that the jet is ready for tomorrow morning. Early. We should take off by eight."
"Already confirmed this morning. I've got the car service to the airport at 6:30. And I have a driver waiting in Jacksonville who will stay with you until you're done."
This is why I pay her what I do. "Thanks."
A pause. "Anything else?"
"That's all."
I dress methodically, picking out my navy suit, white shirt, and a silk tie. Armor for battle.
The worry about the possible outcome of this ambushes me as I tighten my tie. Weeks ago, I barely knew Lennon existed. Now, the thought of handing him over to Chris makes me physically ill.
And Sloane. A heavier weight presses down with her name. I should tell her. She could probably help, coach Lennon, even coach me. But letting her in on this means showing her where I’m weakest, where I’m barely keeping it together. Vulnerability has never done me any favors.
So I frame it as protection. She doesn’t need the noise of this custody fight clouding her job. She doesn’t need the stain of Chris Carrigan creeping into her life. She’s Lennon's nanny. That’s where the line should be.
The truth is, I don’t trust myself not to lean on her if I let her see the full picture. And leaning on someone has never done anything but let me down.
I smooth my cuffs, the mask settling back into place. Time to be Pope Carrigan, the man who doesn’t flinch. The man who never loses.
I walk into the kitchen and head straight for the coffeemaker. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as I pour myself a cup, adding a splash of cream.
My mind is still caught in the web of tomorrow's meeting with Chris and Dana.
The sound of laughter drifts through the open window. I move closer, coffee in hand, and look out at the pool area.
Sloane sits on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water. Lennon and Micah are splashing each other while Angela watches from a lounge chair, bouncing a baby on her knee.
Sloane's hair is pulled back in a messy bun, tendrils escaping around her face as she laughs at something Micah says.
My body reacts instantly as memories from last night flood back. Sloane's legs wrapped around my waist. Her breath against my neck. The way she felt pressed between my body and the cool tile of the pool wall.
I shift my stance, subtly adjusting my pants. I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I can't help it. Every time I look at that pool, I'll see her there, with her head thrown back, and moonlight on her wet skin.
Lennon shrieks with laughter as he splashes Micah. It's the most carefree I've seen him since he arrived. Sloane catches him mid-splash and tickles his side, earning another burst of giggles.
Something stirs inside of me. It's not just desire anymore. It's something deeper, more terrifying.
"That's not fair!" Lennon protests as Micah dumps a bucket of water over his head.
Angela looks up and notices me watching. She waves, and Sloane turns to follow her gaze. Our eyes lock across the distance, and her smile softens into something private, just for me.
I'm in trouble.
I raise my coffee mug in greeting before turning away. I need to focus. I need to prepare for tomorrow.
In my office, I sink into my chair and stare at the stack of paperwork Warren sent over. Legal briefs. Character references. Financial documentation. All the evidence we'll present to prove I'm the better guardian for Lennon.
My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. The caller ID displays one of the numbers from Good Samaritan.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into business mode. "Pope Carrigan."
"Pope, we've got a situation." Caleb’s voice crackles through the line, pitched higher than normal.
I straighten in my chair, instantly alert. "What kind of situation?"
"A coordinated walkout. Half the nursing staff just handed in their resignation letters. All at once. They're standing outside with signs."
My stomach drops. "How many?"
"Forty-two. So far." The strain in Caleb’s voice tells me there's more. "They've got press. Three local stations and someone from the Herald."
I pull up my email as he speaks, scanning for any warning signs I might have missed. Nothing. This was planned, executed with military precision.
"What's the message?" I keep my voice even, controlled.
"They're specifically targeting the concierge model conversion. Calling it 'healthcare apartheid.'"
I close my eyes for a moment. The timing couldn’t be worse, the day before my meeting with Dana Black and Chris.
"I need you here. Now." Caleb’s breathing is shallow. "The board is assembling an emergency session. We need a way to get ahead of this before it spreads further."
My mind races through contingencies, calculating moves and countermoves. "Have security lock down patient floors. No press beyond the lobby. Get legal to review those resignation letters for any contractual violations."
"Already done," Caleb says quickly. "But Pope, they’re doubling down. The signs, the chants, the interviews, it’s getting louder every hour."
A cold weight settles in my chest. Containment is slipping, and if we don’t take control, the fallout will bury us.
"I'll be there in twenty." I stand, already reaching for my jacket.
"Make it fifteen," Caleb counters. "They're trending on Twitter."
I end the call and stare at my computer screen. The financial documents for Lennon's guardianship case stare back at me, suddenly irrelevant in the face of this immediate crisis.
I take three deep breaths, centering myself.
I grab my phone and keys, mentally preparing for battle. As I step out of my office, I catch a glimpse of the impromptu party in my backyard. They're still playing in the pool, oblivious to the storm I'm about to walk into.
For a fleeting moment, I wish I could stay in that world instead.
I put my phone in my pocket and head for the door, the weight of both responsibilities pressing down on my shoulders.
I've spent my entire life keeping my professional world separate from my personal one. Hell, I haven't had much of a personal life for as long as I can remember. And I certainly don't want to merge them now.
My hand hovers over the doorknob when I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me.
"Oh, you must be the elusive Pope."
I turn sharply to find Micah's mom standing in the hallway, drying her hands on the towel wrapped around her waist.
"I'm Angela, Micah's mom. I'd shake your hand, but Micah spilled juice all over me and I came in to wash up."
I'm grateful she spared me the sticky introduction.
"It's fine," I manage, glancing at my watch. "I need to head out. You guys make yourself at home."
Angela's eyebrows lift slightly. "Do you want me to get Sloane for you?"
"No need to interrupt. Just let her know I had to go. Not sure when I'll be back."
I shift my weight, aware of every second ticking by. Caleb is probably counting the seconds until I get there. And here I am, making small talk about bathroom privileges.
"Your house is lovely. Thanks for having us over two days in a row. You might not be able to get rid of us."
I nod and head toward the front door.
I step outside, sunlight momentarily blinding me. The contrast between the chaos waiting for me and the peaceful scene I'm leaving behind is jarring. My car sits in the circular driveway, keys heavy in my palm.
I start the engine and pull away, my mind already splitting itself into battle stations. I've got the hospital crisis today, tomorrow's custody evaluation with Chris looming, all with a dash of making Sloane think everything is hunky dory.
All these spinning plates are threatening to crash down around me.