26. Pope
TWENTY-SIX
Pope
I grip the phone tighter as Caleb’s voice crackles through the speaker. My free hand hovers over the hospital staffing projections, numbers that are now meaningless after forty-two nurses walked out.
"The travel nurses are arriving tonight, but we're paying triple the standard rate." His voice is strained, even through the phone. "It's bleeding us dry, Pope."
"Better than bleeding out patients." I rub my temples, pacing the length of my office window. "What's legal saying about the breach of contract?"
"They're drafting rehire terms now. PR is pushing a patient safety campaign to counter the media narrative."
My jaw clenches so tight I think something just popped in my temple. "Tell Sanders I want those drafts by noon."
I hear the faint sound of the front door opening, then closing. Not the heavy thud of the main door, but the lighter click of the side entrance. Frowning, I step to the window just in time to see Sloane's Toyota RAV4 pulling out of the driveway instead of the Tahoe I'd given her to use.
"Fuck." The word escapes before I can catch it.
"What? What happened?" Caleb’s voice sharpens.
"Nothing. Not you." I press my forehead into my hand and sit back down at my desk. "Keep going."
He drones on about contingency staffing, but I'm barely listening.
I never circled back to Sloane after Warren called. Never even said goodbye this morning before diving into crisis mode. I'd planned to slip back upstairs, wake her properly, maybe even?—
But now she's gone without a word.
My chest tightens. It looks like I didn't bother, when the truth is I got swallowed by one fire after another. First Warren with Chris's wild accusations about me sleeping with the nanny, then this ongoing nightmare at the hospital, and now Sloane slipping away while I was putting out flames.
"Pope? Are you still there?"
"Yes." I straighten my shoulders and force my mind back to the call. "If we cave to these demands, we'll never get the model off the ground."
"Got it. Anything else?"
"That's all for now."
I end the call and drop the phone on my desk, rubbing both hands over my face. The silence of the house presses in around me. No Lennon. No Sloane. Just me and the shitshow of everything crumbling around me.
My phone buzzes again. Lenoir's name flashes on the screen, no doubt with another crisis that can't wait.
I swipe to accept her call, thumbing the speakerphone button.
"What is it?" My voice comes out sharper than intended.
"Good morning to you, too." Lenoir's no-nonsense tone cuts through the speaker.
"Sorry. It's been one of those mornings. What's up? Please don't hand me another dumpster fire."
"Nope, you're safe. Just calling to remind you that today's the closing date for your house."
"You're kidding me." I pace away from the desk, muscles tightening across my shoulders. "Today? Fuck. I completely forgot about that. Can't someone sign on my behalf? I thought this was a done deal. Why did I sign the power-of-attorney? I thought that meant I didn’t need to attend.”
"You signed for the pre-closing occupation. This is for the actual closing. Unfortunately, only you can sign. It shouldn't take more than about twenty or thirty minutes, though. The seller has already signed."
"Goddammit. I don't have time for this. What time?"
"The appointment's at ten-thirty with the attorney."
I glance at my watch. It’s 9:38. The hospital crisis, Lennon's custody battle, and now Sloane walking out without a word. My life is a tower of jenga blocks, and someone keeps pulling out the support pieces.
"Can't we reschedule? I'm drowning here."
"If you skip, the deal could unravel." Lenoir's voice softens slightly. "I know your plate is full, but this needs to happen. You'll be in and out of there before you know it."
I exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose. The house. The only stable thing I've established since moving here, and I haven't even officially owned it yet.
"Fine. Text me the address."
"Already sent. And Pope?"
"What?"
"When you're done, go home and sleep. You sound like hell."
I end the call without responding. Sleep. Right. As if I could close my eyes with Chris throwing around accusations and nurses walking out of my hospital with pitchforks.
And Sloane...
The image of her taillights disappearing down the driveway flashes through my mind again. Why did she leave without saying anything?
Focus, Carrigan. One fire at a time.
I gather the hospital projection papers, shoving them into my briefcase. The empty house around me is both too large and suffocating. I grab my keys and head for the door, my footsteps echoing against the wood floors.
Just one more thing to check off the list. Sign the papers. Own the house. Then figure out how to save everything else that's slipping through my fingers.
I walk to my car after the closing while going through the ten emails and four texts that came through in less than fifteen minutes.
Twenty-seven signatures later, the beach house is officially mine, at least.
If only I could close up all of these other loose ends unraveling in my life.
I pull at my tie, unbutton my top button, and lean back against the headrest, letting my eyes close for just a moment. The leather seat creaks as I shift my weight.
My phone vibrates against the console. Warren's name flashes on the screen.
"Warren." I answer on the second ring. "I can't hear any more bad news from Chris. Did you get any clarity after our call this morning?"
"Got a minute?" His voice is level, measured. The voice of a man about to deliver news I won't like.
"Just finished the closing and I'm headed to the hospital. I've got exactly thirteen minutes."
"I've been looking into why Chris filed that second emergency petition last night." Warren pauses, clearing his throat. "It's worse than we thought."
My stomach tightens. "How could it be worse?"
"We already knew he's claiming you're unfit because you're sleeping with the nanny."
"Right. His word against mine. You said that this morning. So, what's worse?"
"He has photos. It's not just his word against yours."
The words hit like ice water. I bolt upright in my seat, gripping the steering wheel. "What the hell? How would he even?—"
"His attorney hired a PI to dig up dirt on you."
"And he has a fucking camera in my bedroom?"
Warren sighs. "No. The PI was staking out your house from the beach. He got photos of you and Ms. Brennan on your lawn."
My mind flashes to two nights that could have been. We had sex in the pool, and then that night after the movie.
"He has fucking pictures?" The words tear from my throat.
"I finally talked to his attorney and just found out about them. He hasn't entered them with the court, but he plans to leverage them." Warren's voice remains calm, infuriatingly professional.
I strike the steering wheel and kick the break pedal. Fuck, that hurt.
"Pope, are you listening? Chris isn't bluffing like we were hoping. He's going to enter the photos into evidence to get custody of Lennon. And it could work."
My fist slams into the dashboard. Pain shoots up my arm, but I barely feel it through the rage building inside me.
"That piece of shit." My breath comes faster, shorter. "Of course he would sink to get sleazy photos and use them to twist the narrative."
"He'll use anything he can. That's why I warned you about?—"
"I know what you warned me about." My voice drops dangerously low. The memory of Warren's earlier caution about appearances floods back. I hadn't listened, hadn't cared.
I press my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to steady my breathing.
"Pope?" Warren's voice cuts through my thoughts. "We need to come up with a plan. First things first, you can't be sleeping with the nanny if you're trying to show that this is a stable environment for Lennon. You have to understand that."
"I guess I don't understand how that's relevant, Warren. What happens if I don't? Good guardians can't have a sex life? Jesus Christ."
"Not with the nanny. Not on the fucking lawn for anyone to see, including the kid. Sure, if you'd kept it discreet, but come on, Pope. You have to see the optics here."
I close my eyes, seeing Lennon's face. His small hand in mine outside the courthouse. The trust I'd promised to honor.
"I don't regret being with her." The words come out rough, honest. "But if I've hurt Lennon's chances at safety?—"
"Focus on what we can control," Warren interrupts. "We need to prepare for Tuesday."
"Didn't the judge already rule on this?" My knuckles turn white around the phone.
"He ruled on the first petition," Warren explains, his tone steadying.
"Oh, I get it. He files one, the court-appointed lady, whoever the fuck she is, says Chris isn't suitable, and the judge agrees, keeping things as they are. But then Chris can just keep filing these petitions, so what's even the point?"
"Pope, you need to calm down and think about this rationally. Yes, new evidence means he can file a new petition. He can’t keep filing endlessly, but every time you hand him new ammunition, he gets another shot."
"Fuck me."
"Pope, listen to me. We need to talk strategy. Can you come to my office?"
I stare out the windshield at the palm trees swaying in the breeze. I haven't even told Sloane about Chris. After finding out on Tuesday his petition was struck down, I didn't see the point. I figured it was over. He was a blip.
Now he’s back, and I’ve dragged her right into the middle of it without her even knowing.
Not only do we still have to deal with him, but now her reputation is on the line because of this fucking drama. And she has no clue.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
I push through the front door at ten past nine, my body leaden with exhaustion. The house is quiet except for the soft clink of dishes coming from the kitchen. Yellow light spills into the hallway.
Sloane stands at the sink, drying a pot. Her hair falls forward, hiding her face from me. She doesn't look up when I enter.
"Hey." My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
She nods without turning. "Oh, hi, Pope."
"Lennon in bed?" I set my briefcase on the counter, watching her hands move methodically across the fabric.
"Fast asleep since eight. We went to the Children's Museum and then he had a good day at Seabreeze. He was exhausted." Her words come out measured, professional. Maybe she's tired, or maybe it's me, and I'm misreading it, but there is a line drawn between us that wasn't there last night.
I lean against the doorframe, searching for something normal to say. "Did dinner go okay?"
"Yes. We had pasta with broccoli. He had seconds."
The kitchen falls silent except for her rhythmic folding of the cloth napkins. This isn't the woman who laughed with me in my bed last night after we made love. This is someone else entirely, someone who won't even look at me.
"Everything alright?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
Sloane finally meets my eyes, her gaze cool and distant. "Fine. Just tired. Like I said, it's been a full day."
I recognize this dance. The polite retreat, the professional barrier sliding back into place.
Part of me wants to grab her shoulders and tell her everything about Chris, the photos, the custody hearing. But Warren's warnings echo in my head.
You can't be sleeping with the nanny if you're trying to show stability.
I nod instead, letting the silence stretch between us like a wall. "I'll be in my office for a while if you need anything."
"Okay, thanks. I'm probably going to turn in." She turns away, stacking the folded towels with mechanical precision. "Goodnight."
The formal goodnight lands like a slap.
Maybe it's better this way. If she's already pulling back, it makes what I need to do easier. The distance between us slices deeper than I expected, but I tell myself this pain is necessary. This is a shield protecting everyone from what could happen if I don’t.
This was never going to last, anyway. Lennon will move, she will go to her job, and I will move back to Denver.
"Goodnight, Sloane."
I turn away, each step toward my office is heavier than the last. Behind me, the kitchen light clicks off, plunging the downstairs into darkness. Her coolness lingers like a fresh bruise.
Instead of chasing after her, I let her go. This distance is the only thing keeping her safe right now.
Even if it feels like tearing out a vital organ with my bare hands.