Seraphina
SERAPHINA
T urn around and go home, .
Turn your butt around and stop this madness.
My brain screams. It knows better. Hell, I’ve spent my whole damn life listening to my instincts and surviving the circumstances I’d been placed in against my will. My intuition has always been on target—well, except that one time I called Detective Charlie Fletcher some colorful names and assumed, with venom, his daughter would end up much the same way her mother did.
Not my finest moment. Not a kind thing to think or say.
But my experience with the man, up to that point, included a douchey cop who bedded a new woman each night and spent no time with the little girl he’d created.
All except that one instance, my instincts have been right on the money. So why don’t I listen to them now? Why on earth do I continue to trudge up the stairs of his apartment building when I know, whatever meets me on the other side of his door, will hurt?
Because he has always been, and will always be, the one black spot I have in my vision.
He’s a lesson the universe is intent on me learning the hard way.
“I’m so stupid.” Grumbling, I look down at the heels I still wear. The pantyhose that irritate me by the end of each long day. The skirt that makes it difficult for me to walk far, fast. And then the blouse that is like butter on my flesh.
I look professional. Educated. Successful, even. Though anyone who knows me, knows I spend my time chasing a socially inept, belligerent, and withdrawn medical examiner around her building and hope my nagging doesn’t eventually translate to unemployment.
The joke is on me, I’m certain.
Arriving on the third floor, I turn at the landing and continue up.
Why?
I have no friggin’ clue.
What do I intend to say when I get there?
See my previous answer.
I should just turn around and leave.
And yet, I can’t.
I can’t have spent time with sweet Mia Fletcher this past year and know, once again, her mom is back to mess things up. I’m not that chick . The jealous shrew on the side who can’t handle when a man and his ex-wife rekindle a relationship. I swear, that’s not me. But I can’t go home tonight without checking in, at least. Making sure Mia is fine. Ensuring she’s guarded from the poison I’ve witnessed her mother spew firsthand these last few months.
And yet, my bravery makes way for a skittering heart and a stomach that whooshes with nerves as I come closer to his floor.
Is he home?
Is she ?
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher. Can I speak to your four-year-old in private for a moment? I’d like to make sure she’s safe while her parents continue their toxic relationship. And since I’m here, can I speak to Charlie, too? Alone. Because I’m not sure he’s strong enough to say no when his former abuser is in the room.
“Goddddddd,” I groan, stopping on the second to last step and fighting every instinct pumping through my blood that demands I turn my ass around.
But then an apartment door swings wide to reveal a harried Charlie Fletcher carrying a bag of trash in one hand and tugging the door closed with the other.
My breath comes to a dead standstill. Because I’m standing right here, but for a moment, just a single second in time, he doesn’t know it.
His cheeks are a little red, like he’s been running nonstop and his blood flows too warm. His eyes are drawn and tired. His jaw is stubbled, and though that’s his usual look, it seems messier. Not his typical roguish and sexy.
He wears the same jeans he was in earlier. And a button-up shirt, though the buttons are unfastened. He wears a white tank beneath, the ends untucked from his belt, when that’s not how he would present himself at work.
He’s the same as he was this morning, and yet… not.
And the not is because of a phone call he took earlier.
“Charlie?”
He startles and almost drops his bag of trash, reaching for the gun he would normally wear but isn’t right now. Slightly long hair flops around when he moves, draping over his brow and touching the stress lines that are rarely noticeable on the goofy detective’s skin.
He prefers to smile. To joke and make those around him smile, too.
“Sera?” Breath shuddering, his honey-colored eyes sweep me up and down, from my heels to the top of my mahogany hair. But then they drop to the bear I hold in my hands. The reddish-pink Care Bear I selected from dozens of others at the kid’s store after I left work today.
Mia Fletcher has a selection of them already. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have this one . So I wanted her to know I care about her. That I’m always here.
The problem is, if her mom and dad are getting back together, the chances of me ever seeing the girl again are slim to none. Especially considering the venom Jada enjoys tossing my way when Charlie isn’t around.
“What are you…” Charlie takes another step forward. Though remembering the bag of trash in his hand, he holds the parcel back, as though to save me from smelling its contents. “Why are you here, Sera?”
“My name is .” I swallow and give the bear a gentle squeeze. A hug, before I hand it over. “Or Fifi, I suppose. If you insist on being like the others.”
“Or Sera,” he presses. “Because is for those who aren’t your friends, and Fifi is for Minka and Aubs because they like to screw with you.” He nods toward the bear. “Why are you carrying that around with you?”
I drop my gaze to the soft red fur and the hearts on her belly. “Um…” Dragging it up again, I meet his eyes and nibble on the inside of my cheek. “I wanted to give it to Mia, actually.”
His brows pinch closer. Another line of stress marked onto his skin. “Why? It’s not her birthday. It’s not Christmas.”
“Can’t I bring her something just because I was thinking of her?” I offer the bear and let it dangle, despite the ten feet that separate us. “You can tell her it’s from you if you want. Or that you found it.”
“You don’t want her to know it’s from you?” Giving up on our distance, he starts away from his door and stops at the top of the stairs, looking down at me until I’m forced to fold my neck back to maintain eye contact. “That sounds a little creepy to me, Sera.” Finally, at least, his lips quirk subtly at the side. “Here kiddo, I got you something, but I’m a secret admirer.”
I purse my lips and stare. Since I guess he so easily finds his taunting attitude, even amid fresh trauma.
“Give it to her yourself if you want her to have it.” He strides away, so fast I startle, and jams the bag of trash into a chute built into the wall a few doors up from his. Then he spins back and studies me, salacious and flirty. “I’m not lying to my kid. So you gotta do it.”
“It’s not about lying to her. It’s about…” I swallow the groan working its way along my throat. How do I say, ‘ I don’t trust your ex-wife as far as I can throw her, and I don’t trust you not to take her back out of guilt ,’ without making an enemy of the man I thought was becoming my friend? “I just wanted to get this bear to her while I had a second. It’s not deeper than that.”
Lie.
“So give it to her yourself.” He moves back to his door, placing his hand on the knob, but not opening it just yet. “Jada’s asleep, by the way.”
“Is she, uh…” I guess we’re not beating around the bush. “Um… so she’s really in there?”
He chuckles, soft and barely audible. But I see it in the movement of his chest. The shift in his shoulders. “I doubt Archer kept my shit quiet. Which is precisely why you’re here, looking like someone kicked you in the guts.”
“No, I?—”
“You overheard his side of the conversation, at least. The bits where he mentioned Jada being here. I also know you care about my daughter.”
“No,” I repeat. “I?—”
“Even if, outwardly, you act like children are sticky and gross. There’s only so many times you can braid my daughter’s hair and dance with her on a boat before your ‘ I don’t like kids ’ spiel falls apart. You care, and then you heard about Jada coming home.”
“Home?” What was that bit about being kicked in the guts ? “This is—” I swallow and jut my chin toward his door. “That’s her home, huh?”
His eyes shutter, at least. A reaction somewhere deep in his soul he’s not quite ready to verbalize. “You know what I mean. This is my home. It’s Mia’s home. And now Jada is in it. ”
“Forever?” I hate that my eyes itch. I absolutely loathe that my heart skips a beat and leaves me damn near breathless. Because he’s Charlie friggin’ Fletcher. Manwhore extraordinaire. Not only is he a divorced homicide cop, but he’s a dad, too. Multiple red flags I would have stayed far away from a year ago. “You throw your life on its head so quickly. As soon as she calls, you run?”
“You sound like Archer.” His jaw ticks from faux humor to instant anger. “Why is everyone on my case because I’m doing the right thing? If I told her to fuck herself and stay gone, I would be a deadbeat piece of shit. But somehow, helping her still makes me the asshole?”
“It’s not about you taking care of her! It’s about you and Mia having stability. It’s about the fact you were in the middle of an active homicide case, took a phone call that revolved around her associating with drug dealers, then you blew everyone else off to go save the day. For a woman who?—”
Doesn’t deserve it , I want to say. For a junkie abuser who uses people and creates drama behind everyone’s backs .
“There’s no way I can say what needs to be said without becoming the wretched and horrible person on the side. There’s nothing I can say that won’t leave me looking like the jerk.”
“So don’t speak about something that doesn’t affect you! Be here for me, Sera.” He releases the door handle and slams his fist to his chest until the thump reverberates in my heart. “Be my friend. Be my ally. Mia has everyone looking after her. Caring for her. Watching out for her. Which is how it’s supposed to be. But how about you take care of me? Focus on me , instead of my daughter, or worse, my ex-wife. It shouldn’t be that fucking hard.”
“It is hard! Because I want what is best for you both. Don’t you understand?” I move to the top of the stairs, then half a dozen steps closer until I can lower my voice. Until my words come out with a dangerous grit and my exhaling breath surely hits his exposed skin. “She is poison for you, Charlie. Everything she is, everything she touches, is toxic. And right now, you’re willingly holding on.”
“I’m trying to save her life!”
“And she’s going to take yours down with her!” I shove the bear against his chest and pray with everything in me that isn’t bitterness, that he gives it to Mia. “Supporting your spiraling ex-wife is to leave her in the hospital while she’s coming down from meth addiction, and placing her in a clinic the very first moment you can. Bringing her to your apartment? Putting her inside that little girl’s home, while she’s at her most volatile, even leaving her in there right now, while you’re out here bickering with me, is not helping anyone . You’re flailing, Charlie. And if you’d take your head out of your ass for just a second, you’d hear me when I tell you it’s okay to pull away. When someone we care about won’t help themselves, it’s okay to save yourself. We’re here for you, Charlie, and we’re begging to help you.”
“It’s ironic, really, that you say you’re here for me.” He clutches to the bear and brings it up to study her smiling face. “You even claim to be here for my baby.” Finally, he drops his arm and lets the stuffie dangle. “I told you to go in and see her, and yet, you stand out here, arguing with me about a woman you don’t even know.”
“I do know her!” My words come out in a snarl. On a barely there, quiet enough not to travel, but ferocious all the same, growl that has the man licking his lips. He’s the wolf, we’re in the woods, and he’s angry enough to eat me alive. “I’ve met your wife, Charlie. More times than you know. Because we both come from the same world, and although she’s supposed to be sober, I see her in the same clubs I’m in. Though only one of us is routinely plastered, half unconscious, and making shitty choices. Oh, and she knows who I am. You know how I know that?” I take a step back and regard him with a sneer, trying with all my heart and soul to stop caring about what he thinks of me. To stop caring about him, full stop. “I know, because she makes damn sure to seek me out on the dance floor and call me a dirty, home wrecking slut who wishes I could be her. No one really wishes to become a train wreck, so I can only assume she means I wish I were Mia’s mom and your wife.”
Shaking my head, I take another step back and leave the bear, and the man, behind.
“I didn’t insert myself into your marriage. But somehow, I’ve been tugged in anyway. And the irony is, we’re not even together. We’ve never been together. I care about your daughter, because she deserves a woman in her life who chooses her over the crack pipe. And you deserve someone who isn’t the reason you lose weight and sleep, because you’re overcome with stress instead. But you’re right,” I throw my hand toward the door, gesturing toward the woman he keeps hidden on the other side. “You’re choosing well. This is just…” I click my tongue. “A fantastic decision on your part.”
“Why don’t you just go away, Sera?” He bites out his words and takes a chip from my heart with the cold dismissal in his tone. “If you’re not here to help me, or support me, then you’re a waste of my fucking time. And right now, I have so little of that to spare. ”
“You’re choosing wrong. You’re gonna look back on today and wish you’d listened to your friends.”
“I’m not choosing anything except to keep my daughter’s mother alive long enough to get her into rehab! But you’re too fucking self-centered to see that. You’re a train wreck too, Sera! You think I deserve someone who doesn’t stress me out? And yet, you’re the single most stressful woman I’ve ever met. You’re high maintenance, highly strung, and you carry trauma from your own abusive mommy like you think it qualifies you to tell me how to raise my daughter.”
Every word he throws is a lash across my heart. A thorn in my veins.
Worse, a reminder to never give myself to a man again.
Been there. Done that. Gave the engagement ring back.
“Focus on yourself,” he sneers. “If the only thing you can offer me is judgment, scorn, and pity, then stay the fuck away. I don’t have room for you in my life.” He tears the apartment door open and turns his back on me. Then he crosses the threshold without another word. Because he already has so little time to spare . “Mia, honey?”
“Here, Daddy.” Little feet pad across the apartment. But if I could hope, only for a second, that she’d come out and greet me, that idea is squashed as Charlie slams the door until the frame rattles. “Is that a Care Bear? Oh my gosh, Daddy, it’s so pretty.”