Chapter 10
SARAH
I pull open the oven door and slide the cookie sheet in.
“Is that slimy ferret still sticking his pointy nose in all your business?”
I hear the clink of glass in the background and picture Roxie drying glasses and hanging them above the bar. I’ve filled her in on Cory and his incessant need to check everything I’m working on as if I’m completely incompetent.
“Griffin and Kat have started to pull me in on cases he’s not involved in, so that’s helped ward off his lethargic surveillance, although I’m pretty sure he silently curses when we cross paths.”
“Has he been checked for rabies? It alters the mind, so if he begins to drool . . .”
I laugh, dropping a ball of cookie dough onto the cookie sheet. “Kat thinks he’s intimidated by me.”
“At least he’s smart, then.”
Cory is smart, he just needs to mind his own damn business. He’s another reason I keep my personal issues and situation to myself. I have no doubt he’d use my stress and past against me in any way he could.
“Maybe he needs some Ensure and to get laid.” I hear her shiver. “I might have nightmares just thinking about it, and I haven’t even met him.”
I pull another sheet of foil from the roll .
“So, you’re making treats for Ollie? I could use a dozen cookies. It’s going to be a long night. Declan is in town.”
Declan is the bad boy Roxie dated in high school to piss her family off.
She ended up falling in love with him, and when he left for the Army, she said goodbye, knowing it would never work long distance.
The problem is, no matter what she says, I know she’s still in love with him.
Or maybe it’s more the idea of him and how he goes against everything her parents deem acceptable.
“Declan’s in town?”
“Yeah. I guess he’s on leave. Jax said he was bringing him by as if I needed forewarning or something.”
“Do you?”
She groans. “It’s been years, but he’s just. . .that guy. Ya know?”
I know. He’s incredibly handsome in that rugged, dangerous way, but also charming.
“You need to be careful. I’m sure he’s got that stiff military swagger and won’t be sticking around for long.”
“Yeah. Why do I have to be a sucker for all that?” she whines. “Maybe I should invite him to a family dinner. I could shock the actual shit out of my parents. That would be fun.”
“But then, he’d be leaving.”
“Maybe I should run away and live with you until he’s gone.” There’s silence like she’s contemplating it. “Anywho, Ollie’s cookies?”
“Yeah, it’s his turn at preschool, so I’m making his favorite. His teacher sent home pamphlets and phone numbers for speech therapists, suggesting he needs help.” I unwrap the foil from the Kiss and place it on top of the raw dough.
“Have you heard anything from that balding dick yet?” The disgust in her tone makes me smile.
“Balding?”
“Look, I accidentally clicked on one of his reels. I’m just saying, he looks like a dick with hair, but it’s definitely receding, and when it’s gone, he’s going to look like the actual thing. ”
I hold in laughter, threatening to burst out and likely wake the kids. “Rox!”
“What? I might have commented as much.”
A moment of silence follows that extends long enough for my belly to feel it, and a small knot begins to form.
“Rox?”
“He’s got a new agent,” she spits out. “A woman. She’s gorgeous, and fawning all over him like he’s the next Barbara Walters. Although I wonder if she’s aware he lacks class and intelligence.” Rox knows Miles well enough to suspect he’s up to something and likely using this woman to get it.
Miles is one of the top news anchors in Chicago. He’s confident, strikingly handsome, and appears to have it all. I think he actually believes he does. He’s also smart, deceptive, and knows what strings to pull, when, and how hard. The man has charisma and connections—together, they’re lethal.
It’s true what they say about fame, power, and pride. It changes people. He climbed the ranks and, along the way, became someone I didn’t recognize, or maybe I just never wanted to see it. I married one man and divorced another.
Do I care what Miles does or who he’s sleeping with inside a closet or out? Nope. Not even a little bit. Do I care that he muddied my name and reputation and stripped me of every possible thing he could? Not so much anymore.
The only thing I want from him is the support he’s been ordered to provide for our children.
If it were an option, I wouldn’t even want that.
But Ollie needs speech therapy, and I want to be able to sign him up for soccer without having to sacrifice something important.
The list of things goes on and on. I’m not talking about extravagance or luxury.
I just need my bank account to be at a minimal level so I can care for our kids without worrying that I won’t have enough for food and diapers .
I also have to pay for the repairs on the car he bought, even though he knew I wanted a minivan. But I suspect the shithead left my name on the car as a spiteful gift. Now that I’ve seen Slade’s quote, I have no doubt.
“I’m sure she’s keeping him too busy to return my calls.” There’s another beat of silence that only tightens the knot in my gut. “What else is there?”
“He was being coy about a move to a new network.” It comes out softly.
I pause my Kiss unwrapping. “A new network? Where?” It’s Miles’s goal to make it to New York City.
“He didn’t say, but the dumbass look on his face told me it’s a big move.”
I want to hang up and start searching. My mind races with what this means. He either has no intention of being involved in Ollie and Frankie’s lives, or he’s gaining speed to do something crazy.
The timer goes off on the oven, and I spin to turn it off. I grab the towel to pull the cookies out and set them on the stove.
Nooooo. I stare at them.
“You ok?” I hear Roxie’s tentative voice.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“He can’t do anything. He hasn’t been involved, isn’t paying child support, and flinging his ding-a-ling at every opportunity possible.”
She sounds so confident, but my stomach is taking cover. I know better than to think he can’t or won’t do anything. Miles always gets what he wants, and most often, that seems to be to destroy me.
I hear someone hollering on the other end of the line.
“Hey, I gotta go. You sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah. Thanks for telling me.” I guess I need to start following what he’s doing again because I’ll be damned if he’ll catch me off-guard.
“I was thinking I’d come visit for Thanksgiving. I need a break and an excuse to avoid dinner with my family.”
“Ok. Sure.” My gut aches with this new information .
“I love you.” Roxie’s soft voice hits me in the chest.
“Love you, too.”
We hang up, and I stare at the cookies. They do not look like they’re supposed to. It’s quite fitting—a flat melting mess you no longer recognize.
I scoop up the foil and crumple it into the overflowing trash.
I put the next pan in and set the timer, praying they look like actual cookies.
I tie up the bag and tug it out of the trash can, then slip on my shoes and haul it out the back door to the bin. I lift the lid and drop it on top, suddenly wanting to kick the living shit out of something. Maybe the trash.
I catch a flicker of headlights out of the corner of my eye and see the neighbors’ shiny trash cans at the end of their driveways.
I blow out a breath into the cold night air and tip the bin to wheel it to the street. I tighten my grip on the handles, wanting to strangle it along with the unknown rising around me.
I hurry down the driveway and almost make it to the end when the wheels catch on the raised edge of the sidewalk. I jerk to a stop, and the bin topples over, the trash bags tumbling out.
Of course! I stand fuming.
I give the large plastic container a hard kick and then another. “Mother fucker, piece of shit, no good, scumsucker. . .” I fist my hands, letting my head fall back to the dark sky filled with bright stars that feel like tiny specks of hope too far to reach. “Uuugggghhhh!” I stomp.
“Bad day?”
My body jolts, but it’s that low rumble I’ve come to recognize. I twist, and under the glow of the street light is the big guy with his hands tucked in his coat pockets.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think there might be a teensy bit of amusement underlying that two-word question.
I glare, even though he can’t see it. “Careful. I’m in a shit mood. ”
“Really? I couldn’t tell by the assault on the trash can.”
It comes out dry, but. . .is there a joke in there?
I huff and place my hands on my hips, needing to get a grip as he strolls over. I shiver. My T-shirt and leggings are no longer enough for a late-night outdoor meltdown.
“Where’s your coat?”
I bend, swiping one of the full plastic bags. “Oh, for the ever-loving—” I drop it, yanking my hand away. “Shit!” I grip my hand, holding it close to my body.
Slade sets the bin right side up. “You all right? Let me see.” He moves in front of me, holding out his hand.
I tuck my hand close to my chest, squeezing with the other, feeling the warm stickiness coat my fingers. “I caught a piece of glass.” I glance at the busted trash bag. Dammit.
“Let me see,” Slade barks the order.
I release my fist over his large hand and uncurl my fingers. Blood oozes from a slash across my palm.
“Put pressure on it and hold it up.” He carefully cleans up the mess and places it in the bin. Then he ushers me toward the house. “Let’s get it washed off and see if I need to call Krissy.”
I try to match his long stride, gripping my hand tight as the pain settles in. “Call Krissy for what?”
“To see if you need stitches and stay with the kids while I take you to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
He peers down at me as he opens the back door. “We’ll see. Let’s get it clean and have a good look at it.”
He waits for me to enter, completely unfazed by my direct opposition to going to the hospital.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re severely bossy?”