CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
My phone rang, and I glanced at the screen, noticing it was my divorce lawyer.
True to his word, Declan had arranged everything. From soliciting an attorney, who was also a member of a team of attorneys he had on retainer, to having his housekeeper come in every day—rather than their twice-a-week agreement—to help me since my ankle was still not at a hundred percent yet.
It had been two weeks since I’d been at Declan’s, and last week was my follow-up appointment with the doctor to see about my ankle.
The doctor had assured me it was healing nicely and to just be patient and let my body continue to do the work.
But I was itching to go back to work and to not be such a burden to everyone.
Declan practically carried me everywhere, and his housekeeper, Mrs. Hemming, literally asked me the other day if I wanted her to carry me.
She was four feet, eleven inches, and ninety-five pounds, soaking wet.
A gentle breeze could knock her over. Yet she was offering to carry me because that was what she’d seen her boss doing.
The day after my follow-up visit, I was so frustrated that I ended up calling my rheumatologist, who explained that because of the immunosuppressants I took for my RA, my body’s capacity to heal itself was significantly lowered and would take longer than an average healthy adult female.
I wanted to pull my hair out after that phone call.
I wasn’t used to being waited on hand and foot, and it made me feel useless.
My phone buzzed again, and I realized I hadn’t answered yet.
Shaking off the negative emotions rolling around inside, I accepted the call, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Melodie,” came Ayana Channing’s sweet, melodious voice.
Ayana was a beautiful black woman in her late thirties, with radiant dark skin and striking bright blue eyes, courtesy of her Ethiopian roots.
She was an inch or so shy of six feet—perhaps even as tall as Cassidy.
And despite her easygoing and laid-back personality, according to Declan, she was an absolute beast in the courtroom.
He’d spoken highly of her, referring to her as the most reliable member of his legal team.
And I was honored when he offered her services to me.
“So, I just got off the phone with your husband’s attorney,” Ayana added.
“And he’s insisting that your husband refuse to sign the divorce papers until both of you have tried counseling, both individually and together.
He says your husband has volunteered to close the marriage so you two can focus on each other.
How that is possible when he has a literal baby on the way is beyond me, but I’m passing on the message before I tell him where to shove his demands. Legally, of course.”
I smiled at her finishing comment, and something about the lighthearted way in which she delivered Seth’s bullshit demand made it clear I was doing the right thing in divorcing that bastard.
Funny how he never wanted to work on us or tried counseling before demanding an open marriage.
And now that I wanted nothing to do with him, that was when he was willing to try to fix us.
What a joke. Seth was simply an overgrown man-child throwing a tantrum by dragging out this divorce.
I sighed. “Ayana, I’m willing to try counseling when pigs fly.”
“Careful,” she intoned. “Semantics, dear. They can easily put a pig on a plane and call your wish fulfilled. How about just… no?”
I laughed outright then. “Yeah. No sounds just about perfect.”
“Great. Also, I’ll let his attorney know that if he still refuses to sign in the next few days, we’re changing the petition from you not wanting anything to you taking everything he and his mother own. How does that sound?”
“But I don’t want anything he has.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. He thinks you simply want to be rid of him.
Which, of course, is true. But we need to show him that if he pisses you off, then we can piss him off right back.
Tat for tat. And I mean that exactly how it sounds, because we’re not doing this back-and-forth bullshit with him. ”
I chuckled, fully comprehending her meaning. “Then I trust your judgment.”
“Awesome,” she replied, voice ever so sweet. “I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. Until then, take it easy and leave everything to me. We’ll talk soon.”
And with that, she hung up.
Ayana had gotten the ball rolling on this divorce so fast that I didn’t even have time to second-guess it.
Not that I would. And not for the first time, I wondered how much Declan was paying her.
I honestly wouldn’t be able to afford even a second of her time on my own.
I’d offered to pay Declan back for covering her fees, but he’d simply kissed my forehead and said, “Consider it a ‘congrats on your divorce’ gift.”
Of course, I still tried to thank him by having as much monkey sex as my ankle would allow, then I had taken my time kissing each and every single one of his tattoos.
He was the happiest of campers after that.
◆◆◆
Later that evening, I was resting on the couch with my injured foot propped up on Declan’s expensive coffee table when the elevator dinged, and Cassidy exited its doors.
She was clearly on her way home from work, but had stopped in to check on me, just like she’d done every day for the last two weeks.
She wore a green, ribbed sheath dress with a cream-colored jacket over the top. And her long red hair was pulled back in a fierce ponytail that highlighted her gorgeous cheekbones and elegant long neck.
She spotted me on the couch and quickly rushed over, crushing me in one of her usual back-breaking hugs.
I’d realized pretty early on that Cassidy was a very touchy-feely, demonstrative kind of person. It was simply how she showed affection, and I couldn’t bring myself to fault her for it.
Heck, her daughter was exactly the same, and Orla gave the best good morning and goodbye hugs.
“Hey, sweetie,” Cassidy greeted softly, then slowly pulled out of our embrace. “How are you feeling today?”
I shrugged. “Better. Still a little sore, but nothing some painkillers and Bengay can’t handle.”
“Did you apply the analgesic yet, or do you need me to help you with it?”
I shook my head. “Declan offered to help me apply it before bed. It’s better that way anyway, because it eases the discomfort long enough for me to fall asleep. Also… analgesic? You couldn’t just say pain rub like a normal person?”
Cassidy chuckled. “Well, considering my entire career is creating medicines like your pain rub, then no. Plus, it pisses Declan off when I use words he doesn’t understand.”
I laughed. “You guys are twelve.”
“And I would still be older.” She grinned then. “Where is my baby brother, by the way?”
I stuck a thumb over my shoulder. “He’s in the kitchen preparing, and I quote, ‘a feast to end all feasts’.”
“So… he’s making eggs?”
“Yep.” I cackled.
Cassidy sighed, the sound of the long-suffering, and got to her feet. “That man is useless without me. I’ll go make you guys dinner.”
She took her jacket off and tossed it on the armchair next to the couch, and I noticed then that her dress was actually strapless.
It accentuated the toned curves of her shoulders and upper back.
And I noticed—possibly for the first time, since she’d never worn strapless attire around me before—that she had a small tattoo on the back of her right shoulder.
I squinted, taking in the intricate design.
The craftsmanship was very detailed and depicted a blooming green shamrock with a ribbon spiraling across it, and inside the ribbon was the word CLANN.
I’d looked it up the first time I’d seen the spelling, and according to Google, it was the Irish word for family.
I knew Cassidy’s tattoo all too well because Declan had a much larger version of it on his right bicep.
It didn’t strike me as particularly relevant because Declan had a lot of tattoos.
I figure it was just another piece of art in his collection.
Cassidy, on the other hand, had only the one.
At least, the only one I could see. And I found it quite touching that she and her brother shared this unique bond.
She was halfway to the kitchen when my mouth ran away from me.
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” I said, and she turned to face me. “Your brother has the exact same one. Is it like a twin thing or something?”
Cassidy cocked her head, looking at me with a confused expression.
“On your back,” I added, pointing for good measure. “The little green shamrock tattoo. It just stood out to me because I didn’t know you had one.”
She lifted her hand, and it disappeared behind her back as she touched the tattoo in question. “Melodie… do you not know what this tattoo means?”
She was giving me that strange, confused look again, and I momentarily panicked, thinking I’d overstep.
I shook my head. “No. Am… am I supposed to?”
“Declan didn’t tell you what this tattoo represents?”
I shook my head again.
Cassidy sighed and promptly rubbed her temples, whispering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Idiot. I’m gonna kill him.”
“What?” I asked, but she simply dropped her hand and flashed me an awkward little smile.
“Nothing,” she sobered. “Why don’t you go freshen up for dinner? I’ll send Declan in to help you in a minute.”
I nodded, confused at her sudden shift in mood, but got up anyway and slowly started making my way to the bedroom.
Irritated voices drifted from the kitchen, and I knew I shouldn’t have, but I paused to listen in on their whispered conversation.
“You haven’t told her yet?” Cassidy snapped at her brother.
“I will. I just haven’t found the right time,” Declan’s rumbling voice returned.
“You have to tell her. Right now, Declan. She has a right to know.”
“I know that,” Declan snapped back.
“Tell her, or I will. Before things get even more tangled between you two, tell her. Then let her decide if she still wants to be with you afterward. At least then she’ll have all the facts.”
Declan sighed, and that simple release of breath sounded both defeated and detached. I didn’t know why, but something about that brief exhale was enough to break me.
The irony of their whispered conversation wasn’t lost on me. And the eerie similarity to the argument between Seth and Lacey the night I found myself injured and homeless was enough to fracture something inside—be it my brain or my heart, I couldn’t tell.
Did I leap out of the frying pan and into the fire?
The room suddenly felt too small—a pressing thing of stifling air and heat. I felt trapped in a spinning box headed for doom and destruction—an encapsulated tomb of betrayal and heartbreak. And wasn’t that just fitting?
I needed air.
I needed to get out of here.
I knew I was having a panic attack, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Since my father’s passing, panic attacks had become a regular part of my coping routine.
Though they never just happened out of nowhere.
They were usually triggered by an intense emotion or memory.
Sometimes both. And this instance was a juxtaposition of impulse and déjà vu.
Sucking in wheezing huffs of breath, I staggered toward Declan’s bedroom to retrieve my key card to access his private elevator. I needed out of there and into an abundance of air.
My chest felt tight, and my vision went blurry.
I made it through the bedroom doors and almost to the nightstand when I suddenly ran out of breathable air, and darkness took me.