Chapter 26
Preemptive Strike
Gavin
The week after the incidents with Rebecca had been surprisingly quiet. In truth, it felt too quiet.
My phone had buzzed Thursday morning while I was reviewing blueprints. Mrs. Murphy. I always answered for Mrs. Murphy.
"Why am I seeing your ex-wife in the neighborhood?"
I set down my pen. "Hello to you, too. And what do you mean?"
"I mean, I've seen that woman driving around here almost every day this week. What's she doing in Southie?" A pause that had teeth in it. "You're not getting back together with that floozy, are you?"
"No, Mrs. Murphy. Absolutely not."
"Good. Because Andi is a lovely girl and I won't have it." A beat. "Now. How's my Charisse? She still doing piano?"
Twenty minutes later I knew that Mrs. Murphy's grandson Patrick had just started Little League, that the Hennessey boy two doors down had finally gotten a haircut, and that someone on the block had planted oregano that was, apparently, a crime against gardening and she was sure would take over the shared raised beds in the community garden.
I'd also promised to bring Charisse by for soda bread before the end of the month.
"I should let you go, Mrs. Murphy."
"You should. You work too hard." A pause. "But Gavin? Keep an eye out."
I texted Victor before I even put the phone down. Neighbor reports seeing Rebecca driving through Andi's neighborhood daily this past week. Adding to the file. His response came back in under two minutes. Good. Dates and times, if she has them.
Victor had been on this from the start. The morning after that whole mess with Andi—when things had gotten rocky between us before we'd managed to find our way back to solid ground—I'd called him, and the conversation hadn't lasted long.
"Put it all in the file," he'd said. "I don't care how small it seems. Rebecca showing up at Andi's shop? Write it down. The deli thing? Write it down. Every encounter, every text, every weird comment Charisse mentions—all of it goes in a file."
I'd done exactly that. Rebecca showing up at The Grind, Marcus there to witness the whole thing.
Her ambush at my lunch, the scene she'd created, the unsettling realization that she must have followed me from the office to know exactly when I'd be there.
Screenshots of her texts, the ones that twisted everything that had actually happened into something unrecognizable.
My fingers felt cold typing it all out. The thought of her trailing me to the deli made my skin crawl.
It felt weird. Like I was building a case file on my ex-wife instead of just trying to co-parent with her.
But Victor had been clear. "Honestly, Gavin?
Her current behavior might work in our favor.
She's been canceling time with Charisse, asking you to take Charisse more than the agreement specifies.
We need to get the paperwork filed to document for the summer and talk about whether you want to consider petitioning for a change more long term as well. "
I wasn’t sure yet. No matter how I felt about Rebecca, she was still Charisse’s mom. There is something to be said for that and for having a relationship with your mom. But then the week had gone radio silent. No texts. No calls. Nothing.
At first, I'd been relieved. Charisse was with me for the summer anyway, so there were no pickups or drop-offs to navigate. No forced interactions. No opportunities for Rebecca to create more drama.
But as the days passed, the silence started to feel wrong.
Rebecca didn't do quiet. She didn't do subtle. It started to feel like she was planning something, but regardless, it wasn’t right for Charisse. Who does that to their own kid? I know that Charisse had called and texted her yet Rebecca hadn’t responded with anything other than simple one or two-word answers.
I'd just finished a client meeting and was walking back to my office, mentally running through my afternoon schedule, when I saw the man waiting by my door.
Tall, polo shirt, casual stance.
"Gavin Byrne?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"You've been served." He held out the envelope and clipboard. "I need you to sign here acknowledging receipt."
I scrawled my signature with a hand that betrayed none of the adrenaline surging through me. The envelope felt heavier than paper should as I took it, my heartbeat drumming against my collar while the messenger turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the envelope. Plain manila. My name typed on a label. The return address from a law firm I didn't recognize—Brennan she's desperately floundering after losing her income, and she's still unemployed after all this time.
" He paused for a moment. "It's possible she may be running out of money. "
"What do you mean? How does that pertain?"
"Well, if she gets primary custody, she qualifies for a significant amount of child support, given your income," Victor finished. "There is a chance that’s what this could be about, Gavin. Money."
The realization made me want to put my fist through the wall. "You mean like she could be using our daughter as a paycheck."
"I can't prove that's her motivation. Not yet.
But the timing is suspicious as hell. Relationship ends, money dries up, and suddenly she wants more custody after years of treating it like an inconvenience?
" Victor paused. "Here's what we do. You come in tomorrow.
We go through everything—your schedule with Charisse, your relationship with Andi, every single time Rebecca canceled or asked you to take extra time.
We build our case showing you're the stable parent and that this petition is financially motivated. "
"And Andi?"
"Reading through the filing, it’s already clear that Rebecca's going to try to make her the villain. The homewrecker. The woman who stole you away and convinced you to neglect Charisse." His voice softened slightly. "I need to ask—are you sure about her?"
"Not even a moment's doubt, Vic. She's it for me."
"Then we protect that. We show the judge that Andi's presence in Charisse's life has been positive, appropriate, and carefully considered. That you're not some lovesick idiot putting his girlfriend before his kid. You're a father building a stable, loving home."
"Okay."
"I'll email you a list of documents I need.
Bank statements, work schedules, school records for Charisse, text message records with Rebecca.
Everything." Victor's tone hardened. "And Gavin?
Don't contact Rebecca. Not about this, not about anything that isn't directly related to Charisse's immediate care.
Everything goes through me and Brennan now.
If you need to communicate about pickup or school stuff, keep it brief and documented.
But no discussion about the custody petition. Understood?"
"Understood."
"One more thing. I'm going to try Brennan again. See if I can get him on the phone and find out what the hell Rebecca's playing at. I'll call you back tonight."
After we hung up, I sat down at my desk and stared at the papers spread in front of me. The legal language reduced my entire life—my relationship with my daughter, my relationship with Andi, everything I'd built—into evidence and arguments.
My phone buzzed. A text from Andi.
Andi: How's your day going?
I stared at the message. How did I answer that? How did I tell her that Rebecca had just filed to take Charisse away and was using Andi as ammunition?
But I had to tell her. She deserved to know what was coming.
Gavin: Need to see you tonight. Something happened.
Three dots appeared immediately, then…
Andi: Bad something?
Gavin: Yeah. Come over for dinner? I'll talk the details through after Charisse goes to bed.
Andi: Of course. I'll be there.
Gavin: Thank you. I love you.
Andi: I love you too. Whatever it is, we'll handle it.
I set my phone down and looked at the petition again. At Rebecca's claim that I was a bad father, that Andi was a negative influence, and even that Charisse needed to be "protected" from my poor judgment. All of it was lies.
But these weren't just words on paper—they were accusations with the weight of the legal system behind them.
I stared at my phone, at Andi's last message.
We'll handle it. Would she still feel that way when she saw her name in black and white, painted as the villain in our family's story?
And Charisse—my bright, sensitive daughter who loved us both—what would this battle do to her?