Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
LINDSEY
One Month Later
I FaceTime my sister from the Earl’s bathroom. She couldn’t come home for my court date, but I feel her support from afar.
She picks up on the first ring.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“You tell me?” I hold the phone up to show her my reflection in the mirror. I borrowed one of our mom’s pant suits, and it’s a little snug up top. I’m more of a full chest, whereas Mom and Ren are cute little B-cups.
“Wow, you look hot. Is the judge a man?”
I snort laugh, but then bunch my lips, taking her thought seriously for a moment. My judge is, in fact, a male. I unbutton one notch on the light blue blouse under the blazer, and Renleigh laughs through the phone.
“Not bad. I mean, not as good as you look in your Earl’s shirt, but not bad.”
I look at the black and red Earl’s shirt folded on the sink.
“It’s probably not the look I’m going for in court,” I say.
“Fair,” Renleigh replies.
I’ve been working at Earl’s for three weeks. Daisy took me on without question. It’s the one gig that I know will work around my classes, and despite the non-stop chaos that’s been my life the last several months, I plan on finishing my degree. This job—this stop in life—it’s temporary.
“Have you talked to him?”
Ren and Hunter have seen Brooks. He and Holly moved to Austin, and he’s been working at a baseball hitting facility during the off-season, giving lessons. Holly goes to a nearby daycare.
“Yeah, he seems good. He still won’t commit to going back, though. His agent works with Hunter’s, and they’ve been talking a lot. Hunter is going to hang out with him today, try to convince him to stick with it. Linds, they’re going to call him up this season. Hunter’s agent told him.”
I smile, not able to help feeling proud. Of course he’s getting called up. He can’t quit now, not when his dream is so close.
“How soon?” My question is selfish. I want him to spend time in Sweetwater first.
“Probably not right away. Are you considering nannying for him again? You know Daisy would let you leave and come back. We’re like family around that place.”
Of course, my sister thinks I’m interested in the job aspect of his return. I’ve been guarded with our relationship, especially after everything that happened.
“Maybe,” I say after a short pause. I lean in close to the mirror and rest my phone on the sink, forcing my sister to view the Earl’s women’s restroom ceiling while I touch up my lipstick.
“He thinks he traumatized you, I guess. But I told him there’s nothing we haven’t seen in Sweetwater.”
My sister and I both had wild times when we were in high school, nights filled with lights-out drag-racing and jumping off cliffs into rocky water.
Our youth was reckless. That’s different from what happened with Brooks.
That was actual danger. It was out of my control.
And while my heart still wants to be with Brooks, I’m having a tough time reconciling what I went through with keeping my kids safe. I’m sure he is, too.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I finally respond.
I’m not.
“Hey, good luck today. Remember, you’re an incredible mom. He’s a cheater. And he doesn’t know how to fish!”
I laugh, loving my sister’s assessment of my divorce hearing. I blow a kiss into the phone and end our call.
I give myself one more onceover, rolling my shoulders and evaluating my cleavage.
I decide better and button my blouse again.
I march out of Earl’s like I own the joint and drive my new van to my parents’ house so I can pick up my dad and kiss my boys for good luck.
They have no idea what’s going on. They just know that their dad is buying them anything they want, and their mom has been overly affectionate lately.
I suppose all is as it should be in their world.
My lawyer is waiting at the front of the courthouse when I arrive. Suddenly, everything feels high stakes, and I doubt every detail we’ve worked through. Even this stupid white pant suit that suddenly feels even more snug.
I pull the jacket off before my dad and I reach the ramp next to the steps.
“Linds, you need to calm down,” my dad says. “Your pits are sweating like mine.”
I glance down and note the dark blue circles ringing my undersleeves.
“Dammit,” I curse, handing my jacket to my dad so I can flap my hands at my pits like a crazy woman. I breathe through my nose and walk in circles, looking up at the sky, then closing my eyes.
“Lindsey, you got a minute?” My attorney clearly can’t see. Because no, I do not.
I open my eyes on him but continue to air-dry my silk blouse. I think it’s beyond hope. I may as well shove my arms back into the damn jacket.
“We have a new proposal from your ex. I think we should discuss it before we head into court.”
My eyes pop out. I feel my brow touch my hairline.
“What kind of new proposal?” My stomach drops.
I’ve been anticipating something like this for weeks.
Since Brandon learned about Brooks’s father.
I did everything right. The boys were always safe.
But Brandon kept grilling me about the what ifs.
He’s not wrong. Those same questions have kept me awake almost every night since it happened.
What if the boys walked in when Jared had a gun pointed at me?
What if he kidnapped me instead of his son?
What if I was shot? Or killed?
“Okay, let’s take a look.” My father and I follow my lawyer through the security checkpoint, then duck into a meeting room on the first floor.
Brandon should be waiting upstairs in the trial room, along with his judgmental parents and a handful of his colleagues who will testify about what a good man he is. They’re all liars. They covered for him when he was sleeping with Caitlyn. None of them can look me in my eyes.
“Okay, lay it on me. How bad is it.” I brace my palms on the table and study the grain in the wood.
“It’s not bad at all, Lindsey. He’s withdrawing his custody request.”
I lift my gaze as he slides an updated parenting plan across the table, and my first observation is how short it is. Two pages, to be exact.
“What is this?” I scan it, looking for the trick. There must be some language in here that catches me in a gotcha.
“It’s yours. It’s what we filed originally. You get primary custody, and he gets every-other weekend, with a contingency to avoid weekends he has to travel for work. I mean, it does put a burden on you, but—”
“Take it,” I say, popping my head up and meeting his eyes.
“You won’t have guaranteed weekends without the boys,” he explains, but I already get it. How is that any different than what I signed up for when we had kids?
“I know. I agree. Sign it. Stamp it. Tell his lawyer, or whatever we need to do.”
My dad pats my knee and says, “Hot dog!”
I shake my head and start to laugh when I meet my father’s gaze.
“How is this happening? I mean, I usually say that when shit falls apart, but for once . . . and how?”
My dad laughs, and our straight-faced lawyer even gives in with a chuckle.
“You’re due some good luck. Maybe we all are,” my dad says.
I have to agree. Between his strokes, then broken leg, and my mom and him throwing my sister and me for a loop with their weird-ass marriage, he’s already built a bank full of good fortune that should come our way.
And that’s not even touching my own bullshit.
A cheating husband, a contested custody, being held at gunpoint.
Meeting the perfect man, and the universe not letting me have him.
I sign the document where my lawyer taps his finger, then he shovels it back into the envelope. We filter out of the meeting room and head to the elevators. We manage to snag an empty one, and once the doors close, I ask for one more reassurance that this is really going the way he says it is.
“Unless they pull something out of a hat when we get in there, it’s a done deal. This should be a short and sweet trial. I hope you have something to do for the rest of your day.” He chuckles, and I shake my head, still in disbelief.
“I don’t. I don’t have a thing. And that’s okay, too.”
My father’s hand weaves into mine, and he gives my palm a squeeze.
“Why in the world would he do this?” I say as we step out of the elevator. I’m not really asking anyone in particular, but my lawyer answers.
“Hard to say. Sometimes it’s a financial thing. Maybe it’s work-related. Hell, I’ve even seen it where the other party is suddenly expecting a new baby, which changes all kinds of plans.”
I come to a hard stop right outside the courtroom doors, and my father stops alongside me.
“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter.
My lawyer looks at me with a hint of concern, his brow drawn in tight. I smirk on one side of my mouth, though, then glance to my dad.
“He knocked her up,” I say.
My father’s head falls back with a roaring laugh, and I immediately cover his mouth with my palm.
“Shh! They’re going to hear you,” I say, struggling to contain my own manic laughter.
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Let him,” my dad says.
“Can we go in now?” Our lawyer is ready to get this over with.
I place a hand over my chest and measure my breath, stifle my amusement, and once my giggles are under control, I nod.
We step inside, and the courtroom is rather empty.
Everyone in my entourage rode up in the elevator with me.
On Brandon’s side is a petite blonde I recognize from last year’s faculty holiday party.
Oh, and from the photos I had a private investigator take of her at dinner and checking into a hotel with my then husband.
I stare at her, willing her to look up, just once, so I can litmus test her eyes. She keeps her gaze lowered, though. Brandon’s parents sit on one side of her, and a woman who looks like an older version of the adulteress sits on the side closest to me. I’m pretty sure that’s her mom.
“Give me one second,” our lawyer says, signaling something to Brandon’s attorney.
Both men approach the bench, and the judge leans in close as they speak.
It all takes less than a minute, and before I know it, my lawyer is standing next to me and the judge is reading everything I just reviewed on the cover sheet of Brandon’s proposal.
He gavels us out after both sides agree. All that’s left is for me to wait for a piece of mail. A divorce decree, which I can staple on top of my marriage certificate and stow away in some box that I’ll likely store at my parents’ house and never need to see again.
It’s hard not to notice the smile on Brandon’s face as we leave.
I get that he’s excited to have a new baby coming into his life, but nothing about how we got here should make him happy.
I stop at the door and consider walking up to him and offering a passive-aggressive congratulations, just to fish for confirmation.
But before I make that mistake, my father grasps my bicep and meets my determined stare. He shakes his head.
“I know you want to, but it won’t do any good. Just because you’re wearing her pant suit doesn’t mean you have to act like her.” He arches a brow, and I let a smile slip in.
“You’re right,” I agree. And he is. My mom would have interrupted the judge and taken over her own form of questioning to get to the bottom of Brandon’s reasoning.
She would have fired our lawyer and put Caitlyn on the stand.
And then she’d probably get herself banned from Payne County courtrooms for life.
There’s value in that. And it’s tempting. But right now, I get to walk out of here with almost everything I want. And my attention is better spent trying to land that final piece.