Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ELLIOT
Nadine: Hey girl. I just wanted to let you know that the restraining order has been served.
Elliot: Thank you so much. Is there anything else you need me to do?
Nadine: No. If he attempts contact, you are to tell me right away, okay?
Elliot: Thank you again. I really appreciate you taking me on as a client.
Nadine: You are one of the few people my wife actually likes and therefore must be protected at all costs.
I smile at my lawyer’s message as I slip my phone back into my purse.
The day after my birthday dinner, Arthur and I sat down with Jess.
I told her everything. I showed her every text Shawn sent and played each voicemail.
After the initial shock of me not coming to her sooner wore off, she leapt into action.
She helped me file an official report at her precinct, then she and Arthur came with me to my appointment with Nadine.
Nadine took me on as her client without hesitation and immediately began the paperwork for a restraining order against Shawn.
That evening, after everything was done, I picked Sam up from chess club and took him to our favourite diner. Over greasy cheeseburgers I told him what had been happening with his dad.
It was hard. He was angry, hurt that I hadn’t told him sooner, and he had every right to be. I explained what was going to happen next and promised to keep him informed and involved in every step.
It was terrifying. But it was also liberating.
For the first time in a long while, I felt surrounded by people who wanted what was best for Sam and me.
It’s three days later and that sense of support still hasn’t faded.
Late May sunshine beats down on me as I cross the Otters parking lot toward my car. I’m leaving work a little early today. I’ve got a secret mission to pull off.
My phone starts ringing inside my purse and my body goes rigid on instinct. I force myself to breathe. Relax, Elliot, I tell myself. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.
I pull my phone from my purse, see Rhett’s mom’s name on the screen and accept the call.
“Hi, Jane!”
“Hi! Sorry for the call! I’m driving and wanted to check when you’re picking up Rhett.”
I grin as I walk. Sam and Rhett don’t know it yet, but I’m taking them to the game tonight. After losing our second home game, we were trailing in the series 3–1. We won our next game in Boston and tonight we have the chance to tie the series and force a game seven.
“I’ll be there by five,” I tell her, digging for my keys in my oversized bag. “People always show up early for playoff games and there will be lots for them to see and do.”
“Thank you again for taking him! Rhett’s going to lose his mind. My husband is so jealous.”
I laugh as I spot my car. He should be jealous, we’ve got great seats. Perks of sleeping with the coach.
“It should be fun. Unless we lose. That might scar them for life.”
“It’s a definite possibility,” she agrees. “Oh well. Better they talk about that years from now in therapy than our parenting, right?”
“So true.” I laugh as I open my car door. “I have to go, but I’ll be there to get Rhett by five!”
“Great! See you soon.”
I end the call and toss my bag into the back seat. I’ve barely shut the door when someone grabs my elbow and spins me around.
Hard.
“Who’s Rhett, Hummingbird?” my ex-husband asks. His mouth curls into a smile. “New boyfriend?”
My brain short-circuits. Words scatter. All I can do is stare up at a face I once knew better than my own reflection.
He looks the same. And completely different.
His light brown hair is longer now, streaked heavily with grey, like time finally decided to catch up with him. There’s a patchy beard on his jaw, the kind men keep when they want to look rugged but end up looking tired instead. His eyes are still that bright, startling blue.
He looks like he’s aged fifteen years in the six years since I last saw him, and somehow that’s the most unsettling part.
I yank my arm, but his grip tightens. He isn’t hurting me, not technically, just holding me in place like I’m something he owns. My skin crawls.
Not today. Not ever again.
“Let me go, Shawn.”
He grins wider. “She speaks. Fine, I’ll let you go. Just tell me who Rhett is.”
I wrench my arm again, fuelled by adrenaline and rage, and this time I break free. “Rhett is Sam’s best friend. Something you’d know if you knew anything about your son.”
He rolls his eyes and steps closer, invading my space. The smell on his breath hits me then. Alcohol.
“Well, how am I supposed to know anything when you’re threatening me with restraining orders?”
“You’ve been the one making threats, Shawn,” I snap. “Threatening to take my son from me. A son you admitted you don’t even care about.”
“It’s called a bargaining chip, Elliot. God, you’re so dramatic. If you’d just gotten me the tickets, I would’ve left you alone. But no, you had to be a total bitch and now—”
He moves to crowd me back against the car.
But he never gets the chance.
In one smooth, terrifying motion, Shawn is yanked backward and lifted clean off his feet.
Arthur.
Arthur turns him around mid-air, sets him down hard, and shoves him back against the car like he weighs nothing at all. Shawn stares up at him, eyes blown wide.
“And now?” Arthur asks.
His voice is low. Flat. Ice cold. It sounds nothing like the man who brought me breakfast this morning and stole a kiss when no one was looking.
“Jesus,” Shawn breathes. “Coach Stetson?”
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur says calmly. “My players call me that. And if I ever saw one of them threatening a woman, they’d be on the injured list permanently. Now, what were you saying to Elliot?”
Shawn’s gaze flicks to me, suddenly uncertain, almost pleading. “I…I…”
Arthur doesn’t let him finish. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it, and I sincerely doubt Elliot does either. You’re not supposed to be speaking to her at all. That’s what lawyers are for. So I suggest you leave before I call the police.”
He steps back, giving Shawn exactly enough space to walk away. Nothing more.
Shawn straightens his jacket, still visibly rattled. He shoots me a glare, but Arthur shifts smoothly in front of me, blocking him from view.
“Let me be very clear,” Arthur says. “You don’t look at Elliot. You don’t talk to Elliot. You stay the hell away from her and from Sam. If you contact either of them again, I will make it my personal mission to ruin your life. Do you understand?”
Shawn nods. Fast.
He starts toward his car.
“One more thing,” Arthur calls.
Shawn turns back.
“I can’t stop you from being an Otters fan, but the feeling is not mutual. You’re banned from this arena. Security will have your picture within the hour. If you show up here again, you’ll be escorted out. Have a nice day.” Arthur pauses, then adds pleasantly, “Actually, go fuck yourself.”
I exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes.
He turns back to me, dark eyes scanning my face like he’s checking for cracks. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say, and I mean it. I am okay. “Thank you for being here.”
“Always.” He hesitates, then adds, “I’m going to have someone walk you to your car from now on.” I open my mouth to argue, and he catches it immediately. His expression softens, the edge melting away. “Please, Boss. Humour me?”
I sigh. “Okay. Just for a little bit.”
“Thank you.” He pauses. “Are you going to call Jess?”
“Yes. As soon as I’m in the car. And Nadine.”
Arthur nods, already in problem-solving mode. “I’ll have security pull the footage and send it to them.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
I step closer and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his chest. “It’s not nothing.”
He pulls me in tight, one hand sliding up and down my back in slow, grounding strokes. He exhales, deep and shaky, like he’s been holding his breath since he saw me. “When I saw his hands on you…”
I tilt my head back just enough to see his face. “I thought you were going to rip his arm off.”
His mouth twitches. “I wanted to. I figured that might upset you.”
“It would have,” I say solemnly. “I just had Millie washed.”
He snorts, the tension finally cracking, then glances at my car. “Seriously? And she still looks like that?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I scold.
He cups my chin, thumb warm against my skin, and leans down until our lips barely brush. “Yes,” he murmurs, “it is.”