Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
TREVOR
My alarm goes off at four in the morning, but it was useless to set.
I never fell asleep. I tossed and turned all night, thinking about the words my son said.
How my parents make him feel unworthy, unloved.
It was the final straw—the moment my plans went from bowing out amicably from the family business to dismantling it from the inside out and tearing down the walls around my father.
Walking out that door and leaving my family behind, I’ve been armed with a clarity I haven’t felt in months, possibly even years.
Certainty settles inside of me for what I need to do next.
I’m not going to burn my world down. I’m going to meticulously demolish everything my father holds dear while I rebuild my own home into something far stronger than it ever has been before.
I spent the evening on my new phone with Billy about a temporary place to stay, Carter’s parents about one of their cars, my buddy, Joseph Banks, about business law questions, as well as domestic questions, and finally, Asher Wolfe, our precinct’s hotshot young detective about my concerns with the legality of what’s happening inside the bank.
Asher had me on the phone the longest, and even stopped by Billy’s Autoshop to chat.
Once I finished with all of those phone calls, Carter dropped off the car for me, and I picked up a pack of new legal pads to keep track of my priorities.
Once I was back in the apartment, though, I was hit with the silence.
I took a long, cold shower and cleaned the already clean apartment.
However, when I went to lay down each time, deep brown eyes, full pink lips, and a sweet tinkling laugh filled my brain.
My body knows it’s missing its other half.
Yet, despite the lack of sleep, I’m up and ready by four thirty.
I know Paige isn’t thrilled with the solution I gave her yesterday, but it makes sense to me. I’ve always made breakfast before our mornings got all messy, but now, my priorities are clear in my mind.
I have bacon, eggs, and toast in the oven on different plates, made to their preferences. Paige’s crispy bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs, with toast just shy of burnt. I have butter ready for hers. Jacob likes his bacon chewier, fried eggs with salt and pepper, and pale-ass toast.
I’ve been cleaning as I cook, but I have a few pans to wash then I’m done.
“Why are you already here?” Paige’s voice calls quietly across the kitchen.
I put down the pan I’m scrubbing and go to the oven without looking at her.
I know what she’ll look like. She’ll be beautiful and sleep ruffled.
I pull out her plate with an oven mitt, though it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.
I place it on the island where Paige usually sits and lean back against the counter opposite.
“I remember how ravenous you would get first thing in the morning with our last baby, and you have work so early. I was worried you’d get sick, left to your own devices.”
“It’s not up to you to take care of me anymore. You’re here for our son. Nothing more.” I try not to flinch at the voracity of her words.
So stubborn. I open the fridge to get some orange juice. “Don’t make yourself go without to prove a point, Paige.” I know I made a mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
“That’s not fair, Trevor.” Her voice breaks on the whisper, and I slump at the sound. I grab the jug I want and close the door, gathering myself before I turn to her.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” I finally look at my wife and take in how fucking pretty she is, but also how tired she is. Dammit, I want to hold her. Grabbing her favorite glass from the cabinet, I turn back to her and pour her a glass, placing it directly next to where I set her food. “Yo—”
Behind her, I see my boy, not much better off, clomping down the steps.
A low, whiney groan makes me fight a grin.
Jacob is wearing his favorite T-shirt and a pair of Toy Story pajama pants.
He lifts his head when he hits the bottom of the stairs, and at the sight of the spread in front of his mother, he suddenly gains a spring in his step.
I meet him with his own plate at his normal spot.
“Good morning, kiddo. Freshly made, just how you like it.” Jacob reaches to rearrange the plate closer to him, but I stop him. “Whoa, it’s super hot, kid. I’ll scoot it for you. Grab a cup for your juice, and I’ll get the two of you forks, yeah?”
Jacob grunts his acknowledgment, but does what I ask, grabbing his favorite cup from where it’s waiting on the counter. When he settles in his seat, he looks over at Paige and pats the chair next to him. “Come on, Mom. It’s time to eat.”
Paige and Jacob finish their meals, but then they’re both out the door within fifteen minutes.
Watching my woman and child scarf down the plates I made for them satisfies a part of me I know is primal—a part of my genetic makeup as a man.
Provide. At first, I thought I screwed it all up when my stupid mouth opened up and let shit fall out.
Maybe if things weren’t so tense, I could get away with making throwaway chiding comments like that, but things are tense, and my words hurt my wife.
I keep hurting her.
I bang my head against my desk a couple of times. The moment Paige and Jacob left, I was heading to the office. I’ve been here for over an hour by the time people have started to trickle in. I need it to be empty, though, to get things sorted.
I’m about to bang it a third and fourth time when Krista comes sashaying into my office without even knocking on the door. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to spray her with bleach and use a pair of rubber gloves to shoo her back out of the room.
It’s incredible what a little clarity can do for my perception of a person. And my immediate, physical distaste of her entrance is hard to contain. I cannot give too much away before everything is ready and in place, though. I need to make sure everyone here believes I’m remaining Mr. Compliance.
“Hey, Trev. I need to talk to you.” Krista bats her eyes at me before securely shutting the door behind her.
“It’s about Friday night, and dinner on Saturday.
” Her voice is tentative, sounding small and nervous, and what a fucking performance.
It’s the same voice she has used to trigger my instinct to soothe and fix in the past.
If she’s manipulative, then I’m malleable.
She passes the seats on the appropriate side of the desk and instead starts to sit on the edge of it.
I reach my hand out to block her, pretending concern.
“Whoa, hey. Careful. They just sprayed this down with bleach. It might bleach your clothes if you sit or lean there.” Her eyes go from cautious concern to being pleased.
“Oh, you’re so thoughtful and considerate.
” She backs away and grabs a chair, but pulls it to my side of the desk.
What the fuck? When she looks at her options for where to place it, she runs into a new problem.
“What’s all this?” I look down to where she’s pointing with her chin.
That’s right. The ground surrounding me is covered in folders.
“I’m reorganizing my big clients and checking over my paperwork from the last few months.
It’s something I do quarterly to stay on top of everything.
” This, of course, is a load of bullshit, but this is her first quarter here, and my first quarter getting this deep.
Her face pales, and she bites her lip before returning the chair to the appropriate side of the desk.
“Well, that looks like a lot of work! I can get started—”
“With those folders on that cart by the door.” She follows my finger and freezes.
It’s a big cart, and there are a ton of useless, pointless, time-wasting papers in there.
It’s amazing what you can accomplish in a couple of hours when you’re motivated.
“I always do this part myself. I find making sure my clients get my personal touch is what keeps them coming back to me.” Shit. That was unintentionally provocative.
Krista latches onto the opportunity to be inappropriate with both hands.
Eyes locked on mine, she bites her fucking lip, then licks it.
My stomach fills with acid, and I have to work hard not to wrinkle my nose at the display.
My God, has she always been this way? Or is this her amping it up since her attempts at the concert?
“I’m sure you never lose a client after they get your”—she drags her eyes across me, and I suppress a shudder—“personal touch, sir.” Blatant suggestion saturates her voice, and I will not react.
“Yep. Anyway, here’s some more.” I grab a large pile of folders from the edge of my desk and hand them over to her. “I do have some quarterly paperwork for you to sort through, file, and pull from in the annex. You know where that is, right?”
“Don’t you want to talk about this weekend, Trev?” She blinks at me again.
“Do you have something in your eyes?”
Krista shakes her head. “What?”
I point to her overly blinking eyes. “You keep blinking, so I want to know if you need to go to the bathroom, flush out your eyes or something.”
“Oh, no. I’m good.”