39. Fucking Earworm
FUCKING EARWORM
brAXTON
I watch Colt sleep. It’s girly. And I don’t care one fucking bit. I stare at his cheeks, his pouty lips, the little eyebrow hairs that rest on his brow. I marvel at his ears, the shape with their twists and turns and wonder if they’re mine or Emberleigh’s. No, not Emberleigh’s… Emerson’s.
His little hands are balled into loose fists and his body rises and falls with his breaths. He stirred when I picked him up. But I need him on my chest.
I can’t throttle Emberleigh or punch a hole in a wall or throw anything with him in my arms. I can’t down a bottle of vodka with him in my arms. I can calm my ass down and get my head clear with him in this position.
“Talk to me, Goose,” Exton says when he answers on the first ring.
“Talk me off the ledge, Ex.”
“You’re not on the ledge, Brax.”
“Easy for you to say while you’re a time zone away.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it. This is the big time. You’re not on a ledge.
You’re his father, his custodial parent, and they have no legal rights.
You need to spend today locking down the beast that wants to rage and be strategic.
You like to react. Do not react. Respond.
And only when Elias gives you the go-ahead. ”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m serious, Brax. Don’t jeopardize the most precious thing in your life because you have the perfect comeback.”
“But—”
“Seriously. I’ll say it now… Wow, that was perfect. No one’s ever had a wittier retort. Another thing? You have those cameras in your house? The Wi-Fi ones that work off a doorbell or thermostat?”
“Yeah. The AC one. Why?”
“What’s your password to the stat?”
I give it to him and hear him clicking away on a keyboard. “I’ll stream it all to record and analyze. Do not fly off the handle. I need them as natural as possible.”
“You have a hacker on staff now?”
“We have an entire division for that. But this is off the books, so I’ll be paying cash for this. I’ll let you know when I’m in.”
“Creepy.”
“You’re the one who added hackable Wi-Fi cameras inside your house. I think you want to be watched.”
“I always feeeeeel like,” I start, stretching out the feel, and work my best rendition of Rockwell’s eighties hit.
“Don’t. Fucking earworm. I hate that. And you have two people in your kitchen. One in your living room. I’m in.”
“Thanks, Ex.”
“Always have your back, Brax. And follow Eli’s lead. My nephew is too important to give them any ammunition. Let me see him, by the way.”
I pull the phone back and switch to FaceTime, showing the baby sleeping on my chest.
“You make cute babies. You should do that more often.”
“Are you trying to send Pop to an early grave?”
“Nah. The more you have the less he’ll stress. He needs them to keep him young. To teach them to fish or some shit.”
“Neither of us knows how to fish, Exton.”
“My point exactly.”
We sign off and I take a deep breath, looking at Colt and then at Luna who lies on the floor at Colt’s crib.
This life is complicated, but worth every moment. Even the shitty ones, because I have Colt.
When Colt and I emerge from the bedroom, it’s to a houseful of people. Most I know; some are new faces.
Pop, Elias, and Bright surround the kitchen table.
Elias has a tablet going as always, pen scratching at paper as well.
His cell phone is propped up. He glances up briefly at me but is back in his work quickly.
This is no social call like a couple of nights ago when we drank too much, laughed too much, and goofed off too much.
Brighton is solemn, and Luna quickly leaves me for her side after a quick rub against Eli.
She plops down next to Bright, face on her lap, and waits for pets.
After a few across her snout, she slides down to rest at Bright’s feet.
It’s a well-choreographed dance they’ve practiced over their years together.
On my sofa are two men. I extend a hand.
“Braxton Ranger.”
They introduce themselves as friends of Exton’s. Both are local law enforcement; neither are with the Bureau. They are not here in an official capacity. Exton simply rallied the troops to have extra people at my back when I most needed it.
I look at one of the cameras and nod. No clue if he sees it, but I want to acknowledge his kindness.
The buzz on my phone shows the gates to the ranch opening and two sleek black cars rolling through. One Maserati. One Porsche SUV.
Four people alight and walk toward my front porch.
The only woman among them must be Colt’s grandmother.
Her blond hair is pulled tightly in a twisted bun, pulling her surgically-lifted face even tighter toward her hairline.
She looks in disdain at the dusty ground as if she could will it to become red carpet.
After they ring the bell, I leave them for an extra moment or two in the South Texas sun and heat, a dry breeze blows dust onto their cars and clothes. I smile, like the eight-year-old I am inside, at their annoyance.
My phone buzzes twice quickly in my back pocket and I reach for it.
Pop: They won’t take my grandson. Mark my words.
Exton: Trust Eli.
I look to Eli, my friend of almost twenty years whom I respect and who I’ve come to trust more than I knew I could, holding his gaze.
He nods, and I open the door, Colt on my hip, blocking entry into my home.
“May I help you?”
“We’re here to discuss custody of Colt Emerick Ranger.” The last word is spit out with distaste. “With Braxton Ranger.”
“And you would be?”
“Gerald Richards. I’m the attorney representing Colt.”
The man next to him pipes in as he finishes. “And I’m Jerry VandeBurgh, the attorney for the Carringtons.”
“All due respect, Gerald. Colt is less than a year old and legally needs no representation and—”
He cuts me off. “He has retained counsel.”
“As I was saying.” I hold his gaze. “Legally, you would need my permission as his father and sole custodial parent to represent him. I have not given that, nor will I, so your services are not needed.”
He begins to argue, but I can tell he’s flustered. Not good for an attorney. He should hold his frustration closer to the vest than that to be successful.
“Now, you’re welcome to come in.” I say to Jerry and the couple who are obviously Emberleigh’s parents. “Emberleigh would love to see you.”
I stand back and allow Satan and his mistress and their high-dollar lawyer into my home.
When Richards attempts to enter, Exton’s two friends stand, moving their hands to their belts, badges on full display.
“Sir, you are not allowed into this residence or we will arrest you for trespassing. You may leave the ranch.” One gestures back down the drive.
“Outside the gates please. Or we will escort you there. With force, if necessary.” I swear I can hear the smile in his voice, but I do not break.
“Absolutely not,” Richards huffs. “I have a sworn duty to protect—”
“As do I,” one of the officers mentions and starts for the door. “Let’s go.”
There’s a scuffle. I don’t spare it a glance. I need to keep my cool, and that’s hard enough as it is.
“Bright,” I call. She stands, Luna at her flank, and meets me at the door.
I hand Colt over to her. “Windrunner?” I ask, and she understands my meaning. This isn’t something I planned. I expected to hold Colt the whole time to keep my hands from balling into fists. But his safety is the only thing I can think of.
“Let’s go, buddy. Luna, come.” She leaves the house, leaving the Carringtons with mouths agape, standing in my living room.
“My grandson,” Bronwyn Carrington says, watching him go through the windows. I suspect she didn’t mean to say anything. Or has been instructed not to.
“Where’s my daughter?” Mr. Carrington booms. He’s fit, but square.
A man who works out because he cannot resist the buttered bread with his steak.
His hair is colored and done fairly well, but shows his vanity.
His skin is weathered, but not from ranching.
I’d guess he plays tennis and then gets facials.
With all the strength and politeness I can muster, owed simply to the fact that my mom would’ve insisted, I extend my hand. “Mr. Carrington, Braxton Ranger.”
He stares at it for a too-long moment, but takes it nonetheless.
I turn to Emberleigh’s mom and offer the same. She looks to her husband and takes my hand only after his approval. Her hand is limp and cold. It is evident my parents couldn’t be more different from Emberleigh’s.
I introduce Pop and Eli and then wait. Pleasantries are done. All that’s left is for the hammer to drop and we don’t know what that hammer is.
Jerry VandeBurgh moves to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair, sitting directly across from Eli, who must be thirty years his junior. He stares at Eli, and Eli stares back. His face isn’t hard. It’s simply waiting.
I want badly to break the moment, but something is going on. I wouldn’t ask Eli to deliver a foal or figure out how to break a stallion. I won’t interfere with his profession either.
We wait and wait. Pop clears his throat, scrapes his chair back, and grabs the tea from the fridge, pouring himself some more before asking the Carringtons if they’d like a glass. They decline.
And the stare off continues.
A soft click sounds down the hall indicating that Emberleigh has opened her bedroom door. She doesn’t enter the fray. Neither do I. I just wait.
Pop finishes his tea.
The Carringtons stand, stock-still, behind their attorney at my kitchen table.
Elias waits, unflinchingly, hands loose on the table, gaze steady.
I wonder if their attorney says nothing if I can ask them to leave, but Exton’s voice rings in my head. Follow Eli’s lead. Trust Eli.
I do. So I sit on the sofa and play on my phone and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Wainwright Carrington must not have gotten the memo, because he eventually—way too late if you ask me—stamps his foot and says, “Get on with it.”
VandeBurgh clears his throat, opens a legal pad, and begins.
“Emerson Carrington did not have the legal authority to add your client’s name to her son’s birth certificate.
We’re filing with the State of Texas that her unlawful actions be considered fraudulent.
As such, we have requested that they, their department of health and hospitals, and all vital records be scrubbed of the name Braxton Paul Ranger, since it was illegally added to official documentation.
“Colt’s new birth certificate shall read ‘Colt Emerick Carrington’ and will solidify the Carringtons raising of their grandson with no interference from a man who should never have known the child existed.”
“To clarify,” Eli states plainly after no pause. “You’re filing criminal charges against your deceased daughter for fraud? Because, according to Texas statutes, that would be the only way to undo the current documentation. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Pop gasps.
I fume.
But the pain that comes from Emberleigh’s cry is heartbreaking.
“You WHAT?” she screams as she barrels down the hall and into the room, face bleak, eyes brimming with tears.
I catch her, holding her back as she flails for her parents.
“You monsters! How could you? She could do nothing right while she was alive. And now you tarnish her memory by calling her criminal and felonious? You can’t be serious! Do you hate her that much? Do you hate me that much? You hate Colt that much if you move forward with this! How dare you?”
She’s screaming, but she’s losing her fight. Her body doesn’t strain against mine. She’s almost limp. It’s as if I’m holding her up and giving her the strength to go on.
“I hate you. I hate you,” she cries, tears streaming down her face. “She loved you, and you treated her like shit. You’re still treating her like shit.”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me.” Wainwright turns and lifts a hand.
I move Emberleigh behind me, one hand wrapped low around her waist, pulling her flush to my back, and straighten to my full height.
He doesn’t expect to see the monster that rises up in me. His face reflects the sudden change in my behavior.
“You touch her, even so much as to hug her, you’ll be hogtied face-down on my floor until the sheriff arrives. And I won’t ask for a rush visit.” I hold his gaze, and he defiantly lifts his chin, and rolls his shoulders back as if he’s ready to box.
“Look, old man. You’re here with my permission. Correction. You were here with my permission. You’ve insulted me. You’ve insulted Emberleigh. You’ve insulted my son by insulting his mother. You should leave.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” Wainwright begins.
“Beg to differ,” Pop says, standing and moving to my side, providing cover for Emberleigh with his protective movements.
From the corner of my eye, I see him snake out a hand and grab one of hers.
“My son asked you to leave. You can go on your own. Or you can be escorted off our ranch. Your choice.”
VandeBurgh stands, folds his portfolio, and drops a business card on Eli’s tablet. He claps Wainwright on the shoulder as he heads for the front door.
Bronwyn Carrington looks in the direction of her daughter. “Such a disappointment,” she says, shaking her head, and glides on a heel, leaving the rest of us in her icy wake.
Wainwright stands toe to toe with me and leans to see Emberleigh’s face.
“Don’t,” I say, tugging her tight into my back, feeling her tits pressed there.
He turns, shoulders loose now, and just as he takes his first step, he turns and lands a punch straight to my mouth, splitting my lip and ripping the inside of my cheek with my teeth.
I see red.
That’s when Eli moves for the first time. He gets right between my right hook and Carrington and takes the shot, albeit not full impact, to his shoulder.
His eyes are not happy as he grabs his shoulder, but he turns with Wainwright Carrington to the door and ushers him onto the porch.
“Deputy, Mr. Carrington just assaulted my client. We have eyewitnesses and video proof. Please have him arrested,” Eli says, before continuing.
“Jerry, your client is proving lack of fitness to be around my client’s son. Please remind your client that physical violence is never the answer.”
He backs into the house and locks the door behind him.
“We owe Exton,” he says to no one in particular, before turning and making for the kitchen. “I’ll grab you some ice.”
“Gonna go check on my grandson,” Pop says and looks at Emberleigh. “You gonna be okay?”
I don’t see her reaction but Pop’s body moves as he engulfs her in a hug. Her cries hurt me to hear and, in one smooth move, Pop turns her into my arms where she melts into body-wracking sobs. With a clap on the shoulder, he leaves the house and goes to find Bright and Colt.
Lights flash and sirens wail, and I hold Emberleigh until the moment she lifts her eyes to mine. Lifting a hand to her cheek, I drop a quick kiss on her lips, and when she opens for me, I’m ready to deepen this kiss, only to hear Finchley clear his throat.
Damn it!
He holds an ice pack out to me, gives a small smile to Emberleigh, and returns to the table, fiddling with his phone.