by Joanna Wylde
Her eyes widened. “Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”
I shrugged.
“Never thought he’d actually do it,” I admitted. “When he asked me to come over and check out his place, I was stunned. It’s totally childproofed. He’s even got a toddler bed for her, and he bought all her favorite foods. Loni’s scheduled to be on call if he needs help, and of course I’ll be watching my phone. Izzy’s all excited about it—we packed a whole suitcase full of stuffed animals to take to Daddy’s house.”
“Wow,” she said. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I watched as Painter pulled Isabella up onto the bike with him, letting her pretend to drive it. God, she looked more like him every day—that white-blonde hair of hers shined in the sun like a beacon, and if anything the blue of her eyes had gotten brighter. Not only that, she loved to finger-paint. Okay, all kids that age love to finger-paint, but even the preschool teacher at her daycare said she showed signs of talent. Wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Relax,” Loni said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and giving me a hug. “It’s just a party and a sleepover. He’ll do fine.”
“That’s what scares me,” I admitted. “What if she likes him better than me? All he ever does is fun stuff with her. I’m the one stuck doing the real work and telling her no. At this rate she’ll hate me by the time she’s twelve, and then he’ll get married someday and she’ll want to go live with him and her new stepmom and I’ll be all alone and—”
“Mel!” Jess said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. I looked at her. “Pack up the crazy, babe. She’s only two.”
I blinked at her.
Shit, she was right. You’re losing it.
“I have a date tonight,” I admitted. “I’m a little freaked out by that, too . . .”
“A date?” Loni asked, staring at me. “Seriously?”
“Hey, it’s not that weird,” I said, frowning. “I date.”
“Twice,” Jessica said. “You’ve gone out twice since Izzy was born, and both times you cut it short to come home and check on her. It’s unhealthy—you deserve a life. And Painter should take on some of the responsibility. She’s his kid, too.”
In the distance, I heard Izzy screaming excitedly as Painter swung her up and onto his shoulders. Then he and Reese started across the grass toward us, laughing and talking along the way. Reese had been great, I had to admit. He and his daughters had welcomed me into the fold like one of their own, so much that I had to work hard to keep my distance or I would’ve gotten sucked into the Reapers’ extended family.
It wouldn’t have been all bad, I knew that . . . The girls had offered to babysit for me time and again, and I knew they meant well. But every time I saw the Reapers colors, I thought about Painter missing Isabella’s birth. About the endless nights sitting up with her in the NICU, still recovering from surgery. Then we finally made it home, and I’d spent weeks alone in the dark, holding her, terrified to sleep because the only thing standing between my baby and death was an electronic monitor that was supposed to go off if she stopped breathing.
I didn’t trust that monitor.
Not after the night I woke up needing to pee, only to find Izzy had turned blue from lack of oxygen. Fucking machine was useless. I’d never been so alone or afraid in my life, and it felt like forever before she grew out of it. Rebuilding my life hadn’t been easy, but I’d gotten there. Mostly. Eventually I made new friends. I wasn’t the only single mom in the nursing program at the college. Having Izzy had delayed my education some, but I’d done pretty well on my own.
Better than well, actually.
Now I had my own apartment, a decent job, and health insurance. No more state assistance, either—that was a nice change. Most of my childhood had been spent on welfare, and I remembered all too well how people looked down on me and my mom for that. They’d looked down on my dad, too, but I didn’t care about that. He was just the drunk in the living room.
“So what’s the plan?” Reese asked as they reached the picnic shelter.
“Cake!” Izzie shouted. “Cake cake cake cake! Izzy cake!”
“Sounds like we’re having cake,” I said dryly, shaking off my darker thoughts. “I’ll grab the matches.”
“Got it,” Reese said, pulling out a Zippo. He didn’t smoke, so I’d never quite understood why he carried it—guess the ability to set fires at any time is a useful one. He handed it over to Loni, who lit the candles as I pulled out my phone to record the moment. Painter swung Izzy down and plopped her in front of the sticky pyramid.
“Happy birthday to you . . .” we all sang, with Isabella singing the loudest. She clapped her hands, and when we finished she lunged for a cupcake, grabbing the one with the candles still flaming.
“Shit,” Painter said, jumping forward to catch it. Izzy turned on him in a rage, smacking his arm.
“Mine!”
“Isabella, that’s not okay,” I said firmly. She glared at me.
“Izzy cake.”
“You can have the cake when you say sorry,” I told her. Her glare turned dark and she looked even more like her daddy, only this was funny instead of scary. Jess snorted. “No inappropriate feedback, please.”
Painter shot me a look. “It’s her birthday, Mel. Don’t be a hard-ass.”
Oh no. No fucking way—he didn’t get to undermine me like that. Not to mention his language . . .
“Izzy can have the cake when she says sorry for hitting you,” I said. He set the cupcake down in front of her, deliberately. I cocked my head, glaring at him.
“Isabella, say sorry,” Jess said, catching her attention. “Say it with Auntie Jess?”
The little girl looked at Jessica and smiled. “Sowwy.”
I sighed in relief, realizing this could be a sign of things to come—Izzy was a smart kid. Too smart. If she realized she could play her parents against each other, we’d be screwed by the time she hit middle school.
I felt another wave of near panic hit—if I couldn’t control a two-year-old, how was I supposed to control a middle schooler?
“Okay, princess. Cupcake time,” Painter said, swinging a leg over to straddle the bench next to her. She beamed at him, shoving it into her mouth without paying the slightest attention to me. It was always like that . . . Izzy was daddy’s girl, through and through.
I hated it, and I sort of hated myself, too.
What kind of crazy woman is jealous of her own daughter?
• • •
“She’s gonna do fine,” Painter said, giving me a cool look. We stood next to each other under the picnic shelter, watching Izzy play chase with Jessica on the playground equipment. He’d lost all the smiles now that we were alone. Prison had impacted him even more deeply this time. He’d gone darker, more still. His art was darker, too. From what I’d seen in his studio, there was a new power to his painting, but also a new sense of danger.
No wonder his works were selling like crazy.
Seemed a little unfair, actually. Painter committed crimes and went to jail, and all it did was titillate potential buyers. I busted ass and worked hard, but I still couldn’t afford a new car. The fact that he’d offered to buy me one just made it sting more.
Asshole.
“You promise you’ll call if she gets scared?” I said, hating this entire situation.
“Sure,” he replied. “But she won’t. She loves my place, and it’s not like she’s never been away from home—she’s spent the night with London and Reese. She’ll do fine. You need to stop worrying.”
“Okay,” I whispered, defeated. “I’ll be out this evening, but I’d still really appreciate it if you let her call me at bedtime. I want to say good night.”
“Out where?” he asked casually. I shot him a look.
“With a friend.”
“Date?”
“None of your damned business,” I snapped. Shit. Why had I done that? Way too defensive, which was a dead giveaway.
&nbs
p; “Anyone I know?” he asked, his jaw tight. I turned to him, raising a brow.
“You screw everything that walks,” I spat out. “How dare you question me?”
“Jealous?” he asked, eyes hard. Scowling, I flipped him off subtly. He raised a brow.
“You want me to stop screwing around, come over with Izzy tonight and I’ll be happy to limit my fucking to you, Mel. Anytime you want under me, the door’s open.”
The words sent a wave of heat through me, and I’m pretty sure my nipples went hard as rocks. He gave a mocking ghost of a smile.
“Still remember how you taste, baby—not to mention how that cunt of yours felt wrapped tight around my cock. Do not fuck with me, Mel. I’m not some little boy you can play games with.”
I stepped back, eyes wide.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” I managed to say. His smile turned nasty.
“Mel, I’ve done everything you’ve asked,” he said. “And there’s not a damned thing on earth I wouldn’t do for Isabella. But I’m sick of jumping through your hoops, only to have you go full bitch on me when I want to see my daughter. She’s my kid, too.”
“Do you lay awake nights trying to think up new ways to be an asshole?” I asked. “And I’ve never asked you to do anything for me. I’d be just as happy if you disappeared. Me and Izzy were doing great before you came back and decided to play daddy.”
Something flared in his eyes, and then he stepped into my space. I tried to back away, then felt the picnic table hit my butt, blocking me.
“I’m not playing anything,” he said, the words low and hard. “I fucked up. I know I fucked up, I’ve apologized for it, and I’ve done my best to make up for it. I’ll never get that time with her back, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my fucking life. But no goddamned way I’ll let you or anyone else get between me and my girl, Mel. I appreciate all you’ve been through and I’m thankful that you’re Izzy’s mom, but don’t think you’ll get rid of me. You’ll never be rid of me, Melanie. For the rest of your fucking life, I’ll be here because we share a kid. So stop being so nasty all the time.”
I stood, trembling, as he raised his hand to my hair, pushing the short bob back behind my ear. His fingers traced the lobe, sending chills all the way down my spine and between my legs. Memories hung between us, heavy and sweet.
“I liked it better long,” he whispered.
“It was too much work taking care of it,” I managed to reply, wishing like hell I couldn’t feel the heat radiating off his body.
“If you fuck him tonight, think of me,” he replied, eyes burning. “Remember what it felt like when I was the one inside you.”
How could someone so vile be so sexy?
“Right, because you’re always thinking of me?” I sneered. He licked his lips hungrily, then leaned over to whisper in my ear.
“Every single time, I pretend it’s you under me. Doesn’t matter who it is, I close my eyes and it’s always your face I see, Mel. You give the word and I’ll fill that hungry cunt of yours.”
I closed my eyes, desperate for some space.
“You can’t talk like that.”
He traced his nose along the side of my face, scenting me.
“Almost a year,” he whispered. “Almost a year I’ve been free, doing everything I can to help you. Financially, around the house. I said something stupid when you told me about Izzy, and then I got reckless. I paid for that by losing the first part of my daughter’s life. I won’t lose any more. I’m done trying to make you happy, Mel, so here’s the new rules. You can fuck around all you want, but you stay the hell out of my world. You come back inside, I’m taking over. Got it?”
My eyes snapped open again, and I jerked back so hard I would’ve fallen across the table if he hadn’t caught me.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, his face like stone. “New game, Mel. I’m done riding bitch so you can feel good. Consider yourself warned.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
SIX MONTHS LATER
KOOTENAI MEDICAL CENTER EMERGENCY ROOM
“Todger’s back,” Sherri said, nudging me with her shoulder. “Drunk off his ass and hasn’t been cleaned up since the last time he was in here. Rock, paper, scissors to see who has to deal with him.”
I nodded and we counted to three. She went with paper, I was rock. Crap.
“Lucky bitch,” I said, rolling my eyes. She laughed, offering me a little finger wave. Todger was harmless enough, even if he did smell like a dead fish. The guy had been in and out of the ER for years, just one of the many mentally ill homeless guys we saw regularly. About six months back he’d found some temporary housing, but the last time he’d been in, he’d confided in me that the CIA had planted bugs in the apartment and that he wasn’t safe there. So far as I knew he’d gone back to sleeping under the bleachers down at Memorial Stadium. “Cops bring him in?”
“No, the warming station called an ambulance,” she said. “He started seizing on the floor, sounds like DT’s to me.”
I raised a brow. “Seriously? He’s trying to sober up?”
“Who knows with Todger? Anyway, you better get in there and check on him. We put him in a room, but Dr. Ives is busy with a real case and Dr. Baker is grabbing some food while she can. Said Todger would still be there when she gets back.”
Fair enough—Todger was a frequent flier at the ER, but what he really needed was long-term treatment. When I’d first started, I’d pestered the hospital social workers until they found him something, feeling all proud of myself. They’d warned me that it wouldn’t stick, and it hadn’t. He’d lasted less than a week before he walked away from the program, saying he didn’t like the psychiatric drugs or the people telling him what to do.
Based on his smell, I figured he didn’t like being forced to bathe, either.
“I’ll check on him,” I said, sighing. Taking a quick sip of my coffee, I left the nurses’ station and headed toward his room.
“I owe you one!” Sherri laughed, and it took everything I had not to flip her off. Knowing my luck, some administrator would see me and I’d get reported.
I smelled him before I saw him. For a small-town hospital, we got more than our fair share of homeless, so I’d gotten used to patients who reeked of feces and stale alcohol. Frankly, it was better than the smell of blood and rot, which scared the hell out of me. At least you can wash off shit and Todger wasn’t likely to die on me. I stepped into the room and reached for the curtain.
“Todger, I hear you’re back—”
He hit me from behind.
It took a split second to orient myself and then I was fighting. Unfortunately, that was just enough time for him to get his hands around my throat. Oh my God, is this really happening? Sweet, stinky Todger was attacking me, choking the life out of me and I couldn’t even scream for help. He slammed my head against the floor, sending bright bursts of pain exploding through my skull.
I kicked out, desperate to throw him off. My feet caught the computer cart, sending it crashing across the slick tiles. It slammed into something and then metal crashed to the floor, clattering loudly.
“I’ll kill you, bitch,” he hissed in my ear, slamming my head to the floor yet again. “I’m onto you. You’ve been feeding them information about me too long, but now you’ll pay. You’ll die!”
The last words rose in pitch, and then he started a long, high keening as his fingers tightened around my neck. Loud shouts penetrated the fog in my head, and then there was a flood of people in the room. Orderlies were pulling at him, prying his fingers off my throat as they dragged him away. Somehow I found the strength to scramble backward, huddling against the wall as I watched Sherri in action, an avenging angel with a hypodermic needle. She darted in, injecting him fast and hard.
Todger continued to fight, but I knew the meds would kick in fast. The reality around me seemed distant and hard to follow—shock. Then Sherri was next to me, coolly assessing as I cau
ght snatches of conversation in the distance.
“Check on her.”
“Restraints . . . never saw this coming.”
“He’s been getting worse for months . . . call psych . . .”
“Melanie?”
I focused in on Sherri’s face, blinking.
“You’re in shock, babe. Stick with me, okay?”
“I’m fine,” I managed to whisper, trying to focus. My head hurt . . . a lot. But nothing else. No broken bones, nothing like that. “I’ll be just fine. No worries.”
Sherri gave a short laugh.
“Always the hero, aren’t you?” she said, although I caught a hint of fear in her voice. “On the bright side, maybe we’ll finally get an inpatient bed for Todger. At least for a while.”
“He’ll be right back out,” I managed to whisper, offering her a weak smile. “Probably won’t even remember what happened.”
That made her laugh.
“Sad but true,” she said. “Just watch, they’ll turf his ass five minutes after the hold ends.”
“All in a day’s work,” I said ruefully, shaking my head. Big mistake. Rolling over, I puked all over the floor.
Wasn’t that just great—he gave me a concussion.
Pisser. The next couple days were gonna suck.
PAINTER
I leaned over the pool table, lining up my shot. The game had started as an excuse to wrap myself around the cute little redhead who’d been flirting with me across the bar for the last half hour, but she’d turned out to be a surprisingly good player. Suddenly I’d found myself with a real challenge. Turned me on, had to admit.
About fuckin’ time, too. Most of the women I met these days were boring. I liked getting my dick sucked, no question, but I still tended to close my eyes and picture Melanie in their place. My cock never seemed to get the message that she wasn’t interested in us anymore, no matter how many times my brain explained this reality.
Fuckin’ ridiculous. All of it.
Pulling back the cue, I took my shot. The ball hit with a satisfying crack, sending the green solid toward the back corner pocket. Red pouted prettily, then sashayed over to give me a kiss. I’d just covered her mouth with mine, reaching around to grab her ass, when the phone in my back pocket buzzed.