The Ex Files

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “Brock’s not that way.”

  Kamora rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend, it’s not like you have a lot of experience. You’ve been with two men in your life. I’m an expert if only by the number of men I’ve slept with.”

  “You’re bragging about this?”

  “You know I’ve been changed,” Kamora said, as she pulled up the spaghetti strap of her cheetah-print minidress. “But that doesn’t negate my experience. I know what men want and…”

  Sheridan chewed on her hot dog as Kamora lectured on. She didn’t speak aloud the questions she had for her best friend—like if Kamora knew so much about men, why did she change them like underwear? Sheridan couldn’t count the number of men Kamora had fallen in love with in the twenty-some-odd years they’d been friends. What was worse, she was sure Kamora wouldn’t know the number either.

  “So, listen to me,” Kamora continued. “Go home, call Brock, tell him what he needs to hear.”

  For once, Sheridan agreed with her friend. This had lingered long enough. Brock needed to know, needed to understand that she did love him.

  I’ve always known that I still love you.

  She frowned as Quentin’s words invaded her thoughts, but she shook them away. There was no place for Quentin, no place for his words.

  She opened her purse and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. She stood. “I’m going to get my man.”

  Kamora grinned. “Go on, girl.” She waved Sheridan away. “Next time I see you, I want to hear a wedding date!”

  Sheridan laughed, but said nothing. She wasn’t sure about that part. But there was one thing she knew. By the end of this day, there would be no doubt in Brock’s mind. He would know who she truly loved.

  Sheridan eased her car behind Brock’s truck just as her cell phone chirped. She glanced at the screen, frowned, picked up the telephone.

  “Hey, Quentin.” She slipped the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. Her eyes were on Brock’s front door. “What’s up?”

  “I just spoke to Tori and—”

  “Tori?” Sheridan frowned. “She’s in school.”

  “Yes, but she called me upset. Apparently, she’s being harassed at school. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

  Because it’s your fault. “There was nothing to tell. I handled it.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be handled.” His tone made Sheridan’s eyebrows rise. He continued, “Tori was in tears. We need to talk.”

  She stepped from the car. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, but if you want, I’ll call you when I get home.” The heels of her boots tapped a determined beat on the concrete as she marched toward Brock’s home. “I’m in the middle of something now.”

  “Sheridan, I’m really concerned about Tori.”

  It was his tone that made her stop, her hand in midair, aimed for Brock’s doorbell. It had been almost three weeks since Tori had come home crying, and every day since then, she’d checked in with her about school. Tori’s daily response, “I’m fine, everything’s fine,” was all she’d say before she dragged herself to her bedroom. Sheridan had believed her daughter. There was no reason not to. Tori’s monosyllabic responses seemed nothing more than normal teenage angst—adolescent drama that she’d seen on many days.

  But now Sheridan wondered if she’d missed something.

  “She sounded so bad,” Quentin continued, “that I thought about driving over there and taking her out of school early today.”

  Those words sent Sheridan dashing back to her car. “Really?”

  “Yeah. So, I know you’re busy, but this is important. We need to handle.”

  “Okay, what are you doing now?”

  “I’m at the office, but I’m ready to leave. Meet me at my place.”

  “No!” she said, glancing once again at Brock’s front door.

  “Okay,” Quentin said, slowing down. “What about your house?”

  “Let’s just meet at Starbucks. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” She flipped off her phone before he could disagree, and backed out of the driveway, taking a final glance at the place where she really wanted to be.

  Quentin waved to Sheridan the moment she stepped inside Starbucks.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  She shook her head. Sat. “So, what exactly did Tori say?” It had bugged her on the drive over—that Tori had called her father, the man who was the source of all that had gone wrong.

  “Apparently, Lara Nelson has started the rumor that Tori’s a lesbian.”

  Sheridan sighed. “The things thirteen-year-olds have to deal with today.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  Because this could be your fault. “Quentin, it’s not like I tell you every little challenge that Tori has.”

  “This is not exactly a little challenge.”

  Sheridan shrugged.

  “You blame me, don’t you?”

  Yes. “No. And please don’t make this about you. Or me. Or anything besides Tori.”

  “All right.” He paused. “I gotta tell you that I’m worried. Tori didn’t sound good.”

  “You don’t think it’ll blow over?”

  “I would hope so, but it’s been going on for more than a month.”

  “It hasn’t been that long. Three weeks, maybe.”

  “That’s an eternity for a thirteen-year-old. I don’t want Tori to be hurt by this.”

  She’s already been hurt by you. “But what can we do?”

  He shrugged. “She said she wants to go to a different school.”

  “That’s a bit extreme.”

  “It’s something to consider. It may be because she’s in that Christian school that the kids are being so hard on her.”

  Sheridan paused. “Oh, please. The school is not the problem.”

  “I’m just trying to think through all of our options, but I’m willing to do whatever has to be done. Even if that means pulling her out of school.”

  “Well, before we even discuss that, I want to talk to Tori.”

  He nodded. “And maybe we need to go to the school. Talk to her teachers, the principal. Make them aware of what’s going on.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Tori when she gets home and I’ll get back to you.”

  He shook his head. “I want to be there, too.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is to me. Let’s have dinner together tonight.”

  Her expression made him add, “Just so we can both talk to Tori. I want to make sure she knows that we’re both here for her.”

  Sheridan tried to imagine the three of them around the dinner table, breaking bread as if they were a family.

  He placed his hand on hers. “So? What time should I come over?”

  She looked down at his hand, wondered about his motives. But she stayed, not moving away. “Tori has booster practice. She’ll be home around six.”

  He glanced at his watch. “In an hour. I can be there. I need to check on something at my office first.”

  “Quentin, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m not going to let her go through something this serious without me. And I’m not going to leave you to handle this alone. We’ll do it together.” He paused; she nodded. “So I’ll come straight home as soon as I leave the office.”

  Straight home.

  He corrected, “I should’ve said, I’ll come straight to your home.”

  “That’s what you should’ve said.”

  He gave her a small laugh, took her hand, and lifted her from her seat.

  Her face stretched with surprise when he wrapped her inside his arms. She wasn’t sure why he held her, but the warmth of his embrace took her questions away. Made her close her eyes. Let her forget—for the moment—all that filled her mind.

  She inhaled. Smiled. Opened her eyes. And stared straight into the eyes of Brock. Through the glass window, he stood outside Starbucks and watched her. She was still in Quenti
n’s arms when Brock turned and walked away.

  Chapter Forty-five

  SHERIDAN

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Brock.

  In the ten-minute ride home, she’d called his cell, his home every few minutes. But, there’d been no answer. Now, as she paced the length of her living room, her glance ricocheted between the telephone and the front door. She wanted to call Brock again, but any minute, Tori would barge into the house.

  “Brock will have to wait,” she whispered.

  She heard the click of the door’s lock before she even finished her thought.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she greeted her daughter.

  “Hi,” Tori responded, without looking up.

  “How was your day?” Sheridan grabbed Tori’s backpack.

  She shrugged. “Fine.”

  Sheridan had seen this look, heard this tone, so many times before. But was it different now?

  “Come in here.” Sheridan pointed into the living room. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Mom,” she whined, “I just wanna go to my room.”

  With just a look, Sheridan made her demand again and Tori dragged behind her. “Dad must’ve told you I called.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Well, I was mad,” she said. “But I’m fine now.”

  “Why were you mad?”

  Tori looked away. “No reason.”

  “You’re going to sit here until you talk, so you might as well tell me.”

  Tori thought for a moment, shrugged her shoulders as if life was no big deal. “Everyone’s so mean to me, but I don’t care.”

  With the tips of her fingers, Sheridan raised her daughter’s chin. She looked into eyes that held no tears, but were drenched with sorrow just the same. “You don’t care?”

  Before she could shake her head, her snivels began. “I don’t care,” she quivered. When Sheridan hugged her, Tori cried, “Mom, it’s awful! No one will talk to me. And I have to eat lunch by myself. And everyone is friends with Lara.”

  “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me this was going on?”

  “Because you said it would get better. And I wanted it to. But it’s not.”

  “Okay, then, we have to do something.”

  Tori pulled back. “What can we do?” Her question was swathed in hope.

  “I’m not sure yet, but we’ll figure it out. Your dad is on his way over—”

  “Dad is coming over here?”

  “Yes. We’re going to have dinner and we’ll talk. We’ll fix this.”

  Slowly, Tori nodded. “But I don’t know what we can do, Mom. I don’t want you and Dad to come up to school.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to come up there and threaten to beat up everybody,” she kidded, but Tori didn’t smile with her. Sheridan added, “Whatever we do, we won’t embarrass you. Whatever we do, it’ll be okay.”

  Tori nodded. “What time is Dad—”

  The doorbell rang before she finished her question, and Tori ran to the door.

  It was a small smile, that Tori wore when she strolled into the living room with her father, but it was enough to erase a bit of the ache in Sheridan’s heart.

  “Hey,” Quentin said, sitting next to her. Tori dropped to the floor, yoga-style. Sat in front of her parents as if she were waiting for the meeting to be called to order.

  In the few seconds of quiet, Sheridan noticed Quentin’s shoulder touching hers slightly.

  “Mom, said you’re staying for dinner.”

  “I am, but first, I want to talk about what’s going on in school.”

  Sheridan inhaled, now taking in his fragrance that she no longer recognized. “You know what?” Sheridan leapt from the couch, needing to move away from his touch, his smell. “Let’s go out. We can talk at the restaurant.”

  “Okay,” Tori jumped up.

  She saw the question in Quentin’s eyes, but she was grateful that he followed her lead.

  “Can I change clothes first, Mom?”

  She nodded. “Go on.” She glanced at Quentin, thought about being alone with him, and added, “Don’t take too long, Tori.”

  It wasn’t until they heard Tori’s bedroom door slam that he asked, “So, you’d prefer to go out?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You think that’ll be okay—talking to her in a public place rather than here?”

  “It’ll be good for Tori to get out. I talked to her a bit and she really is having a tough time.”

  Quentin shook his head.

  “She’ll be all right,” Sheridan said. “But I want to take her mind away from it for a while. It’s hard being bullied—”

  “Did she get into a fight?’

  “No, but she’s being made an outcast and I won’t allow that.”

  Quentin stood and, once again, stepped so close that she could feel more of him than she wanted. “We’ll take care of this, Sheridan. Together.” His gaze warmed her skin again.

  There was nothing but silence; nothing but their stares. It was in slow motion—the way he moved—his face closer, closer, his lips aimed for hers.

  “I’m ready,” Tori yelled, as she bolted down the stairs.

  Quentin turned away and Sheridan breathed. What was that? she wondered as she grabbed her jacket and purse. When they stepped outside toward her car, Sheridan tried not to think about what almost happened. Tried instead to focus on a restaurant. One far away from her home. One where she could be sure Brock Goodman would not find the three Harts together.

  Chapter Forty-six

  ASIA

  Asia paused outside the den and peeked inside. Angel was stretched out on the floor, kicking her heels as she laughed at the cartoons. With a deep breath, Asia stepped away, leaned against the hallway wall. She had less than thirty minutes.

  She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear. “I don’t know, Noon,” she spoke loudly. “There’s something wrong with Bobby.” Asia paused, as if Noon really were on the other end. After a few seconds, she continued, “I’ve been watching the way he touches Angel. What he’s doing is wrong.” More silence; Asia peeked around the corner. Angel was sitting up now, Asia’s words bringing her to attention.

  Asia leaned back, spoke. “All I know, Noon, is that I will do anything to keep Angel safe. I love her. But”—she paused—“I don’t know if Bobby loves Angel. I don’t think he does.”

  That’s enough, Asia thought as she took a deep breath. All she wanted to do was rush into the den, hold Angel, and tell her that she was loved by her mommy and her daddy. But all she did was tiptoe away, leaving Angel alone.

  Asia waited in the kitchen and, just as she’d expected, within minutes her daughter stood in front of her.

  “Hey, precious. You’ve been so quiet.”

  Angel looked up, her eyes filled with tears that had not yet fallen.

  Asia stayed in place, not rushing to pull Angel into her arms like she wanted. She said, “Your daddy is coming by—”

  “No, Mommy,” Angel shook her head and cried.

  “He’s just stopping by to say hello.”

  “Does he have to?”

  Finally she took her daughter’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She said nothing.

  “Did Daddy do something to you?”

  Angel squinted, as if she were trying to get the right words.

  She’s not ready. Asia pulled her daughter into her arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll always protect you,” she whispered, as she held her. When the doorbell rang, Angel’s arms squeezed her mother tighter. “I promise I won’t leave you,” Asia added.

  She held Angel’s hand as they walked toward the front door.

  “Hey,” Bobby said as he stepped inside. He reached for Angel; she stiffened, became a load of dead weight when he lifted her into his arms.

  For Asia, the moments moved in slow motion—Bobby’s lips aimed for Angel’s—a gentle peck, the same as always. But this time, he had barely leaned back when, with the back of her
hand, Angel wiped away his kiss.

  He laughed. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Ah, Bobby, you said you had something for me?” Asia asked before Angel could speak.

  “Yeah, I have the condo papers.” He lowered Angel to the floor, then grabbed a packet from his jacket. “It’s in your name now.” He glanced at Angel. “We…can talk about this later.”

  “It’s okay.” She turned toward the living room, pulling the papers from the envelope; Angel scurried behind her. “Would you mind if I took a look?”

  “Not at all. It’s a done deal. This”—he waved his hands around—“is all yours.” He sank onto the couch, then motioned toward Angel. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said, patting his lap.

  “No!”

  The fright in her voice shocked them both.

  Bobby frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Angel’s eyes darted between her mother and father.

  “Nothing,” Asia said quickly, putting her arm around Angel. “She wasn’t feeling well when she got home from school.”

  “Oh…okay.” His frown was still in place. “Maybe I should go then.” He stood. “Would you mind giving Daddy a little kiss good-bye?”

  This time, Angel screamed “No!” before she tore from the room and up the stairs.

  “Whoa.”

  “I told you; she’s not feeling well.”

  With a shrug, Bobby ambled toward the door. “Give me a call if you have any questions about the condo.” He paused, looked back at her.

  Asia frowned. She recognized that glare.

  He said, “Look, I’m free tonight, and Caroline’s in Dallas. If you want, we can—”

  “What’s wrong, Bobby?” Asia interrupted him. “Lonely?”

  “Nah, nah, I’m just sayin’…”

  “Why don’t you just say good-bye?”

  He held up his hands. “Tell Angel ’bye for me.” He opened the door, then stopped. Took a moment, then turned. “Tell Angel that I love her.”

  By the time Asia rushed to her daughter’s room, Angel was sprawled across her bed, crying. Asia’s eyes sprouted their own tears as she held her daughter. Her cries were for much more than Angel’s pain today; she wept for the hurt that Angel would always know, believing now that her father didn’t love her. It was the same pain that she breathed every day.