by Jayne Frost
Glancing at my phone for the hundredth time, I chewed the hell out of my lip. I’d sent Anna a dozen texts, but all of them remained unopened.
Desperate, I’d even swallowed my pride and called Peyton. Her secretary informed me in no uncertain terms that my attorney would need to facilitate any conversations, and then she slammed the phone down so hard my eardrum nearly burst.
The group in the reception area scattered like ants when Scott strode through the door, jabbering into his phone.
“See you in court, Counselor.” He laughed, running a hand through his windblown hair. “Drinks sound great. You’ll need something to numb the pain after I kick your ass in court tomorrow.” His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, I’ve got a meeting. I’ll catch you later.”
I tried to hide my disdain as Scott ambled toward me. Custom suit. Italian footwear. Keys to his overpriced convertible dangling from the Tiffany fob swinging on his index finger.
Everything about the dude screamed excess. But then, I’d hired him, paid his exorbitant fees. What did I expect?
Saccharine grin firmly in place, Scott extended his hand. “Hey, Sean. Got your text.”
Shifting my focus from the diamond-studded cufflinks to his cosmetically engineered smile, I buried my contempt. For the moment, at least.
“I need to talk to you about my case.”
Since I couldn’t bring myself to shake the prick’s hand, his arm fell to his side.
“Of course.” A quizzical look painted his features. “Let’s go to my office.”
Scott took the two bottles of Perrier his secretary offered and then leaned forward and said in a hushed tone, “Pencil Mr. Hudson in for an appointment for our records department.”
Records department, my ass. Mr. Pay-by-the-Hour was making sure to get every last billable second recorded for posterity. I was now in the unenviable position of paying this asshole a thousand bucks an hour to find out how badly I’d put the screws to Anna.
Scott took a seat behind the ornate mahogany desk while I paced in a tight circle.
“Sean, man, you seem upset. Have a seat. I’ve got you squared away.”
The attorney shriveled in his chair when I glared at him. “Squared away? Is that what you call it?”
A look of genuine confusion passed over the prick’s features. “Well, yes, I filed your motions with the court and—”
“You had my girlfriend served!” Incredulous, I yanked the summons from my back pocket and flung the papers on the desk. “At my house.”
Brows furrowed, Scott looked down at the crumpled-up mess. “No . . . I served those papers to Peyton Hollis.”
Flexing my fingers to keep from throttling him, I inhaled slowly. “What did I ever say that gave you the impression that I wanted Annabelle served with anything?”
The picture of self-confidence, Scott leaned back in his chair. Steepling his fingers he motioned to my file. “I’ve got copies of two dozen message you sent in there. Along with every electronic document that you signed.”
Rage darkened my vision, but I couldn’t tell if I was angrier at Scott or myself.
Laying my palms flat on the polished wood, I tipped forward. “I don’t remember you explaining them, Scott.”
“And I don’t remember you asking.”
Fuck.
Reining in my fury, I took a seat in the chair. “I’m asking now.”
Scott eyed me as he pulled a blue folder from his drawer. As if contemplating, he tapped it against the side of the desk. “I’ve got a client consult in fifteen minutes. Maybe we should discuss this later. When you’re calm.”
Leaning back, I crossed my legs, foot to ankle. “I’m calm, man.” I shifted my focus to the folder. “But if you don’t explain exactly what’s in that file, I might get a little riled.”
Scott took me for my word and, blowing out a breath, he opened the folder. Our eyes met as he placed the first document in front of me. “Remember, I only did what you asked me to do.”
If Scott was expecting a medal, he wasn’t going to get one from me. Snatching the paper, I scanned the page. But the only thing that stood out was my signature on the bottom and the official court seal next to the red stamp that marked the item as filed.
I looked at my attorney. “What is this?”
Scott shifted in his seat, the leather squeaking under the fabric of his expensive trousers. “It’s a motion to compel…for the DNA test.”
My mouth dropped open, and Willow’s azure eyes flashed in my head. My mother’s eyes. Jesus.
“What?” I croaked.
Scott picked up his water. “Anna stipulated under penalty of perjury that the child is yours. But as your attorney, I filed this motion, on your behalf, compelling her to present the child for a mouth swab.”
On my behalf.
“So this came from me?”
Scott clasped his hands on top of the folder. “Everything came from you. I just filed the paperwork.”
The clusterfuck of events replayed in my head as I stared at the electronic signature. My signature. Anna thought I’d trapped her. No, she knew I’d trapped her.
My anger slowly turned to self-loathing.
“What else?” I asked meeting Scott’s gaze. “What else did I request?”
Emboldened by my change of demeanor, Scott pushed out of his seat. Pulling another item from the folder as he rounded the desk, he handed me the paper and then slid a hip onto the mahogany as if his proximity was something I welcomed.
“That’s the emergency request for visitation.” Scott pointed at Anna’s signature. “Anna signed it this morning. She’ll present the child for your first official visit as soon as possible. I called Ms. Hollis when I got your text. Haven’t heard back yet, but I told her secretary you were back in town.”
I ripped a hand through my hair. “Peyton knows. I called her before I got here.”
Scott clucked his tongue. “As your attorney, I’m advising you to cease contact with opposing counsel.”
Glancing over Anna’s shaky scrawl, I cringed inside. “I know Peyton. We went to school together.” I reached for the glass bottle of imported water. “How did this happen so quickly?”
“That’s why they call it an emergency request. If Anna hadn’t signed, we’d have a court order in her hand mandating her to turn over the child within days. At least this way she gets a little say so.” Scott snapped his fingers, then pulled out a note. “Which reminds me. Anna’s only sticking point was that the visitations take place at her parents’ or your aunt’s. If you want me to hold her feet to the fire on that, I can—”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine seeing Willow at Anna’s parents’. I don’t . . . I don’t want to scare her.”
Scott shrugged, handing over the next document. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He motioned to the paper. “We can fast track this now.” My eyes bulged when I looked down.
Request for Custody.
Scott offered me an expensive looking pen. “Just sign at the bottom.”
“I . . .” Words failed me as I read the first passage. Legalese about my rights to “the child.”
“It’s probably safer to wait for the results of the DNA test,” Scott mused, folding his arms over his chest. “But since you seemed sure, I had the papers drawn up.”
“It’s not filed, though?” I roughed out.
He shook his head. “Nah. But I did share a copy with Ms. Hollis to show your intent. There will likely be heavy negotiations when it comes to actual custody. But, who knows, Anna might want a break from parenting. I’ve seen these cases turn on a dime so you should be prepared.”
Scott’s brows climbed to his hairline when I sat up straight, glaring. “Anna would never do that. She would never hurt Willow.”
The papers spread out on the desk mocked me.
I hurt Willow. Me.
My silent introspection gave Scott his second wind. “As far as money,” he said, shifting to stretch his legs. “Ann
a’s waived all but nominal support—very nominal considering your means. She’s requested all future monies beyond that amount be put in here.”
Scott handed me a thick, leather folder. My shoulders sank as I ran a finger over the delicate gold leafing embossed on the portfolio.
The Willow Grace Hudson Trust
“As requested, I drew up the trust,” Scott continued. “But Anna declined to serve as trustee. And Ms. Hollis returned the lump sum you offered as a settlement.”
A settlement . . .
It was never that.
Stunned into silence, I took the check stub for the money I set aside for Anna. The vessel of my guilt.
“Put the money in the trust,” I said thickly, placing the stub into Willow’s folder. “Get Peyton to appoint Alecia Dresden as the trustee.”
Scott gathered the papers, shoving them neatly into a file. “Sure, I can do that. You must’ve been born under a lucky star, considering the timing.”
Every time Scott said the word “lucky,” I felt like the unluckiest motherfucker on the planet. But I took the bait.
“How so?”
“Peyton, er, Ms. Hollis settled Anna’s divorce. There’s an interlocutory period, and the judge has to approve, but you don’t have to worry about Dean Kent, considering he dropped his case.”
“Why . . . ?” I cleared my throat. “Why would he do that.”
Scott leaned across the desk and plucked another file from his in-basket. After perusing the contents, he smiled. “Guess Anna’s not much for confrontation. She gave Dean everything he asked for, quitclaimed the deed to the joint residence and relinquished all the personal property. As far as I can tell there was only one stipulation.”
I didn’t want to know, but again, I had to ask. “And what was that?”
Scott frowned and I could see the wheels turning.
My pulse raced. Maybe there was a mistake. A loophole and all of this could be unwound.
“Anna’s only stipulation was a full release from Dean vacating the order. Ahh . . . see it’s right here. The judge released the hold on the kid’s passport. It looks like Anna might be eager to do a little traveling.”
My mind jumped to the only possible conclusion, landing with a thud. The tour. Anna gave Dean the golden ticket, the rights to everything she had in the world, in exchange for her freedom. And Willow’s. I’d taken every piece of security Anna had glued together and smashed it in one fell swoop.
Mistaking my stunned demeanor for concern over this new wrinkle, Scott said, “I’ll have my paralegal prepare a new order to replace Dean’s. It will bind Anna under the same conditions.”
Bind her? I’d already ruined her life, stolen her dreams, not once, but twice.
“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t file anything else. Are we clear?”
Scott pushed off the desk. “Whatever you say. I work for you.”
The truth sank in, hard and cold and unmistakable. Scott did work for me.
I gulped down half the bottle of Perrier, but no amount of fancy water could wash the bitter taste from my mouth.
Air.
I needed to breathe something untainted by the stench of the paperwork and all it represented.
“Is there any way that I can talk to Anna?” I asked, shoving to my feet. “Can you get her a message for me?”
Scott sucked in a breath. “I’ve already worked miracles.” He cocked a dark brow when I glared at him. “Whether you see it that way or not, nobody else could’ve moved this fast. You’ll have the right to co-parent the child, but I can’t make Anna talk to you.”
“Willow.”
“Pardon?”
“The child,” I said thickly. “Her name is Willow.”
“Of course . . .” Scott pulled one last document from the file. “Willow Grace Hudson.” He laid the application to change my daughter’s birth certificate on the desk. “I’ll file this as soon as we get the results from the DNA test. Sign here.”
Attached to the application was the only document that didn’t cause me physical pain. Willow’s birth certificate. I skimmed over my daughter’s vital statistics—date of birth, weight, height—committing each to memory.
After scanning the rest of the application for ticking time bombs, I jotted my name in the box. “File it now.”
“Will do.” The clueless fucker clapped me on the back, and my skin crawled. “Congratulations, Daddy, it’s a girl.”
Scott’s assistant tapped on the door. “I’m glad you’re still here, Mr. Hudson.” She walked in, holding out a note for Scott. “Peyton Hollis just called. Anna will present Willow at her parents’ house as soon as tomorrow morning if you want to set up a visit.”
Relief flooded me.
“Of course, “I replied. “What time does Anna want to meet?”
Her smile faded, dashing the flicker of hope blooming in my chest.
“Anna’s not meeting you. She’s dropping the child off for a custody exchange. She’s requested that you don’t show up at the property until after eight so the two of you don’t bump into each other.”
Holding the folder full of my betrayals, I waited until the assistant was gone to address Scott. “Is there any money left from my retainer?”
“Yeah, let me check and see what you’ve got.”
Scott turned to his computer, but I stopped him.
“Consider it a bonus,” I said as I strode to the door. “Send all my paperwork over to Trevor. You’re fired.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Sean
The halo from my headlights spread from the garage door to the red brick exterior as I pulled into Melissa’s driveway.
The in-dash clock jolted me out of my stupor: 10:22 p.m. I’d been driving for hours, ever since I left Scott’s office.
Bone weary and emptier than I’d ever been, I slid my key into the lock on the front door.
“Hello?” I called, flipping the deadbolt behind me. “Anybody home?”
Melissa’s raspy voice drifted from the family room. “In here, sugar.”
Sinking onto the edge of the recliner, I buried my head in my hands. Melissa scooted to the end of the couch, and the scent of rose petals and vanilla enveloped me. By intention or by design, she smelled just like my mother.
“What is it?” Melissa wobbled to her feet when I didn’t answer. “Sean, look at me.”
I didn’t have the strength. Or more likely I didn’t want Melissa to see it all. The failure, the shame, the fucking mess I’d made of things.
Again.
If the road to hell was paved with good intentions, many of the bricks had my name on them.
Tears pricked the back of my eyes as I stared down at my boots. When Melissa laid a hand on my shoulder, I gave up, wrapping my arms around her waist and letting her soothe me like I was a child.
Her thin, birdlike frame brought me back to the present—her present—and I clenched my teeth and straightened.
“I’m fine.” I managed a weak smile, regretting my decision to come here in the first place. “There’s just some shit going on.”
Melissa’s blue gaze clouded with concern. I didn’t do this kind of emotion, and she damn well knew it. Yet, here I was, in a dimly lit room, looking up at one of only a handful of people who could read me like a book.
Before I could set her mind at ease, Melissa dropped a copy of Us Weekly face up in my lap. “Does it have something to do with this?”
Reunion! Sean Hudson and Kimber Tyson rekindle their romance as the bad boy drummer prepares to announce plans for a European tour.
As Mandy had predicted, the story had grown legs.
“I’m guessing that’s all bullshit.” Doubt flickered in Melissa’s eyes. “Right, sugar?”
Tossing the rag on the floor, I pushed out a breath. “Of course it is. But it’s not just that.”
A humorless laugh rumbled from my chest. It seemed my fuck-ups had now reached the point where more than one could cause this kind of grief.
>
That took talent.
Melissa sank back onto the couch and drew in a labored breath.
“Are we playing twenty questions? Because I’m not up to it, Sean. Why don’t you just tell me what happened.”
Apparently, my selfishness knew no bounds. Because instead of leaving and dealing with my mess on my own, I looked down at my clasped hands and let it all pour out. When I finished, my guts lay in a puddle on the floor at Melissa’s feet.
My aunt shifted, her rigid posture warring with the sympathy etching her brow. “I can see why Anna would think you set her up. What is she saying about it?”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“So you haven’t spoken to her, and now you’re in a legal battle?”
I wish. I’d face Anna’s wrath over her silent exile any day.
“Nope. No legal battle.” I dropped my head to the back of the chair. “She agreed to everything. Visitation. DNA testing—”
“You asked for a DNA test?” Melissa’s feet hit the floor with a thud. “Sean, how could you do that?”
For the hundredth time, Willow’s blue eyes flashed behind my lids. But it wouldn’t have mattered if they were green, or brown, or yellow with polka dots. She was mine.
“It’s standard procedure. I was following my attorney’s orders.”
Melissa saw right through my bullshit. “Since when do you follow anyone’s orders?”
“What do you want me to say?” I growled, shoving to my feet. “I didn’t mean for it to go down like this!”
Melissa jabbed her finger against my chest, then roared, “Dammit, Sean! Stop making excuses.”
Disappointment curved her shoulders, and she grabbed my arms, for support or to shake me, I couldn’t tell.
Shame washed over me, and I eased her onto the couch.
“I shouldn’t have come. I’ll deal with it, Lissa, I swear.”
“Horse shit. We’ll figure it out together.” Her hand flew to her throat as a coughing fit ensued. “Get me a Dr. Pepper,” she wheezed. “So I can think.”