“But you don’t know that.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t. Just like you don’t know she didn’t. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she have a house back in Chicago?”
“No. She lived in an apartment and gave up her lease to take this job.”
“Maybe Quinn can hack into her phone. Track her location or something.”
“No, I don’t want her involved.” I don’t want anyone else in the family involved, but that goes without saying to Owen. He’ll tell Logan, I’m sure. They claim to have a hard time lying to each other, saying it’s a ‘twin thing’ and non-twins don’t understand.
“I know where her sister is.” I sit up. “And she’ll know where Scarlet is.”
“What are you waiting for?” Owen asks. “Go!”
“I can’t just drive up to a prison and ask to see a random inmate.”
“But you’re a cop.” He gives me a blank stare.
"I know, but it doesn’t work that way. Though I might be able to get her on the phone.” I pull out my cell to look up the number for the prison. “I’ll have to make a few calls.” I open the internet and type in the name of the prison. “I get no service here.”
“I know. It’s become a dead-zone after the old cell tower was replaced by a different carrier.”
“What’s your wifi password?”
“Shit. I don’t remember. Quinn set it up…try I love cats or something.”
“Even Quinn wouldn’t be that obvious.” Still, I try a handful of guesses, text Quinn for help, and wait a whole two seconds before getting frustrated with her lack of reply.
Owen gets up. “What do you need info on? We can look it up on the office computer.”
“I’ll be in here,” I tell Jackson and Danielle, motioning to the office. He’s using his hands to push in the balls on the pool table, and is excited to be ‘winning.’ It’ll be okay. I’ll get Scarlet back. For me and for him.
Owen puts in the password and steps aside, letting me sit in the desk chair. “Are you in love with her?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate, don’t try to hide my feelings. There’s no point. I do love Scarlet, and I love her fiercely.
“Then you’ve got to do this, man. You have to go get her. Take it from me,” he starts but doesn’t finish. I write down the prison’s phone number and address, closing the internet browser and letting out a breath. I’m so tense my shoulders are killing me. Standing, I turn to Owen.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. But I do think we should mark this date down in history as the day you came to me for advice.”
“I was actually hoping Logan was here.”
“Fuck you.”
I laugh. “He probably would have said the opposite.”
“No shit. He plays it too safe.” Owen shakes his head. “He’s going to miss his chance with her,” he says, meaning Danielle. “But what am I—”
He cuts off when he hears Danielle loudly tell someone the bar isn’t open yet.
“Ah, shit. I bet that’s Bart again.”
“Your resident drunk?”
“Yeah. Poor bastard’s drunk more than he is sober. We started giving him protein shakes and saying they’re full of vodka. He drinks them at least. Hopefully it’ll help him put on a few pounds before winter.”
“Owen!” Danielle calls and both my brother and I run. Danielle is standing behind the pool table, holding Jackson’s hand. Her eyes are wide and full of fear, and Jackson looks confused.
“Daddy!” he yells and tries to make a run for me. But she’s faster.
Daisy grabs Jackson, and he immediately starts to struggle, just like I taught him in the event someone tries to kidnap him.
"It’s okay, I’m your mom,” Daisy tells him, and he freezes.
“Daisy.” I rush over, blood boiling. “Put him down.”
“Dad?” Jackson asks, looking back and forth between Daisy and myself. “Is this Mommy?”
“Yes, baby!” Daisy hugs him and drops to her knees, tears falling from her eyes. “I’m your mommy.”
“Let him go,” I tell her. “You have no right to be here.”
“He’s my son! I have every right that you—”
“Legally,” I interrupt. “You have no rights. Let him go and leave.”
“No.” She stands up, holding Jackson’s hand. She looks down at him, smiling. “Want to go get ice cream? We can catch up.”
“Okay,” Jackson says, not too sure of himself.
I clench my fists. I could easily stride over and shove her away, but I don’t want Jackson to see me lay a finger on Daisy. And I don’t want to hurt her. Deep down, I feel bad for her. She’s missing out on the greatest kid in the whole fucking world.
“No. Let him go,” I say again in a calm, level voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Owen pull out his phone and start recording a video. I know exactly what he’s doing: getting proof of Daisy trying to take my son. Thank you, Owen, for thinking two steps ahead for once.
“You have no legal standing to take him,” I repeat. “You gave up custody when you left us four years ago. Let him go.”
“No,” she says again and shuffles back. “I’m taking him and you can’t stop me.”
“Should I call the cops?” Danielle asks, voice trembling a bit.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Tell them exactly what’s going on. Jackson’s non-custodial mother is trying to take him.”
“Daddy, I’m scared.” Jackson tries to pull away and Daisy tightens her grip. I rush forward, and she picks him up, holding him so tight she’s hurting him. He kicks and hits a table, knocking a few glasses onto the ground. They shatter, and glass crunches under her feet. If I try to wrestle him out of her arms, she could drop him or fall, and he’ll get cut.
Shuffling away from me and toward the door, I advance, going around a table and blocking the exit.
“Get the fuck out of my way!” Daisy struggles to keep a hold of Jackson. The kid is only four, but he takes after me and is solid.
“Put him down,” I say again. If she gets out the door, she’s going to take him. She came here to kidnap him, though she won’t see it that way. But it’s exactly what it is. There’s no way I’m letting her out that door.
Or walk out of here free.
“Ow!” Jackson cries, twisting as he tries to get out of her arms. She adjusts him against her, gripping his arms so tight his skin is turning red.
“For God’s sake, you’re hurting him!” I yell. That’s it. I’m getting Jackson back. But before I can make a move, Daisy puts Jackson down, takes a death grip on his wrist, and pulls a can of pepper spray from her purse, pointing it at me.
“Jackson, it’s okay,” I say, swallowing hard. She’s really come unhinged. Or desperate. I don’t know which is worse right now.
“You can’t keep him away from me.”
“Daisy.” I hold up my hands, heart racing. Pepper spray is far from lethal, but I don’t want Jackson to go through the pain of getting it in his eyes or inhaling it. “We can work something out. Just let Jackson go.”
Jackson starts struggling again, crying and calling for me. “It’s okay,” I tell him again. “Daisy, think about this. Is this how you want to start a relationship with your son?”
Daisy’s face goes slack and she looks down, realizing what she’s doing. She lets go of Jackson and he runs to me, crying. Having him in my arms again is the best feeling. I scoop him up, never wanting to let go.
Daisy starts crying, and Owen rushes over. I hand him Jackson, heart aching a bit not to have him in my arms. I rush forward and take the pepper spray from Daisy.
“Don’t do this to me,” Daisy says, looking up.
“I’m not. You did this to yourself.” I inhale and hear sirens in the distance. Thank fucking goodness. I didn’t want to be the one to make Daisy’s official arrest.
39
Scarlet
I sit up, eye
s waking up before my mind. I’m uncomfortable with stiff legs and an aching back, and for a split second, I think I fell asleep sitting up on the couch. Then I blink and realize my eyes are still sore and swollen from crying.
Yes, crying.
The room is dark, and I sit up, stretching my arms over my head. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the stiff armchair next to my father’s bed at the nursing home. After leaving Weston’s house, I walked into town, took Eastwood’s only taxi to Newport and was able to get an Uber to drive me up to Chicago.
I didn’t know where else to go other than the nursing home. Dad was having a bad day, and just sat in his chair not really paying attention to anything. So, for the first time in my entire life, I spilled my guts. Said everything I ever wanted to say. Confessed the bad things I’ve done as well as admit just how deep my love for Weston goes.
And Dad just sat there, staring blankly in my general direction. A little empathy would have been nice, and advice on how not to farther fuck up my life would have been welcome.
But I got nothing.
Rubbing my eyes, I get up, moving slowly in the dark. My phone is in my purse, and it’s dead.
“Dammit,” I mutter. I have no idea what time it is, and I think I left my phone charger in the kitchen at Weston’s house. I left in such a rush I wouldn’t be surprised if I left more behind. Moving slow so I don’t wake up my dad or his roommate, I go into the hall, blinking from the bright lights.
“Oh!” a nurse exclaims, surprised to see me. “I thought you left.”
“I fell asleep.” I rub the back of my neck, trying to work out a knot. “What time is it?”
“A little after two AM.”
“Shit. Sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”
The nurse shakes her head. “Stay. It’s late and I know you walk back to your place. Just this one time, though, you hear?”
“Thank you.” I go to the bathroom and then back to Dad’s room. The nurse put an extra blanket on the chair for me, and I’m grateful. These rooms are fucking freezing.
“Scarlet?” Dad is sitting up in his bed.
“Dad.” I rush over, clicking on the light over his bed so he can see me. “It’s late. You should go back to sleep.”
“You listen to me,” he starts. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with one of his flashback rants right now. “You’re a Cooper, and Coopers don’t give up.”
“What?”
“You love that boy?”
I blink, unsure if I’m hearing him correctly. “Weston. Yes. I love him a lot.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I…I…” I don’t know what to say. “I had to leave or else his ex-wife was going to publish an article about him that made him seem unfit to be the county sheriff. It would have ruined his chances of winning and he was so close. And besides…once he hears what I did—what I used to do—I don’t think he’ll see me the same.”
“So you’re running away with your tail tucked between your legs? I might not have raised you, but I know that’s not the type of girl you are. You have more Cooper blood in you than that.”
“I just…I…” I shake my head. Dad’s having a rare moment of clarity and I’ve been honest all night. Why stop here? “I’m scared. Scared to hear him tell me he doesn’t want me. Scared to see the look of anger or disgust on his face when he sees me. I left to save his career but also to escape rejection.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear you admit that.” Wrinkles form around Dad’s mouth as he smiles. “I was scared to come back to you for the same reason.”
“Really?” I perch on the edge of the heater vent next to his bed. The air coming out is room temperature, which is why this place is so fucking cold.
“Yeah. I was sure you’d hate me.”
“I did hate you.”
“Only for a while.” Dad yawns and looks around the room. “What time is it?”
“Two in the morning.”
He yawns, and I know his mind is going to start slipping back into whatever fog it’s usually in. He’ll forget about our conversation in the morning. Memory is such a wondrous and confusing thing.
“You should get home. You have school in the morning. We’ll talk about the boy tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”
“It will work out.” He nods and reaches forward to pat my shoulder. His balance is off, and I don’t want him to fall out of bed. I stand, moving closer. “If he’s a decent boy at all, he’ll see you for what you are.”
“I hope so,” I whisper and gently push Dad back down. I don’t know what I am…but I know what I want to be.
I want to be with Weston and Jackson. I want to go back to Eastwood. I want us to be a family.
I tuck my legs up under myself, trying to get comfortable. About an hour after I got Dad back to sleep, his roommate woke up and has been in bed hollering for pain meds nonstop ever since. The nurse came in, told him he’s not due to have any more for another few hours and told me that he does this pretty much nightly.
Great. Just fucking great.
I put on my winter coat and folded up the blanket, trying to use it as a pillow. My suitcases full of all my possessions are cluttering up the room, and every time I see them my heart sinks even lower into my chest. It’s going back to that dark crevice it clawed its way out of, and it hurts more and more the lower it gets.
I thought about Dad’s words and see truth to them. But I’m still scared, both for myself and for Weston. I’ll take his anger and disappointment in me any day over the possibility of ruining everything he’s worked for. I’ll get over it. Somehow, someway.
I know Jackson will someday face adversity in his life, but if I can keep him innocent and carefree, I will. Weston does a good fucking job hiding his trouble and stresses from the kid. But there’s only so much he can handle. Having Daisy come back, finding out my dark past, and losing his job…nope. I won’t have it.
I doze off for about an hour and wake up with terrible cramps in my legs. I roll my big suitcase over and stretch out my legs, trying to get comfortable again. I’m so tired, physically and emotionally. I close my eyes and drift to sleep, dreaming that I’m back at Weston’s and everything is perfect.
Dad’s roommate wakes me up. He gets out of bed and some sort of alarm goes off. And off. And off. Finally, I get up, pull back the curtain that divides the room in half and see the guy sitting on the edge of his bed, about to face plant on the floor.
“Hey,” I say to him, but it’s no use. He’s even farther gone than my own dad, and I don’t think I’ll get lucky with another moment of clarity. I duck into the hall, looking for someone to help me get him back into bed. There’s no one in sight. Grumbling, I spend the next fifteen minutes trying to get him to lay back down.
Once he’s down, I get my toothbrush and go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and come back to the room. I pull my messy hair into a bun and grab a new sweater to change into. Dad is still asleep and should be getting up for breakfast soon. My stomach grumbles at the thought of food. There’s a crappy diner that serves crappy food not far from here, and they open at six AM. I know this because I used to work there until I got laid off.
I grab my purse, shove my luggage into the corner of Dad’s room and hope no one steals it while I’m out, and step into the cold November air, keeping my head down as I walk the streets.
I make it to the diner with only a few catcalls and one offer to take a ride on some guys pogo stick. Not bad considering how hellish I look right now. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone I used to work with, and of course luck has it out for me again.
“Scarlet, hey!” Trisha, another waitress, says. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been, girl?”
“Good.” I put on my fake smile.
“You left for some fancy nanny job, right?”
“Right.”
She raises her eyebrows. “But you’re back. We’re not hiring, hun.”
“I
’m visiting my dad. I just want breakfast.”
“Oh, gotcha. Sit in section one and I’ll get you.”
I force a smile. “Okay.” I slide into a booth, wishing for my phone to distract myself with. Instead, I pull out a paperback of a book that I’ve already read three times. It was at the top of my suitcase and I didn’t want to rustle through my stuff for another. The floor in the nursing home is gross and sticky. Risking my clothes falling out onto it isn’t something I want to do.
I order tea, bacon, and French toast, and hunker down in the booth, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone or anything as I contemplate the next step in my life. After getting out of the slums the first time and living in the ritzy part of Chicago, it was hard coming back. It’s even harder after Eastwood.
I love that little town.
I have no job now, and with it getting closer and closer to the holidays, I probably won’t be able to find one. With Dad’s medical bills, I’m going to need money. So I guess it’ll be back to the old ways. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick.
Though I’m not as hungry as I should be, I force myself to eat every last bite of food on my plate. Who knows when I’ll get out for lunch, and if I’m going back to Old Scarlet, it’s going to take some time to get on my feet. I won’t have money to burn. Mentally groaning at wasting money on a hotel room for the night, I finish my tea and zip up my coat, leaving Trisha a decent tip.
I trudge my way back to the nursing home, using everything I have inside of me not to think or feel. How did I do this so easily before? Every step hurts, as every footfall reverberates through my heart, jostling the broken pieces. The sharp edges hurt all over again as they slice into me.
Cold rain mists down on me, and I flip the hood up on my coat. Tears well in my eyes, and this time I make no attempt to keep them from falling. I’m sad. Really fucking sad, and it’s mostly my fault.
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