There’s going to be a fight.

From the moment the first text arrived the previous night—and then kept coming—Lily had known today’s drop-off would be bad. The texts didn’t stop. Asking if she was cheating. Attempting to guilt her into coming home. Threatening Lily if she didn’t.

Forget keeping a record of them to use against Brock. The messages always disappeared as soon as she read them, making her wonder if she’d lost her mind. Did Brock really send those vile things? Or did she imagine it? At times, she wondered.

She’d tried using another camera to screen shot the text. But those were thrown out as being fabricated. The police department seemed to accord her a hell of a lot of confidence in her artistic skills. She didn’t know how to remove red eye, let alone edit photos to look like real texts.

No one believed her. They accused her of making up stuff, and Brock kept getting away with the harassment.

As six o’clock and drop-off time approached, she tensed and clenched her fists by her sides. Her teeth ground together as she heard the sound of an engine. The insistent ring of the doorbell signaled the start of the cage match.

It started out innocuously enough. “Hey, ladybug. So glad to see you,” Lily said to Zoe, who immediately hugged her tightly.

A small hand held up something fluffy and pink. “Daddy got me a new stuffie.” Zoe’s weakness. Brock could get away with a lot of things by bribing his daughter with plushy new friends.

“Say thank you and goodnight to Daddy,” Lily said, doing her best to keep things on a polite level.

Brock knelt and held out his arms. Zoe did a slow about-face and marched into the embrace. She hugged him, no hesitation, but it didn’t have the same enthusiasm as the hugs given to Lily. It made her wonder what exactly happened during those two days Brock had his daughter. Lily knew Zoe spent lots of time at Brock’s parents because he sometimes had to work. But what about when he didn’t?

Zoe squirmed free of her father and dashed off. “I’m gonna show her to Morty.” Her stuffed crocodile. Zoe slipped into her room, and the door closed. Probably escaping the coming battle because drop-offs often turned into shouting matches. Her little girl might only be a child, but she was bright for her age, and this in spite of the fact that her father was an ass.

Brock didn’t leave. “I’m going to swing by Wednesday to grab Zoe and take her for a bite.”

Ding. Round one was about to begin. “That’s not part of the custody agreement.”

“Are you really going to be such a cow? It’s one lousy dinner.”

“It’s you disrupting her schedule on purpose.”

“I have a right to see my daughter.”

“You get her every weekend.”

“That isn’t enough.” Brock wanted a true fifty-fifty split, but the commute to bring Zoe to school would have screwed with his shifts. So Lily got Sunday evening to Friday night.

“Good night, Brock. I’ll see you next Friday.”

He still didn’t leave. “I am taking her to dinner.”

“And I’m saying no. According to the court document, you can’t force it. Just like you can’t just show up here and bully me.”

“There you go, being a bitch again. You just can’t help picking a fight.”

She blinked at him. Ding. Round two. “You need to leave and not come back until it’s your appointed time.” Having a backbone felt great and terrifying at the same time. On the one hand, saying no was liberating. He couldn’t tell her what to do. On the other hand, saying no instead of placating him didn’t sit well. Brock could get nasty.

“I will show up whenever I damned well please.” Brock leaned in. “Zoe is my kid. And you are my wife.”

“Ex-wife.”

“Wife. We promised until death do us part. We are tied together, wife. Which means if I want to fucking come see you or her, there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”

In a sense, he was right. She’d tried to have him stop stalking her. He posed a clear and present threat, yet no one would help her. Like many women caught in this situation, Lily couldn’t get anyone to listen because Brock hadn’t done anything yet. Nothing she could prove, anyway. So she received no protection.

All the dirt she had on him, and she knew some big secrets, bigger than the fact that he cheated on his taxes, did her no good. She couldn’t use them to blackmail him. He had one big piece of leverage against her—Zoe. No matter what, Lily had to look out for her daughter.

“I can and will stop you. I have your visitation rights in black and white. Don’t make me enforce them.”

“I can’t believe you’re being such a fucking bitch. Get the fuck over it.”

“You get over it. I’m done with you.” She wished so hard that she wouldn’t have to see him again. Unfortunately, he’d yet to get hit by a bus.

“You’ll never be done with me, Lily. I will be around until the day you die. Let’s just hope it’s not anytime soon for you.”

The threat boiled her blood instead of chilling it. How dare he threaten her? “Who says you won’t die first.” She spat the words and saw she’d managed to surprise him. Meek little Lily from their marriage was gone now. She’d spent too many years cowing to his ego. No more.

“Have you forgotten what happens to mouthy girls?” He didn’t threaten, but she recalled nonetheless.

The urge to touch her cheek meant she tucked her hands behind her back. From time to time, the cheekbone ached, the ghost pain a constant reminder of what he’d done. That had been one of his worst outbursts, and also the last time he’d laid a hand on her.

When it had happened the first time, when his palm cracked across her cheek, she’d made excuses for it. He’d had a shit day at work. Or he’d had a few too many at the bar and came home feisty. Then the taps—“love taps” he sometimes called them—became a habit. And still, she didn’t blame him. Only herself.

She should have made sure she didn’t start dinner too early, thus drying it out.

She should have known to wash and iron the shirt he’d tossed in the wash the night before after she’d gone to sleep.

So many things she’d done wrong. He pointed them out, each and every one.

Not anymore. Never again.

She crossed her arms. “You can’t threaten me.”

“Who you going to tell? The cops?” he said, his smile a touch too wide. “Go ahead. Let me know what they say.”

Frustration boiled inside her. She already knew what they would say. They’d said it to her the last time she went to the station asking for some kind of protection: “Can’t help you.” Because here was the thing. Brock had never directly done anything. Even his threats were veiled. If someone asked him what he meant when he asked Lily what happened to bad girls, he’d probably wink and say, “They get a bare bottom spanking and a tickle.” Then they’d all have a laugh and talk about women who took shit too literally.

Brock never got caught doing a damned thing. The times he did lay hands and bruised her, he had a ready explanation.

Guess what, though, she had an excuse ready, too, for the day she finally snapped and stabbed him with a knife. “He deserved it.”

Given she’d heard all Brock’s rants before, Lily tuned out the implied threats. The problem with constant abuse was, at some point, you got numb to it.

“Why can’t you just go away?” She tired of this circle of arguing.

“Give me Zoe, and maybe I will.”

At this absurd request, her frustration boiled over. Lily snapped. “Zoe is not a toy or a trophy. She is a child.”

“And I am her father. It’s my right to be with her.”

“Perhaps you should have tried being a father before. A real father spends time with their kid on a regular basis. Doesn’t suddenly cancel plans with his little girl at the last minute because it’s inconvenient to his life. A father is someone who doesn’t forget her birthday.” Although, according to Brock, that was also Lily’s fault, even though they’d been divorced six weeks at the time. “A father is supposed to be there to support his daughter. Not use her as blackmail.”

“Maybe if somebody hadn’t left me, I’d be able to do those things. Whose fault is it I can’t be there for Zoe?”

She couldn’t help an incredulous arch of her brow. “You are a piece of work. Get out.” She shoved the door, but he wedged himself in the crack.

“We’re not done talking.”

“Yes, we are. So leave, please, before Zoe sees us arguing again.”

“You’re the one arguing. I’m just talking. Don’t you think our daughter would like to see her parents together for the evening?”

Before she could tell Brock one more futile time to depart, Calvin arrived, looking angry, and yet his face remained smooth. So why did she think rage simmered beneath his placid expression?

There was something in his eyes. Something…dangerous.

Is this the same man?

Calvin didn’t appear as a tame businessman in a suit. On the contrary, he looked big and burly in his snug jeans and black T-shirt. He didn’t sound metrosexual either as he threatened Brock. “Hey, asshole. Yes, you. I think the lady said no. To which, I’m sure you’ll tell me to fuck off. I’ll continue the cliché by saying pick on someone your own size. You’ll snarl and tell me to stay out of it or else. At which point, I’ll laugh as I beat the hell out of you and win the day. That’s option one. Or, you can save yourself the embarrassment and leave now before your daughter sees her daddy sniveling on the ground like the little bitch he is.”

He did not just say that!

Lily didn’t know whether to be horrified by Calvin’s words or start clapping. People did not often argue with Brock. When they did, he didn’t react well. So with Calvin challenging him, in front of Lily no less, Brock turned his full ire on her neighbor. The explosion was all too predictable.

“What did you say?”

“Are you fucking stupid, too? I said, lay off the lady before I rearrange your face.”

It truly was a beautiful sentiment and such a bad idea. Brock often acted like a guy on ’roids. Always angry, super temperamental, and Brock especially didn’t take well to being threatened.

He took a step toward Calvin.

Calvin didn’t budge.

What a stark contrast. Her ex-husband appeared rather unimposing compared to her neighbor. Brock might be tall, but Calvin was taller by at least two or three inches, putting him probably around six feet to six-three. A very nice height. Where Brock had a blocky, wide, football-player build, Calvin was slimly built with broad shoulders that led to a wide chest. The shirt clung enough to show off hints of a six-pack. His jeans hung on his hips below his lean waist. Brock had short, curly, blond hair and Greek features with a sharp nose and chin. He always sported a clean-shaven jaw. Calvin, on the other hand, with his close-cropped beard and trim hair that begged for a set of fingers—hers—had a bit of an untamed presence to him now that he didn’t wear his suit. One could even say he looked dangerous, especially given the uncompromising look in Calvin’s eyes.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is private business. So shove off.” Brock didn’t let a thing like a bigger guy stepping in stop him.

“Private business?” Calvin smiled, but it wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes. “The whole fucking neighborhood can hear you screaming about your business. It’s disturbing my peace.”

“I’m going to disturb you if you don’t back off, asshole.”

“Oooh, I’m shaking in my shoes,” Calvin mocked. He crooked one set of fingers. “Let’s go, big boy. You obviously think you’re a big shot. Hit me.”

“I’m not stupid. I’m going to guess you’ve got cameras watching. Everybody does nowadays. Why don’t you throw the first punch?”

“All words, no action. I should have guessed. You’re only good at picking on women.” The barb hit deep.

Brock’s features twisted. “You need to stop talking. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“A douchebag?” Calvin offered while Brock’s lips tightened. “Asshat of the highest order?” Brock growled. Calvin’s lips stretched into a smile. “Or, how about I don’t give a fuck who you are, but I will make you a promise: either you leave now, or you’ll regret it.”

Given the high level of testosterone hinting at violence, Lily knew she should step in. Should say something. Anything. Calvin didn’t know whom he threatened. But at the same time, seeing someone stick up for her, so unafraid of the consequences, so strong…

She selfishly enjoyed it.

“You’ll pay for that,” Brock threatened.

“No, I won’t.” Said with casual confidence just before Calvin lunged forward and wrapped Brock in a headlock. Calvin twisted him so that his body was dragged up against his. “Say goodbye.”

“This is assault.”

“Is it? See, the thing about owning the cameras watching is that I get to decide who sees what’s on them.”

“There’s a witness.”

She might have derived a good bit of satisfaction in replying. “I saw nothing.”

“Bitc—”

The word was choked off as Calvin proceeded to drag/frog-march Brock to his badly parked car. It must have occurred to Brock that he’d met with someone stronger than him. He didn’t struggle, and yet, she could tell by the press of his lips that he fought a mighty rage.

That’s not good.

Too late to change things now.

Her neighbor wrenched open the car door and shoved Brock at the opening. Brock, however, wasn’t about to go so easily. He whirled, and even from the porch, Lily could see his eyes blazing. Brock practically frothed at the mouth like a rabid dog.

“You’ll pay for this.”

She didn’t hear Calvin’s reply as he leaned in close to Brock. Brock, however, heard every word, and the color drained from his face. Without another word, he slammed into his car and took off.

This wouldn’t end well.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and glared at Calvin marching back toward her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“If you ask me, it should have been done a while ago. Is he always that obnoxious?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t killed him yet?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“The thought has crossed my mind.” More than once.

“Is Daddy gone?” The little voice came from behind, and Lily peered back to see Zoe looking hesitant, peeking from her door.

“Yes, he’s gone, baby girl.”

Her daughter ventured out and shot a giant beamer of a smile at Calvin. Mega-watts slammed into him, and Lily almost laughed as his jaw dropped. Poor guy, he didn’t know what hit him.

Zoe took her gleaming grin and entered the living room, her favorite stuffie, a little jaguar, bought for her as a baby, tucked under her arm. “What’s that?” Lily heard her daughter ask.

Lily pivoted to see Zoe in the living room pointing at the bookcase.

“That, my little bug, is something to store your books and toys in. Mr. Jones, our neighbor next door, built it for you.”

“It’s mine?” Such breathless wonder. Big, big eyes turned his way. She could see Calvin being treated to the full effect of those baby blues. “Thank you.” Pronounced with only a hint of a lisp. “I love it.”

“Um.”

While Calvin coped with little girl cuteness in what seemed like his very first time, Lily entered the living room and grabbed hold of the bookcase. “Let me bring it back to your room. I was just showing it to Jenny last night.”

“I’ve got this.” As Calvin brushed past Lily to grab it, he murmured, “Showing off my work, were you?”

Yes, which was embarrassing in itself, but not as mortifying as being caught by him.

He repositioned the case in Zoe’s room, and her little girl proceeded to put Fluffy Pink Puff—her newest friend—on a shelf. Lily left her to it and almost ran into Calvin in the hall. He stood much too close, invading her space.

It disturbed her, but not in a creepy, being-stalked way. More as if he made her body aware of him. Much too aware of him, in a way that made her feel like a woman. A female with needs.

Stay strong.

“Thanks again for the bookcase.”

“You’re welcome. And my pleasure for getting rid of that moron, too. Let me know if he harasses you again.”

“He will, but you can’t come over each time. It will just make things worse.”

“Maybe you should try calling the cops. They have a thing called restraining orders, you know.”

She almost sighed in reply. “I do know. Restraining orders are great if you can get one. Unfortunately, Brock knows the law a little too well.”

“Then stop following the rule of the law.”

A part of her had begun to contemplate it. If Brock wasn’t going to fight fair, then maybe she shouldn’t either.

But how far am I willing to go?

She stood by the open door in clear message. “Have a good night.”

He walked past without stopping. “Lock the door when I leave,” was his parting reply.

Then he left, and he didn’t look back.

For the rest of that week, Lily didn’t see him—at least not in any meaningful way. The previous week, she had started her new job at the law firm. Week one was spent mostly in a fog, learning everything and adjusting to a new schedule. So much happened every day. At first, it proved overwhelming, but by the end of the week, she’d fallen into a rhythm. By the following week, a sense of satisfaction filled her as she remembered what it was like to be something other than a mother and a wife. Those were meaningful jobs, but along the way, she’d lost herself. Finally, she started finding herself again.

Smiling, too.

Working a cliché nine-to-four meant she bustled, leaving before eight a.m. so she could get Lily to school and then drive herself to work. Since the firm had many lawyers working late nights, they offered two receptionist positions. The first shift was the nine-to-four one, while the second shift was a late four p.m. to eleven, at which point, the company insisted everyone go home. The hours worked great for Lily, especially since she still had to run around after picking up Zoe from daycare. One night she didn’t make it home until almost seven. Groceries and other errands had to be done. A certain pair of golden arches made a hungry child happy, and Lily heartily enjoyed the crunchy fries.

The days during the week flew by, but she also got her downtime—her me time—daily. By eight o’clock, eight-thirty at the latest, Zoe was in bed, arm tucked around her worn Woobie, eyes drooping. Lily never could resist stroking her baby’s hair when she slept so peacefully like this. Every night she remembered why she couldn’t screw up.

Bedtime accomplished, Lily always spent a few minutes tidying up. It didn’t take long. By nine, she was ready to relax, and yet, before sitting on her couch, she always took a peek outside. Always snuck a look at his house.

Wondered what he did.

Wondered if he thought of her.

Wondered if all recently divorced women were as pathetic as she was. So pathetic, and yet she couldn’t quell this insane curiosity she had about him. Who was he?

And why do I crave him so badly? She couldn’t have explained it, couldn’t seem to quench it, so she settled for chocolate ice cream and watching television.

The week passed, and Friday arrived, but instead of elation at the coming weekend and a chance to maybe sleep in, her tummy clenched. The countdown to swap time with Brock had begun.

Despite his threat, Brock didn’t appear that week to take Zoe for dinner. He didn’t text or call either.

No contact. It should have been a relief. Lily fretted because she knew what this meant all too well. He simmered with rage. It brewed and bubbled under his skin. Once started, it wouldn’t leave until he got a chance to blow up.

Lily would have to be very careful. She made sure she was out on the front lawn with Lily when Brock arrived. The more witnesses, the better.

A part of her hoped he wouldn’t come, that they could be free of him. Not for the first time, Lily wondered how she could let Zoe go with him. What if he was one of those fathers who snapped?

The cops didn’t care about her gut feeling. Without proof, she couldn’t ban him from his daughter’s life according to the law.

Are they waiting for Brock to kill her?

How could anyone force her to do this?

Lily braced herself as Brock got out of his car.

Expecting a war, she was surprised when he greeted them both with a wide smile. “Hello, Lily, you’re looking well.” A brief, courteous greeting. No snark or name-calling. He didn’t even sport a scowl.

I don’t trust it.

The smile he tossed wasn’t aimed at Lily but someone shorter. Brock dropped to his knees and opened his arms. “There’s my ladybug. Give Daddy a hug.”

Zoe hesitated for a moment, and Lily clenched her fists, wanting to hold her back.

He’s her dad. He’s never done anything to her. Never hurt her.

Her mommy sense screamed at her.

Zoe skipped toward Brock, her sneakers lighting on each step. Lily looked away as they hugged. Seeing them together like that always hurt.

Glancing at Calvin’s house—because, hey, I’m outside. It’s not considered stalking now—she probably imagined the twitch of the curtain at the window.

Brock tucked their daughter into the car, chatting amiably. He waved goodbye to Lily. Smiled while doing it. Didn’t mouth a single profanity. The perfectly civil hand-off, and yet she didn’t trust it.

She stood watching a long time after the car was gone.

I should follow him. Because that wouldn’t look crazy in court.

I should have never let her go. If she refused, he’d just tear Zoe from her because the law was on his side.

I should have. I should have. I—

“No problems this time?”

The deep voice startled her since she’d not heard him approach. The damn man should wear a bell. She whirled. “Were you watching?” Had he seen her watching him?

He looked entirely too deadpan as he claimed, “A man never admits to stalking.”

“A man should never stalk next door to home. Doesn’t that make you a lazy stalker?”

The beard made it hard to see the more subtle twitches, but she caught the hint of a smile when he replied, “I see it more as being frugal with our planetary resources.”

She blinked.

He smiled. “Stalking close to home means no burning fossil fuels following you around.”

A snort left her. “So you’re saving the world by choosing to stalk me. How noble.” She teased him, and yet she found it oddly exciting he pretended the same fascination with her as she had with him.

“Noble as in a hero?” He made a face. “That’s just mean.”

“Would you prefer to be the villain?”

“For some, it’s a role that fits. And doesn’t the villain always get the girl?”

“I thought that was supposed to be the hero.”

No mistaking the distaste on his face. “Who wants to be a hero? They have to follow the rules all the time.”

“I’d say a better question is, who aspires to be a villain?”

“A boy with visions of high-tech gadgets and hot women.”

For some reason, this prompted her to ask, “What do you do for a living?” He wore a suit to work. Owned a nice car. She assumed he owned his home. He certainly kept it well maintained.

“Guess.”

“Accountant.”

He snorted.

“Banker?”

“I like money, but no.”

“Programmer?”

He winked. “Too well dressed for that.”

True. He had more of a Bond air about him than a pencil pusher. She threw something oddball at him. “Spy?”

“Not a spy but an assassin. An incredibly good one, too, I might add.”

She laughed. “I see someone watched the John Wick movie this past weekend.”

“You don’t think I’m a killer.” His lips curved, and she snickered louder.

“No, I totally believe it. But you obviously have a cover. What are you? Lawyer? Teacher?”

He winked. “Actually, given I travel a lot because of my work, I have a job as an international real estate broker.”

How utterly mundane and boring. It totally didn’t jive with her perception of him living on the edge. A pity he wasn’t really the assassin he claimed to be. She could have used one.

“How did you learn to wrestle?” Because she’d recognized the submission hold he’d subdued Brock with as something she used to see during those fighting matches Brock liked to watch on television.

“I learned everything I know in school.”

“That’s some kind of school. Our gym teacher usually made us walk the track.”

“Not run?”

She made a face. “Running was for real athletes who didn’t have two left feet. I was more of a bookworm.”

“I am the opposite. I love sports. The private academy I attended was big on all kinds of athletics.”

“Private school?” She eyed him up and down. “I can’t picture you wearing a uniform.”

“It was a place for juvenile delinquents to rehabilitate themselves. I graduated. With honors.”

A reformed bad boy. Did he seriously do it on purpose to make himself more attractive?

Stay away. He obviously fed her a line. I mean, look how easily he fed me the lie about being an assassin. He’d said it with such ease, as if it was the truth. The man couldn’t be trusted.

“Nice seeing you.” She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a question.

“Do you have plans for the evening?”

“No,” she answered without thinking. How pathetic did that sound? Friday night and nothing to do. Nothing but worry and hope for a text from Zoe.

“Would you care to accompany me tonight to dinner and a round of billiards?”

It took a moment to process. When it did, Lily rounded on him and stared a moment before asking slowly, “Are you asking me on a date?” She bit her tongue before she screamed “yes.” What happened to not trusting him?

What happened to not even giving a person a chance?

And hello, “Did you say dinner?”