Sawyer
I walked back to the Victorian alone, cursing myself for letting the whole night fall apart; the ruination of what had the makings of a perfect night was a bitter pill I couldn’t swallow. I’d never let myself care about a woman before. My mother’s death made caring too much seem like a dangerous proposition. I already lived with the constant fear Molly would show up any minute and try to fight me for Olivia. That kind of strain on my heart was already too much, but Darlene…
“Fuck,” I muttered.
She’d gotten past every one of my usual defenses so now the mere idea of her with another man felt like a goddamn knife in my chest.
She was upset and you walked away.
Like an instinct, the steely cage around my heart was resurrecting itself, reforming minute by minute. I’d been stupidly optimistic, I told myself. Taken my eye off the prize and got knocked on my ass for it.
Henrietta had planned to keep Olivia all night, but I went and got her, muttering some excuse about Darlene being under the weather and having to cancel.
I took my daughter home, fed her dinner, and put her to bed.
“Just you and me,” I told her, brushing the brown curls from her eyes as she drifted to sleep. “I’m going to take care of you, Livvie. We’re almost at the finish line, aren’t we?”
I put on sleep pants and a T-shirt, and sat at my desk, my study materials arrayed in front of me. I had one last final, Judge Miller’s assignment, and the damn bar exam. I didn’t need any more distractions.
I tried to focus on my studies, but my stupid heart felt bruised, and when I heard her footsteps on the stairs going up, I fought the urge to bolt out of my chair and confront Darlene. Or comfort her. I didn’t know which.
I did neither.
“Fuck me,” I muttered.
I opened my laptop to the document I’d begun for Judge Miller’s assignment when writing by hand wasn’t working. Typing didn’t work either.
He wanted life. The brightest burst of life I knew was right above me, and I was down here, afraid of how much I wanted to be with her, knowing all too well how the things—and people—we care about most can vanish right before our eyes.
I went to bed and tossed all night.
The next morning, I dragged myself through the motions of getting Olivia and myself ready for the day.
“Everything all right, querido?” Elena asked when I dropped Livvie off.
“Fine,” I said. I kissed my daughter. “Be good. I love you.”
“Wuv, Daddy,” Olivia said. From Elena’s arms she pressed her palm to her mouth and then flung her arm spastically to blow me a kiss.
My stung as I turned to go.
She’s the most important thing in the world. Focus on her.
The idea of having more happiness than that would have to wait.
I stepped outside the front of the Victorian and started down the stairs. A silver sedan was parked at the curb in front. Before I took one step, the door opened and a man looking to be in his early fifties stepped out. He straightened his pale blue, seersucker suit jacket. He looked like he just stepped off a yacht.
“Sawyer Haas?”
I froze. “Yes.”
“A moment.”
The man opened the back door of the sedan and an older couple, both looking to be in their mid-sixties stepped out. The man wore khaki pants and a white button-down shirt, the woman in a lavender dress. The June sunshine glinted off his gold Rolex and sparkled in diamond studs in her ears. They stood hand in hand on the sidewalk, nervous smiles on their faces.
“Hello,” the man said. “My name is Gerald Abbott and this is my wife, Alice. We’re Molly’s parents.”
The blood drained from my face.
Molly’s parents. Molly. She’s here. She’s back and now—
“This is our attorney, Mr. Holloway,” the woman, Alice said, indicating the man in the dark suit.
“Mr. Haas.” Mr. Holloway extended his hand to me.
They stood at the bottom of the three stairs, me at the top. I stared back without taking it.
“What do you want?”
Gerald and Alice exchanged grief-stricken looks, a shared pain that only they knew. They couldn’t speak, so their attorney spoke for them.
“Molly has unfortunately passed way,” Holloway said.
I went cold all over while breaking into a sweat at the same time, as my body tried to process the thousand conflicting emotions that shot through me at those words.
“She’s…dead?”
He nodded. “Yes. A car accident.”
Alice slipped her hand into Gerald’s and they exchanged a pained look that was brief but went miles deep.
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
“When?” I choked out.
“Six months ago.”
My eyes darted between Gerald and Alice Abbott, and I felt like I couldn’t move; shouldn’t move, from the front stoop of the house. I had to guard it. Because Olivia was inside and they were here.
“We’re here,” Holloway said, each word like a knife in my chest, “to talk about the custody arrangements for Molly’s daughter—my clients’ granddaughter—Olivia Abbott.”