CHAPTER FOUR
Britta spends the rest of the afternoon trying to ignore me. I lay off teasing her because she obviously has a lot on her mind. Watching her eat me up with her hungry little stare was fun and informational. But I’ve given her a reminder of the crazy-strong pull between us. Now I have to focus on Jamie and finagling a way to meet him. Then I’ll work on a future with his mother.
By four, we manage to clear out all the binders and box them up. Maxon only puts up a small fight when I tell him I’ve arranged for a document imaging and management company to haul the paperwork away in the morning. With his grudging consent, I also post the shelving on Craigslist and I’m not surprised to start getting inquiries within minutes.
As I’m organizing the long table like a desk, Maxon strolls in and shuts the door behind him. “Looking good. Wow, I’d forgotten how much light comes through these windows.”
“Yeah, caveman. The chiseling on stone tablets is so two millennia ago.”
“Ha ha.” He sends me a sour glare. “When it comes to record keeping, I’m particular.”
“Dude, you were one binder short of starring in an episode of Hoarders.”
“At least I had my documentation at my fingertips and I didn’t have to call someone else to look up a file.”
“Which works out great…unless there’s a fire or a flood.”
Maxon doesn’t have a comeback for that. “Thanks for your analysis, Chicken Little. Looks like you’re all settled in. Would you rather have your own desk?”
“Eventually. There’s no rush. This works for now.”
“Except Britta might want her dining room table back. When we turned this into our ‘war room’ a couple of weeks ago, she let us borrow it.”
I glance at her across the office. She’s gathering her things at her desk, her profile tense. She’s trying not to look my way, even though I’m wearing my shirt again…mostly.
“She didn’t tell me it belonged to her.” But the wheels in my head are already turning. She’ll get her table back. In fact, I’ll be more than happy to deliver it to her house myself.
My brother sends me a suspicious stare. “That smile scares me.”
“What?” I ask as innocently as I’m capable of sounding. “I’m just thinking of ways to be helpful.”
“And you have no other motive. Right…” Maxon grunts. “Did the time alone with her this afternoon help you two?”
I shrug. “I think. We’ll see. Thanks for being there during Jamie’s birth.”
He nods. “I was happy to. And don’t change the subject. What’s the plan running around in your head? Don’t insult me by saying you don’t have one.”
Britta turns off her computer and yanks one of her desk drawers open, retrieving her red purse. After gathering up her bridal magazines and tape flags, she approaches Rob and says something that makes him smile. Then she sends a wave in my brother’s general direction and doesn’t acknowledge me.
I look at my phone. It’s five fifteen.
“Bye, angel,” I yank the door open and call across the office to her.
She shuts the door behind her without replying.
Through the window, I watch her pull out of the lot in her white family sedan and onto the street. “Jamie has a playdate with a kid in their neighborhood. Tell me everything you know about where she might take him.”
“You going to crash and see Jamie?”
Smart question. “I have to. Even if I don’t get to meet him, the fact that I’ve never clapped eyes on my own son is killing me.”
Maxon groans. “I know that sucks, but you’ve got to stop trying to make me a Judas.”
“Think of it as completing your nephew’s—and your brother’s—family. I won’t be able to share my life with them if I don’t have your help, man.”
He lets loose a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. “You owe me so big, and I expect you to grovel to Keeley on my behalf so you can help complete your brother’s family in return.”
“Done.” My last conversation with Keeley seemed as if her earlier leaning toward staying in Phoenix was beginning to lean back the other way. A few assurances that my brother is very seriously in love with her might help make up her mind.
Maxon smiles like he thinks he’s won. I let him believe that. I love them both and would have done everything possible to make them happy anyway.
“You didn’t hear this from me…” he mutters in low tones. “But Britta keeps a calendar of appointments in her desk and usually jots down addresses.”
I clap my brother on the shoulder. “You’re my hero.”
It takes me less than two minutes of prowling through her workspace to find what I’m looking for. Rob is too wrapped up in whatever he’s doing to care. Maxon pretends to look the other way. It’s perfect.
With a dash back into my office, I sweep up my keys and phone, then nod in my brother’s direction. “Talk to you later, man.”
“Play nice,” he calls to my retreating back.
I wave without committing to that. Maxon knows me well, so knows I’m not playing at all.
The Hawaiian sunshine is bright but waning as I fight the island’s version of rush-hour traffic south. A glance at the song titles on the case Keeley left me warns me that I should avoid more musical selections designed to rip my guts out—at least for now. I don’t need that messing with my head just before I see Jamie.
By six twenty, I reach the park not far from Britta’s house and catch a glimpse of the playground. The sun has nearly set when I pull my Porsche into a spot on the far side of the lot, hiding between a big truck and a giant SUV.
After locking up, I hang out against the fence in the shade beneath a few palms. With a view of both the road and the parking area, I kick back.
Two minutes later, Britta pulls up. She hustles out of the car, slinging the handles of a woven beach bag over one shoulder, and shoves a giant bottle of water inside it. She’s wearing tight black workout pants and a flowing shirt that matches her eyes. It’s a V-neck with embroidery down the front and along the sides. It hugs her body and ends at her hips. And I can’t stop staring.
Jesus… She is still the sexiest woman on the planet to me.
Finally, she opens the back door of her car and leans in. She must be unbuckling the car seat. I find myself tensing, holding my breath.
I’m going to lay eyes on my son.
She emerges from the back of the vehicle, holding the boy against her. He lays his mop of dark hair on her shoulder, body limp, eyes closed. I scan him up and down, wishing I was closer, that I could see him more clearly, hold him myself. From the bit I can discern, he’s… I don’t even have words. Beautiful. Amazing. Everything I didn’t know I wanted.
My heart melts. Taking in this moment is like trying to absorb a shock, understand an illusion, and decipher a miracle all at once.
He’s bigger than I thought a kid a few months shy of three would be. But I was a big kid, too. Tall and strapping, especially in adolescence. Blue flip-flops shield big feet that dangle beside Britta’s thighs. They’re obviously long, too, as are his legs and arms. The picture Maxon showed me the night we met up didn’t reveal him wearing a cast, but Jamie has a blue one covering most of his left hand and forearm. I’ll be sure to find out about that ASAP. He’s also wearing blue shorts and a tan shirt with some print I can’t discern at this distance.
She kisses Jamie’s forehead and strokes his hair as she makes their way toward a nearby bench. On one side of the area is an empty playground. On the other is a vendor closing up shop after a day of selling sno-cones. At a distance, I follow a path along the far side of the lot, thankful for the shadow. Britta is too distracted to see me anyway as she sits on a bench perched outside the sandy area and waits, gently rocking our son.
I’m itching to interact with Jamie. I’ve known about him for twenty hours and I feel as if I should have met him at least nineteen ago. But if I push Britta, she’ll get stubborn, like that time she refused to toss out the houseplant I inadvertently killed. She waited for me to take responsibility for the greenery, dig it up, and replace it. She asked me to take care of it more than once. I didn’t have time. No, I didn’t make time.
I took her for granted. A lot.
That truth smacks me between the eyes. With a curse under my breath, I examine my year with Britta through the lens of more mature eyes. Deep down, I knew I hadn’t been great to her. But back then, I hadn’t realized what a steaming asshole my dad is or that the way he treats people isn’t something I should emulate if I want to keep others in my life. But I was raised to believe that I’d eventually live a life like him and the world would revolve around me.
And what a prick I was.
Jamie’s birth aside, I think specifically about the times I didn’t come through for Britta—the dinners I worked through, the birthday I nearly forgot, the Valentine’s Day I half-assed because I didn’t see myself as the romantic sort.
Where does that leave me now? Staring at my kid across a park and wishing I had the right to hug him tight and play with him just to see him smile while I hold Britta’s hand and we laugh at his antics.
For now, I have to be satisfied with watching from afar. I feel like a stalker, but that doesn’t matter. At least I’ve seen my son.
Behind me, I hear a car pulling into the lot. Britta turns toward the sound. I slouch behind a tree and watch a woman emerge from her minivan with a boy who’s smaller than Jamie. Once he peels out of his car seat, his mother, who looks harried, has to grab his arm to prevent him from darting across the blacktop to reach the playground.
With a huff, the brunette picks up her son. Britta approaches, a still-sleepy Jamie in tow. At the edge of the sand, the women start chatting. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the brunette ruffles my son’s hair. The other boy hugs Britta’s thigh, then seemingly ecstatic they have the playground to themselves, he runs to the slide. Suddenly, Jamie wriggles out of Britta’s grip and dashes off after the little guy as if he wasn’t dead-ass asleep three minutes ago.
As they reach the first rung of the ladder, the park’s overhead lights turn on, illuminating the area with a megawatt LED glow. Suddenly, I can see every expression on my son’s face—his smile and little white teeth, the small blade of a nose that will someday look more like mine. And my chin, square and prominent and stubborn.
It hits me that Jamie is the most amazing blend of me and Britta.
I hug the tree to stay upright as his giggle fills the evening while he stands at the top of the slide, pumping his little fists in the air like he’s a champion. Normally, I’m a cynical bastard, but I can’t stop the smile that creases my face. Britta barks something at him—probably a demand that he sit before he falls—and he scrambles to his butt and pushes off, gliding down the long, yellow slide with a howl of laughter.
I can’t remember ever being as happy as my son seems right now. I’m so fucking grateful to Britta for giving him the childhood I never had.
His friend follows him to the ground before they chase each other around the sand. When they body slam onto nearby swings, the moms spring into action and sit them down properly before pushing them gently. Soon it’s clear that Britta is holding Jamie back. He’s trying to soar in the air, shouting “higher!”
He’s a daredevil—something else he inherited from me.
I’m flabbergasted to see so much of myself in my son, given the fact we’ve never met. I’m also stunned by the incredible responsibility of being a parent. I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, but I’m acutely aware that if I intend to be around the boy in the future, I’ll influence him, whether I mean to or not. I want to show him only the best parts of me. I want to be the kind of father he can look up to, the kind I always wished for.
It may sound weird because Jamie is still a toddler, but I want my son to be proud of me.
I also better understand Britta’s resistance to letting me meet my son. She doesn’t know who I am today. She just remembers the guy who seduced her in the office, the jerk who fixated on fantasy football with my brother most of our one Christmas Day together, the asshole who didn’t take her out for New Year’s because I’d worked a crazy fucking week after tourists suddenly decided they wanted a Maui house right now and stayed glued to my side for twenty hours straight until they got one.
At the time, I’d never seen a man put his woman first. It sounds like a lousy excuse now, but that’s the only reason I have for being such a douchebag to Britta. My dad wasn’t faithful or nice for a day of his marriage to my mother, not that she’s any saint. Probably the reason they’re getting divorced. Maxon was a butt to Tiffanii the whole two years they were together. Though, in fairness, his attitude was probably a defense mechanism because she was a bitch to everyone. I thought being faithful to Britta meant I was a good guy. At the time, the important things—consideration, empathy, compromise—didn’t register.
I’m grateful Keeley convinced me to become a better human being over the last few years. I’m not perfect. I have a lot of anger. Sometimes, I still slip into old patterns…but I’m trying. Now I have to convince Britta I’ll be a model husband and father.
That’s hard to do when she’ll barely talk to me and refuses to let me interact with our child.
The moms watch their little boys play for the next twenty minutes. Then Jamie charges to the monkey bars and clambers up the three steps to reach the rung above his head. Despite his cast, he swings across with surprising speed and strength. The other boy follows as quickly as he can but has only made it halfway by the time Jamie has jumped down, run around, and is dangling from the first handhold again.
He’s athletic, for sure. Like me, he’s probably never met a ball he didn’t like. Will he also hike, surf, scuba, kayak, and—I gulp—skydive? Okay, I haven’t even officially met this kid and already I’m compelled to make sure he learns limits and safety…and tries exercising some sanity when it comes to sports. I never did and I had a lot of broken bones in my youth to show for it. Did some crazy stunt of his result in the cast he’s wearing?
On the third trip across the monkey bars, the other kid rubs at his hands and seems to lose interest. Not Jamie. He darts over to the ladder for a fourth trek.
But instead of working lightning fast from one rung to the next again, he kicks a leg up and throws it over the top bar.
“Jamie!” Britta calls as she dumps her bottle of water in her bag and runs to him, worry carved into her face.
The little rascal ignores her and swings the other leg over the first handhold, then yanks himself up until he’s sitting on top of the monkey bars—ten feet in the air.
My heart stutters.
“Come here!” She holds out her arms to him, jumping up to snag him down, but he’s out of her reach. “This minute, young man.”
Jamie gives her a stubborn shake of his head.
When Britta runs for the ladder to snatch him, he scrambles on hands and knees to the middle of the apparatus. The other mom lingers underneath him, awkwardly holding out her arms in case Jamie falls, but she’s shorter than Britta. She’s also a waif. I’m not convinced she could catch a falling hunk of boy.
Then my son stands, wobbling on two different bars, and holds out his arms like he’s pretending he’s got wings.
I’m not going to lie. My heart flat stops because I know what’s coming next. He’s my kid, and I did roughly the same thing when I wasn’t much older.
Yeah, he’s going to jump.
So I’ve got a fucking dilemma. Keep my expedition to the park a secret or save Jamie?
No contest.
I push away from the tree and take off, sprinting across the walkway, the patch of grass, then leap onto the sand itself. I skid to a stop under Jamie just as the boy bends his little legs and leaps off the monkey bars like he’s Superman.
A split second later, he lands in my arms with a chest-thumping thud. He’s breathing hard when he freezes and blinks in surprise.
I look at him. He looks back at me.
Even though my heart is pounding and I feel Britta’s shock coming at me in waves, I’m savoring this moment because I’m finally holding my son.
God, I’m instantly in love.
“You okay, little man?” I ask him.
It’s almost painful to see how much he looks like me. Pictures were one thing, but our resemblance is more pronounced in person. He has his mother’s eyes. He’s also got three freckles on his nose, which he’s scrunching. He’s trying not to pout, but his little lip sticks out as he stares at me in challenge. He’s pissed that I didn’t let him finish his “flight.”
It’s not funny at all but I find myself smiling at him.
“Jamie!” Britta calls as she scrambles down the ladder, then rushes over to us. She grabs my son from my grip and pulls him in for a tight squeeze, kissing his forehead one moment, then shooting me a stunned stare the next. “What are you doing here?”
“Apparently I’m saving our son.”
“You have no right,” she all but hisses.
To say that aloud? To be here? To keep him from a concussion?
I have to work hard not to growl at her. “But aren’t you glad I was?”
Britta’s stare becomes a glare. She casts an embarrassed glance over to the other mom, whose gaze ping-pongs between me and Britta. She’s not trying to eavesdrop, but she can hardly help overhearing since we’re all standing mere feet apart. I wince.
Okay, I could have handled that better and kept our business a tad more private. On the other hand, I’m not hiding the fact that I’m Jamie’s father and I plan to be a part of his life. Britta’s friends will eventually know, too. Why not start now?
“In this instance, yes. Thank you,” she says curtly, then turns to the brunette. “Sorry to cut this short. I think we need to go.”
Is she fucking serious? I’ve barely seen Jamie.
“Sure. We should go, too.” Scooping up her son, the other woman gives me a sidelong once-over and steps away as if I somehow scare her.
I try to smooth my expression. I’ve been told I can look fierce as a son of a bitch, and the last thing I want to do is intimidate the five-foot-nothing mom of a toddler who’s friends with my son. “Griffin Reed.” I hold out my hand to Britta’s gal pal. “Nice to meet you.”
Slowly, she extends her hand, sending a speculative stare between Britta and me. “Emily Marks. Same. I’m glad you were here to save Jamie.”
The woman looks like she’s trying damn hard to figure out why I’ve so suddenly dashed—literally—into the situation.
Britta pulls Jamie in tighter against her. He turns into a squirming ball of boy, all arms and legs, determined to have his freedom…and probably climb the monkey bars again.
“I’ll call you later, Emily,” she tells her friend as she tries desperately to get Jamie under control so they can leave.
“Talk to you then.” The woman turns to go, then has second thoughts. “I didn’t know Jamie’s dad was in the picture. Anton took off when he found out I was pregnant. You’re lucky.” Then she adjusts the boy on her hip. “Wave good-bye, Cody.”
He does so without being told twice. He’s wholly unlike Jamie, who seems as strong-willed as I am.
Emily and the toddler in cowboy boots depart, leaving me alone with Britta, who’s still trying to contain Jamie. When his struggle to escape nearly has him punching her in the face, I snatch the boy and make sure Britta is out of the range of my son’s swinging arms. It’s like trying to hold a herd of angry cats.
“Give him back to me,” she insists.
“Once he’s calm,” I promise, then turn all my attention to Jamie. “Hey. Let’s calm down. What’s wrong?”
“Let go. I jump!”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “That’s dangerous, and you scared your mother. Don’t do that again.”
“Who you?” he challenges me with a fierce little frown.
I’ll tell him the truth soon. He may have overheard the conversation between the adults tonight, but he clearly didn’t understand. Or wasn’t really listening. Either way, I’m slightly relieved. Sure, it sucks waiting to hear him acknowledge that I’m his father, but I’d rather do this right.
“I’m someone who cares very much if you get hurt. So does your mom. You don’t want to see her upset, do you?”
“No.” His glum little frown tugs at my heart.
“Or crying?”
The frown deepens. “No.”
“Then listen to her next time or you and I might have to exchange more words, Jamie. Do you understand?”
He doesn’t know me at all, but he gives me a slow bob of his head. “Okay.”
“Good.” I hug him tight again, vowing it won’t be the last time. “Go back to your mom and be a good boy. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.” His heavy sigh sounds a lot like a teenager who’s been asked to clean his room.
“That’s a good man. Give your mother a hug.” I return him to Britta.
She takes the boy gratefully and hugs him tighter than ever, shooting me a glance that asks who are you? “Why did you come here?”
I send her a reproving stare. “Really? You have to ask?”
Britta swallows—her anger, her pride—and blanks her face. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”
“Watched him fall.” I smile wryly. “I did something similar at his age and broke my ankle. Is that how he broke his arm?”
“He didn’t, just got a finger stuck in a door at school. Normally, it would require a simple splint, but asking a toddler to leave the dressing alone…” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m glad that’s all it was.”
“Me, too. You have no idea. He’s gotten so big so quickly. He’s never not listened to me like that. I’m still shocked.”
“You know me, and you’re wondering why he’s headstrong?”
She tsks and shakes her head. “Good point. The last three months have been really hard. I thought I’d escaped the terrible twos, but suddenly…”
“He’s willful? He bucks authority? He does crazy things for a thrill?”
“Yeah. I don’t…” She frowns. “He was such a good baby, too. Never sick. Rarely cried. Liked to eat and sleep, enjoyed his playtime and his baths. He loves it when I read to him. He never minds his car seat but…”
“This is his first step to becoming a man.”
Britta looks horrified. “What are you talking about? He’s not even three.”
“Independence was always a big thing for me. I couldn’t wait to grow up, try new things, be my own person.” I shrug.
“I’m not ready for that. He’s a still a baby.”
Not so much. And certainly not for long. It hits me that she’s going to need help as he gets bigger and bigger. The last thing I want is her struggling to give him the boundaries he’ll require. Or for Makaio to provide them.
Tamping down anger at that thought, I can’t resist touching Jamie again, smoothing my palm over his crown. “But growing every day.”
“I remember when he fit easily into my arms. Now he’s over three feet tall. His pediatrician thinks he’ll be about six foot five when he’s full-grown.” Britta sounds distressed by that fact.
I take a chance and cup her shoulder. “If you let me, I’ll help you every step of the way.”
That shuts her down instantly. “We need to go. I have to feed Jamie dinner.”
When Britta turns away and scoops up her bag, I follow. “I’ll take you two out to eat.”
“No, thank you. I defrosted pork chops.”
“Work with me here. I’m late to acknowledge that I’m a father.” I grab her arm and turn her to face me, grateful that Jamie seems focused on some other kids just arriving at the park. “But I won’t leave again.”
“I don’t want to talk about this now.” She pulls out of my grip and rushes toward her car again. “It’s too soon, too complicated. You made your choice a long time ago, and—”
“I hurt you. And I’m more sorry than you think I’m capable of. I’ll tell you that every day until you believe me. But the only reason to keep us apart”—I gesture to Jaime—“is because you’re afraid of me or you’re feeling spiteful. I’ve never known you to be vindictive or mean, angel.”
“Don’t call me that.” She fumbles inside her bag for the keys to her car.
I know why she’s demurring, but she looks like an angel to me. “Don’t leave yet. When can I see him again?”
She finds the shiny key ring and presses the fob. Her hands are shaking. “I have to think about it. I’ll see you Monday at work.”
I debate whether I should tell her I have an appointment in the morning with a former client who happens to be a family law attorney. That’s probably the only reason he agreed to see me on a Saturday. But I keep silent. It’s not a threat. I simply want to know my rights—and how I go about getting more. In fact, as many as possible.
When she struggles to open the rear passenger door, I nudge her hand aside and jerk it wide. I could let her put Jamie in his car seat, but this may be my last time to hold him for a while, so I take him from Britta’s arms and give him a quick squeeze. Thank goodness he’s not fighting me. It feels so good to just touch him, like a part of me was missing but I’ve suddenly found it.
Then again, that’s how I feel every time I look at Britta.
“Give him back to me,” she huffs.
By the time she’s finished her sentence, I’ve already set him in his car seat and ruffled his hair.
“I’m just strapping him in,” I assure her.
Jamie stares at me uncertainly. I smile back. I know some kids are weird about strangers—as they probably should be. But I can’t deny that I want Jamie to like me. I’m disappointed our first conversation is me scolding him for his acrobatics. But it probably won’t be the last such conversation. I wish we’d had more time to bond. I’m hoping that, after today, we’ll have the rest of our lives to get to know each other, so he can love me the way I already love him.
But for now, my time with him has run out.
When I turn my attention to securing him safely in his car seat, I encounter a tangle of buckles and straps…and I’ve got no idea what the hell to do.
After a little fumbling, I manage to fasten the device appropriately. I think.
“Is it supposed to be this tight? He can’t move.” I step back from the open car door so Britta can stick her head in.
She murmurs something to Jamie, then checks over my work. “Yes. That way he can’t go anywhere in case we get in an accident.”
That makes sense, I guess, but I don’t know how this contraption doesn’t give him claustrophobia. “Can I see him tomorrow? Please.”
She bites her lip. “I have a ton of housework to do.”
“I’ll drive over and pick him up. I’ll bring him here to—”
“Absolutely not.” She shuts the rear door and stands in front of it protectively. “You’re not taking Jamie anywhere unsupervised.”
“I would never harm him,” I protest.
I’m actually hurt. Britta knows me. I may have been a lousy boyfriend in the past, but I’m not violent or mean. I’m not the kind of guy who would kidnap him from his mother. I simply want to be with him.
“You don’t know anything about Jamie,” she points out. “He has likes and dislikes. He has a food allergy. You can’t…” She shakes her head so vehemently she doesn’t finish her sentence.
She’s getting worked up and digging in her heels, so I need to back off. It’s something she did once or twice when we were together. But my angel has grown more spine in our time apart. She’s spicier.
I like it.
“Or I can take him out in your backyard while you keep an eye on us. Whatever makes you comfortable. But you’ve spent his whole life with him. I’ve had less than five minutes. C’mon…”
She presses her lips together in thought. Britta is a reasonable woman deep down. She wants to accommodate. She dislikes strife. I have hope.
“What am I supposed to tell him?” she whispers. “You can’t just show up and be his buddy.”
“I was thinking we’d tell him the truth.”
Britta grips her car keys and trots around the back of her vehicle. I don’t want to, and it’s utterly the wrong time, but I can’t avoid noticing that her ass looks fantastic in those exercise pants.
Then I realize she’s making a mad dash for the driver’s seat of her car. “Don’t push me, Griff.”
I follow, thinking of several things I could point out: I’m not going away, a boy needs his father, letting me see Jamie is only fair. She won’t care about any of that. That’s my boo-hoo bullshit. I’m a sales guy, so I know better than to expect that to matter to her. I might not be the top producer on the island—that distinction goes to my brother—but I run a fucking close second. What I have to tell her is how she’ll benefit if I become a part of our son’s life. Besides, of course, the fact I’m going to give her the most amazing pleasure for the rest of our days. She’s not ready to hear that.
“I can help you with him, Britta. You said it yourself; he’s growing fast. That stunt he pulled today might be the first, but it won’t be the last. He’ll need someone who understands what it’s like not to have a healthy fear of gravity and can anticipate when he might exercise his lack of common sense. I’ve got two decades of that experience. You’ve never had an incautious day in your life. I can talk to him, temper him, guide him. I—”
She’s already sliding into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. I hear it lock as she starts the engine.
Britta cracks the tinted window enough to look at me. “I’ll think about letting you see him again and advise you on Monday. Bye.”
Then she’s slinging her way out of her parking space and squealing across the lot, flashing taillights as she heads to the open road, taking my son and my potential for happiness with her.
Yeah, trying to open a dialogue, empathizing, and working through it like a reasonable guy didn’t go well. Fuck. Though Keeley put me in touch with my emotions, sometimes they frustrate me because they aren’t useful. But what I do know? Good strategy sometimes calls for relentlessness. Britta doesn’t yet know even half the persistence and liquid savagery running through my veins.
But she will.