Instead, I drew blocks. I drew the sand castles Charlie and I made at the beach when we went in mid-June. It was too cold to get in the water more than getting our ankles wet, but we spent the afternoon playing in the sand. Since it was so early in the season, the beach was mostly empty. It was a perfect day. We played until the sun started setting. I doodled the sun going down in the horizon behind the sand castles. I’m not much of an artist, but my pen starts to put little waves in the ocean below the horizon.
Charlie. Charlie. My Charlie. Everything’s going to be all right. Mama’s going to make it all right.
I repeat it over and over in my head until, without really thinking about it, I think I’m praying. I don’t really know what I think about the Great Beyond, but I’m praying. Please make everything turn out all right. Please let me keep my Charlie. Let this turn out right. Please.
Then, around three-fifty it all starts wrapping up. Both attorneys have worked through all their material. My heart starts to fire on all pistons.
This is it.
What everything’s been leading up to. The part where the judge makes the decision. My stomach’s queasier than ever. Damn it. Maybe the chocolate chip energy bar during lunch was a bad idea after all.
I stare at the judge across the room from us. Which way is he leaning? He’s just sitting there, shuffling papers. Do those creases in his forehead mean he’s disgruntled about something? Like he believes the other lawyer’s crap about me being a bad mom?
His expression looks severe, but then, wasn’t it that way this morning when we began? I can’t tell if it’s changed throughout the day.
I squint my eyes and try to look closer. Was that an eye twitch? What the hell does that mean? Was it a get-this-worthless-mother-out-of-my-courtroom eye spasm or an I-can’t-believe-this-deadbeat-dad-has-the-gall-to-try-this-crap twitch?
Don taps me on the shoulder and gives me a subtle shake of his head. That’s when I realize I’m leaned half over the table staring at the judge. Crap. That’s all I need. What if he’s about to make a decision in my favor and then he looks over and I seem like a coked-out freak, all but crawling up on the table?
I pull back and try to make my body loose. Calm. Competent. Mature. This is no big deal. Just the future of my very existence and whether or not they’re going to rip my soul out of my body by taking my son away.
Right. Not the most helpful thoughts if I’m trying to calm down.
Just when I think I’ve managed my shit, the judge starts speaking and I jump in my seat like a live wire was just jolted through my body.
He pauses mid-sentence and stares at me a moment before clearing his throat and continuing, “As I was saying, all evidence and affidavits will be taken into consideration in the case of Kinnock verses Cruise. A court-order decision will be sent to you via certified mail within thirty days and will be effective upon the date noted. In general, that will be the first date of the following month. Court dismissed.”
With that, the judge stands up and walks out of the room.
I turn to Don, open-mouthed.
“What just happened?” I hiss when I finally manage to find my voice. “I thought he was supposed to make the ruling.” I wave impotently toward the bench-like desk the judge was just sitting behind. “Today. That was the point. We come here with all the—” I continue waving my hands. Shit, now I can’t think of the word, when they’ve been saying it all day. I sputter for a second and then remember “—the affidavits and exhibits and then he’s supposed to make up his mind!”
Don holds up his hands, “I’m sorry. This often happens. I should have warned you. It’s only sometimes that the judges rule on the same day.” He cracks his knuckles. He shakes his head and puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. But this will all turn out okay. We have a solid case,” he assures. “They have no reason to deny you joint custody of your son. Nothing presented today is going to change that.”
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath of air. Can I hold on to believing that for a whole month?
Yes, goddammit, yes I can. Whoops. I wince. Sorry God. No more taking your name in vain. I’m turning over a new leaf.
And I won’t let that bastard David or his horrible wife get in my head. I open my eyes just in time to see the Shrew in question walking by with David, as ever, at her heels. She has her chin up, like she’s too precious to even smell the air down here with us regular mortals. Just thinking about the fact that these two get to be in my son’s life at all makes me want to hit something.
Instead, I ball my hand into a fist and turn away from them as I get out of my own chair. “I’m going to go home now,” I say over my shoulder to Don. “Thanks for everything you did today.”
“My pleasure. And please, don’t worry. Your son isn’t going anywhere.”
I nod and then stride for the door, making sure I’m leaving from the opposite exit as David and the Shrew.
That night, I get home and make a beeline for Charlie. I snuggle my baby boy extra tight in my arms as I rock him to sleep.
CHAPTER 16
“What will it take for you to say yes to come work for me?” Jackson asks on Friday over noodles at a Thai place that’s smack between the CubeThink offices and Gentry Tech. It’s five-fifteen and I hurried here right after work finished.
All week Jackson’s texted asking to see me, but I’ve been spending every spare minute I can with Charlie.
I’m only four days into my thirty-day wait and already it’s been absolutely torturous. A stupid voice inside me keeps repeating that the judge said he’d notify us within thirty days… which means that really, it could come any day. It doesn’t have to take the full thirty. And that thought has been driving me batshit.
I’m not the only one. On my eleventh call to Shannon today to see if a letter had come from the courthouse yet, she finally lost her temper with me. She told me she’d call if anything changed and that I was making her even more nervous than she already was. So in my quest to chill the hell out, I decided to accept Jackson’s invitation for an early dinner. We’ve been texting back and forth all week. I had mixed feelings about meeting up ever since my conversation with Shannon at the zoo, but now, seeing him again… it just feels so natural. So easy. Even if he does keep harping on the same subject.
I shake my head at him and smile. “Why is it so important to you that I come work for you? Is it some power trip? Wanting to know where I am at all times? ‘Cause that’s kinda creepy, buddy.” I’m only half joking. I’ve looked through the employment package he sent over and while it’s tempting, I’m trying to be smart for once. I feel like I need to choose either one or the other—a relationship with Jackson or a job at his company.
Then I bite my lip. Not that the situation at Gentry Tech will continue to be copacetic if I’m going to try to balance having a relationship with Jackson. Gentry still hasn’t made any more moves this week. I don’t imagine he will while he assumes I’ve got CubeThink’s business on the hook.
But once he finds out I don’t?
Jackson reaches over the table and takes my hand. “Calliope.” My attention shoots back to him, especially with all the tenderness that’s in his voice even when he just says my name. “I don’t want to control you.” His eyes darken and he tilts his head, “Well, not outside the bedroom at least.”
A spike of heat shoots down my body at the admission, but he’s already moving on.
“I want you working at CubeThink because I think you’ll be an asset to the company.” Then his mouth flattens. “I know you want complete honesty though, so yes, there is an alternative agenda in asking you to work for me. That doesn’t mean I don’t think you don’t deserve the position. At the same time, what you make of the job is all up to you. There won’t be any special favors or advancement because of your relationship or lack of one to me. I’m serious about disclosing our relationship to HR. There won’t be any favoritism. You’ll succeed or fail on your own merits.”
Everything he
’s saying sounds good. It’s everything I might want to hear. But I don’t miss how he glossed over the important point. I put down my chop sticks and sit up straighter. “So what’s the ulterior motive?”
Jackson’s jaw hardens slightly. “I don’t want you working for Gentry.”
My own back stiffens. “Because of whatever stupid rivalry the two of you have?” He’s assured me several times that our relationship, working or otherwise, isn’t about their enmity, yet this is what it always seems to circle back to.
“No, not because of a rivalry.” His eyes flash and his hand moves through the air in a cutting motion. “Because he’s dangerous. I hate that you’re under his thumb right now. I hate that he could hurt you to get to me.”
I balk. “Hurt me? He’s a bastard, sure, but—”
Jackson vehemently shakes his head. “You don’t know what I know about him. I told you some of our history. The way he manipulates people—the way he manipulated me. First to get me to spend time and collaborate with him. But then,” his jaw flexes, “to draw me into his games. He likes… he likes…” he pauses for a second before meeting my eyes. “Breaking things. People. Especially women. I can’t stand the thought of you spending one more day in that office with him.”
For a second, I’m speechless. I think of the mind games Gentry likes to play. But they aren’t that… serious… are they? My mind flashes to how worthless and stupid I felt after some of his initial stunts. He’s let up and I guess it all doesn’t seem that bad in retrospect. I’m not sure why I feel that way. Because I came each time? A wash of deep shame hits me at the memories. That was almost the worst part, hating how I felt like he could play my own body against me. What if he had kept it up, a long campaign of those kinds of games on a person?
My voice trembles a little when I ask. “What do you mean, break people?”
Jackson’s mouth turns down in disgust and if I’m not mistaken, with a touch of shame. “I don’t want to go into details. I don’t even want those things in your head. But I worry about you every day that you work there. I want you to quit without even giving two weeks’ notice. Once you’ve decided, don’t go back in at all, in fact. Write out your written notice and I’ll get it to him.”
I scoff out loud. Suddenly all of this seems like overreaction. Jackson’s overprotective. It’s sweet but unnecessary. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” As I say it, I realize how much I mean it. I’m done being the weak little girl who lets the big bad men decide her fate. After my realizations about what I let David do to me, and that right after escaping Mr. McIntyre… I shake my head. I’m done with being that girl. It’s time to take the reins and be in control of my own life.
It’s what I like about being around Jackson. He makes me feel stronger—but in my own right, not because I’m using him as a crutch. And that’s the way I want to keep it.
The lines around Jackson’s mouth tighten and he’s also shaking his head. “Don’t pretend anything about your position there has been professional. He’ll just treat you like he does all his—”
He cuts himself off, but the word left unsaid rings in the silence between us.
Whores.
Gentry’ll treat me like he does all his whores, was what Jackson meant to say.
The blow is slow to hit me because I’m so shocked. I know how other people have seen me all my life. Just the blonde with the big tits—obviously a slut. But Jackson? Oh my God, I’m such a stupid girl.
I stare back at him, bound and determined not to let him know how he just sliced and diced my insides up. Which makes me fucking furious. Because here I just fucking was, telling myself how I’d never let any man have any more fucking control over me. Jackson was the exception because he made me feel stronger in myself. But it was a crock of shit. He’s never seen me as strong at all. I’ve only been a victim to him. And believing in him has only given him power to hurt me. After everything, I’m still so stupid.
Well, not any more.
I smile, hating that my façade feels brittle like it could crack and show him my vulnerable underbelly.
“It’s good to know how you really feel.” I grab my bag and start to head out of the restaurant. I work to get more control over my emotions as I walk, but Jackson puts a hand on my elbow to stop me.
“Wait, Calliope, that’s not what I meant.”
I stop, but only to glare at the offending hand holding me back. He better not think manhandling me is a good move right now.
He curses and lets go of me.
Good move, pal.
I push through the door and out into the sunny afternoon. Jackson follows, but he doesn’t try to physically restrain me again.
“Just hear me out.”
I keep walking. I’ve gotten ahold of myself, at least a little. Anger works miracles. I grab it like a lifeline.
“God, you are such a frustrating woman!” Out of my periphery, I see him run a hand through his hair. It’s a strange sight to see from a man who’s usually so unruffled. Part of me wants to crack, to give him a chance to explain…
But then I remember he basically thinks of me as Gentry’s whore. It’s how he’ll always see me. I can’t even blame him.
It is, after all, true.
I mean, thank God our relationship or whatever the hell is between us never really got very far… God, really, it was just one amazing weekend together… But in such a short time we connected so deeply. My stomach sinks and the Thai noodles feel like they might come back up. I fight to hold onto anger, but it’s quickly sinking into something much less steady.
Regret.
Because I wish I could have a redo of the past two-and-a-half months. I wish I had met Jackson first. But then, if Jackson hadn’t first seen me with Gentry, would he have even been interested in me?
It will always be between us. He’ll never be able to lose his first introductory image of me as his rival’s pitiable whore. I’ll never be able to trust his motives for wanting to be with me. At one time in my life, it might have even been enough—just the idea that he wanted to save me. Because I genuinely don’t believe Jackson wants me just in order to punish Gentry.
But does Jackson have a savior complex? Hell yes, he does. I glance over at him, keeping pace beside me with a determined expression on his face even though he’s not saying anything.
He must take my look as encouragement, though, because he starts pleading his case again. “Callie, God, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it that way. You know I don’t look at you like that—”
I have to avert my gaze immediately, it hurts so much. He keeps talking but I tune him out. He just saw me as this wounded thing all along. He wanted to fix me. No, it wasn’t about rivalry for him.
But what about… my step stutters as a thought hits me suddenly…but what about on Gentry’s side?
Oh my God, was that what Gentry was doing all along? Dangling the one thing he knew his old adversary couldn’t resist—a vulnerable woman who Jackson would see as needing rescuing?
But why? What does Gentry get out of the whole thing? Did he really want to collaborate with Jackson’s company and think this was the only way to get Jackson on the hook? That seems far-fetched and way too convoluted a way to get a business deal accomplished. Besides, Jackson’s not taking the contract anyway. So maybe—
I shake my head. God, what do I think I am now, a conspiracy theorist? All of this is ridiculous. It’s far more likely that everything is what it appears to be on the surface, and I’m just stuck in a shit situation.
There is no grander plan. I just happened to fall for a guy who will always associate me as the girl who was hired because she’d let her boss diddle her under the table during a business lunch. I cringe but keep from ducking my head in shame. No more of that. I’m owning my past mistakes and moving on from here.
I was just foolish to ever think our Cinderella story could have a happy ending.
I walk faster. I need t
o get home.
To hold my baby.
To focus on what’s really important.
I’ve been heading toward the closest light rail station but stop when Jackson physically places his body right in front of me.
“I feel like you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying.” He sounds exasperated. He’s right, of course. He’s been talking, but I’ve been zoned out, my only focus on getting home. Away from him.
When I try to move around him, he again steps in front of me to block my path. Apparently he learned his lesson at the restaurant and doesn’t touch me at all. But this new tactic of not letting me pass is just as fucking annoying, maybe even more so because I know he’s doing it in a way that’s attempting to respect my boundaries.
“Let me drive you home, at least. My car’s right there.” He nods behind him to where his town car idles on the side of the busy street. God, has the driver been following us as I took off out of the restaurant? “You’ll get home much faster than taking public transit.”
I waver. I would get home faster, but I’m not sure I can spend any more time in Jackson’s presence. Smelling his aftershave. Why does he have to smell so good?
I know my reasoning is solid. That we can’t be together. It’ll never work after the way we began.
“Please, Calliope. At least give me the peace of mind that I got you home safely.” His voice is soft.
Gah! I can’t decide if it rankles that Jackson thinks it’s his job to take care of me or if it’s terribly sweet. I’ve been the one shouldering all the responsibility for taking care of myself and Charlie for so long. The strong and self-reliant thing to do would be to say screw him and take public transit. Right? Or maybe there’s a difference between stubborn pride and self-reliance.
I sigh. Lord, I’m so tired. I look at his town car.
Fuck it. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I’m still working through the thorny path of making my own way in the world.
Crush Me Page 23
