by Tia Louise
“Oh my God, you’re right.” She takes off jogging at once, and I groan as I break into a run after her. My Italian leather slip-ons are not designed for sprinting.
As soon as I round the corner, my chest relaxes. Oliver is standing on a sculpted-stucco rock formation, gazing into a pen of black panthers.
“Look at them. They’re fierce. Wakanda forever!” He pumps a fist in the air, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Joselyn reads my expression. “Seriously? You don’t know Black Panther?”
“In case you missed it, I don’t have children.”
“Still, it was groundbreaking. Revolutionary. An all-black Marvel movie? It kicked ass.”
“Marvel… that’s the comic book franchise? I prefer more sophisticated films.” I lift my chin. “He’s getting too far ahead again.”
She points back at me as she takes off after him. “That’s where you’re wrong. The Marvel cinematic universe is deeply complex. People dismiss it because of all the explosions, but the movies ask real, philosophical questions. They comment on the state of the world…”
“Yes, I’m sure they’re art house quality. Would you please?” I motion towards our escaping little ward, and she shakes her gorgeous head, taking off after him.
We’re finally back together at the zebra exhibit, and I can’t resist. “Black on white or white on black?”
Joselyn musses Oliver’s hair. “What do you think, Ollie? Are they black stripes on white or white stripes on black?”
The little boy stands on the edge of the fence watching the small horses enraptured. “I think it’s white on black.”
“They have so much white, though.” Joselyn’s nose wrinkles, and I like seeing her relaxed and happy. “My vote is for black on white.”
An ostrich walks slowly between two of the striped horses, lifting its powerful legs and replacing them slowly, turning its head jerkily.
Oliver is transfixed. “They’re like robots.”
We watch a little longer before turning away and entering the aquatic zone, and Joselyn claps her hands. “This is where the frogs are, Ollie!”
He jumps and starts to run, but she grabs him fast. “You can’t leave us in here. I need you to stay where I can see you, okay?”
The little boy blinks a few times before nodding obediently, and to his credit, he’s at our side the remainder of the trip—which tells me all I need to know about how much he knows about their situation.
“I thought you didn’t like frogs.” I arch an eyebrow, and she waves me away.
“It’s for a good cause.”
We see alligators, enormous green pythons, tree frogs, and of course, an adorable koala bear baby. It’s a full afternoon of walking—or in Oliver’s case, running, jumping, and climbing—and by the time we’re driving back to my place, he’s out cold on the backseat of my “cool space car,” as he calls it. Something to do with the inventor sending bored billionaires into space.
Joselyn looks up at me from where she’s sitting quietly in the passenger’s seat. “Good work today. You couldn’t have been sweeter to him, and I think it’s so important for him to see a nice man outside of the teachers at his school.”
Her words provoke a sad nostalgia, but I force a smile. “It was a fun day.”
She squints an eye at me. “Why do I feel like you’re not telling me something?”
It’s uncanny how this woman can read my expressions. I’m accustomed to watching people, reading them for any change, any indication I need to take control of the situation. It’s a reflex honed after years of survival, and I’m not used to it being turned on me.
“It’s possible I have more in common with Oliver than you know.”
“In what way?” Her brow furrows, and concern fills her pretty eyes.
My throat constricts, and a flight response seizes me. I’ve cracked the door on a past I locked away long ago, and I’m not planning to revisit it. I don’t know what the hell made me do it, and knowing Joselyn, she won’t let it go.
Thankfully, Oliver interrupts our conversation. “Can we get ice cream?”
“Of course.” I lift my chin, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I can check in with Julian and see if he can whip something up for us after dinner.”
“Does Mr. Julian make your food every day?” His little brow furrows like it’s a wholly new concept.
“Not every day. He usually cooks dinner three days a week, and I cover the rest with leftovers or takeout.”
“Don’t you know how to cook for yourself?”
I see Joselyn covering her mouth, and I shake my head. “I hate to disappoint you, but my culinary skills are rather limited.”
“What’s cuuli…” Oliver trails off attempting to repeat me.
“Culinary means of or for cooking.”
“So you can cook some things?”
My lips quirk. He’s smart. “Actually, I make a mean grilled cheese. I can also scramble eggs…”
Joselyn’s face lights up with a smile. “I’d like to try some of your scrambled eggs and grilled cheese.”
“I don’t make them at the same time. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I cooked anything.”
We’re back at the house, and Courtney’s car is in the garage. We left Joselyn’s ridiculous bomb of a minivan back at the apartment complex to throw the ex off our trail. I can’t imagine him looking for them here, although I’d welcome a confrontation with him.
“Mom’s home.” Ollie sits up straighter in his seat.
I turn off the engine and close the garage before letting him out—just in case. “Tell her about the koalas, and I’ll be sure Julian has ice cream on the menu for dessert.”
He jumps out of the car, and Joselyn gives me a warm smile. “Thank you for this. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I had a free day, and I wasn’t going to let the two of you wander around the zoo alone. That seems careless.”
Her lips press into a line like she’s fighting a grin, and I’m not sure if she believes me. It doesn’t matter. I need to know if the private investigator I hired turned up anything on Ozzy Clayton. I have no intention of letting that guy get away with what he did to her.
Chapter 25
Joselyn
“Tree frogs can’t swim.” Ollie is sitting on the couch across from Spencer with his little legs crossed. “They have to get water through their skin. They use mucus on their feet to help them climb.”
Spencer looks like end-of-the-day-CEO slash sex-god in dress pants and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His sleeves are rolled up exposing his lined forearms dusted with dark hair, but for all his overt, alpha masculinity, his nose curls at Ollie’s fun fact. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”
I pinch my nose so I don’t laugh.
Chartreuse is perched on the lid of her box on the coffee table while Ollie finishes up his Häägen Daz “Caramel Cone” ice cream. Julien might not have made it himself, but he nuked it for fifteen seconds, making the ingredients all squishy and warm inside the frozen vanilla…
One bite, and I’m pretty sure my eyes rolled back in my head.
I know my toes curled.
Spencer is having a tumbler of what looks like scotch, and they’re watching some nature show on Netflix with the sound off.
Ollie scrapes the last of his ice cream, nodding. “They can climb pretty much anything moist.”
“Did somebody just say moist?” I make a face popping into the room in my Unsolved Mysteries pajamas. “You know moist is Number 2 in Buzzfeed’s Top 12 grossest words.”
Ollie sits up, scooping Chartreuse off her perch and moving away from me on the couch. “What’s Number 1?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I take his moist bowl off the mahogany table so it doesn’t leave a ring. I’m betting the table is worth something outrageous like ten thousand dollars—like everything else in this mini-museum. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”
/>
“What are you wearing?” Spencer’s tone is critical as he narrows his eyes at my black flannel pajamas with the bright yellow show logo all over them.
“Only my favorite PJs,” I announce proudly, doing a little turn. “Unsolved Mysteries…”
“Why would anybody have PJs for that show?” Ollie groans falling back. “It’s boring.”
When I turn back, a smile curls Spencer’s lips. “They’re… not entirely unexpected.”
“Are you two slob-shaming me?” I put a hand on my hip not caring one bit that I’m comfortable and completely covered in flannel. “I feel slob-shamed. I’m taking this bowl to the kitchen.”
I leave the room with my nose in the air, and I hear Ollie behind me muttering. “Women. So much drama.”
The beleaguered tone in his little voice almost makes me cackle. Instead I rinse the bowl in the oversized stainless-steel sink and place it in the dishwasher. On my way back, I slow down when I hear them talking.
“You seem to handle them pretty well.” Spencer is being kind, and I smile. “The way you treat your mother shows the kind of man you are.”
Ollie studies Chartreuse walking on his fingers. “You’re nice to my mom and Aunt Sly. That means you’re good, right?”
My nose wrinkles, and I wish I could see Spencer’s expression. I can’t, and I don’t want to interrupt them. I’m stuck in the hallway, chewing my thumb as I listen.
“Are you worried about being good?” Spencer’s question is easy, like he and Ollie are old friends.
“Sometimes.” Ollie’s voice is quiet. “Mom says I’m good.”
“You seem like a good guy to me. I think you worry about your mom.”
“She works really hard to take care of us. My dad doesn’t help her.”
“What do you think about that?”
Ollie tilts his little head to the side and looks straight at Spencer. “I think it sucks. My friends have good dads, and I don’t. I think it means I shouldn’t have kids.”
To his credit, Spencer doesn’t answer right away. It’s quiet for the passage of several heartbeats, and I imagine him thinking about what our little friend said.
“I understand why you say that.” Spencer’s voice is grave, and my heart hurts.
“You do?”
“I do.” He clears his throat, and I hear him shift in the leather chair. His voice grows calm, and I recognize now it’s a defense mechanism. “I think we all have the potential to be good or bad, even your dad. From what I’ve seen of you with your mother, I think it’s far more likely you’ll be a good dad.”
Ollie moves around, sitting back on the couch where I can see him better, and when he lifts his chin to the television, the tension has left his brow. My eyes warm, and I want to rush in and kiss Spencer’s face.
I might even beg for it.
Instead, I clear my throat to announce my return. “Who’s up for some Unsolved Mysteries?”
“No!” Ollie groans, turning to face me. “We’re watching Our Planet. They’re doing a show about tree frogs.”
“You know everything about tree frogs.” I take my place as far from him and his creepy pet as possible. “Let’s watch something not gross.”
“You know everything about Unsolved Mysteries.”
“That’s not even possible for anybody.” I shake my head at him. “If it were, they’d have to change the name of the show.”
Ollie exhales heavily like he’s so disgusted. “Tree frogs don’t hurt anybody.”
“Unless you eat them!”
Courtney sticks her head out of her room. “Hey, Olls? Did you finish your homework? I told Mr. Peterson you’d keep up with your assignments.”
“I finished them, Mom!” He calls, studying his frog stepping from his fingers with careful, shaky moves.
I don’t know if she’s growing on me, but Chartreuse is fascinating to watch.
“Okay, ten-minute warning. It’s bedtime.” Courtney lifts her chin. “Hey, thanks again for today, guys. I’m turning in. Early day tomorrow.”
“Night, Court,” I call, standing beside the sofa. “I guess we should turn in as well. I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat.”
I glance over to where Spencer seems lost in thought. He’s so handsome, I wonder what would happen if I bent my rules, especially in view of how amazing he was just now with Oliver.
I’m about to say something along those lines when he stands. A lock of dark hair has fallen over his eye, and he pushes it back, his heavy stainless watch gleaming in the dim light.
“I’ll let you all get ready for bed. Today was a fun diversion. I hadn’t been to the zoo in years.” He pauses as he passes me, lifting the collar of my pajama top and giving me a ghost of a smile. “I’m glad you feel comfortable here.”
I want to catch his hand and bring it to my lips. I want to find what he’s hiding from me, from everyone, and shelter it. He gave me the tiniest peek in the car today. I want to tell him, You are safe with me…
Warmth aches in my chest for everything he’s done, from this safe place to the ice cream to the reassuring chat with Ollie. I want to tell him so many things, but he doesn’t allow it.
“Sleep well.” His tone is final as he turns away, climbing the stairs to his tower.
* * *
I need to get this box out of my car. Elliot’s text is in my face, and I growl as I tap out a reply.
I’m helping Courtney with her son. The last thing I want is to see Idiot Flick.
Send me the address of where you are, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.
How can he know he’ll be here in ten minutes? Either way, I text him Spencer’s address. Tell me when you’re here, and I’ll come out to meet you.
Gray dots float on the screen, and his asshole reply appears. I can meet you at the door like a civilized person.
My jaw clenches and I can’t even resist. You are not a civilized person.
He doesn’t reply, and I go to my room, stomping and huffing. I don’t want to see his ass. I want him to drive off a cliff and his car to explode.
None of that happens, and ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. “I’ve got it!”
It’s just Ollie, Tom the Tank, and me at the house today, and I take off to the front entrance. Tom materializes between me and it like some kind of phantom, and I hop back with a little yelp.
“How did you do that?” I put a hand on my chest, breathless.
His brow lowers, and he doesn’t answer my question. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Yeah.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Possibly my least favorite person on the planet, so if you feel the urge to beat the shit out of him, don’t fight it on my account.”
His brow lowers, and I realize this guy has no sense of humor. None.
I’m not sure I’m going to take back what I just said, though.
Pulling the heavy door open, I’m pissed when I see Elliot standing there in an Armani suit looking as polished as he always did. His light brown hair is carefully styled, and he looks around at the yard and driveway.
“What’s Courtney doing here?” He turns back, his full lips twisted in a scowl. “Is this some kind of live-in masseuse type of situation?”
No, asshole, I made that mistake with you.
The fact he even uses that derogatory term says a lot, but I won’t let him get to me. “We’re staying with a friend. What’s so urgent you had to give it to me right now?”
I’m impressed by how unaffected I sound… How unaffected I am by his cheating presence. He has effectively killed any love I might have had for him all those months ago.
“Nadine boxed up everything you left behind when you stormed out.” He lifts a small box and holds it out to me.
Her name, the scenario he describes… I hate that it hurts, but I smile through it. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, well, she said it was a good idea. No need for you to show up unexpectedly wanting to claim something that was yours.
”
His phrasing roils my stomach. Nadine can fuck right off if she thinks I would ever want this idiot back. I manage a little laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion. “That would never have happened.”
“Still, here it is.” He shoves the box towards me, and as my luck would have it, a black Tesla pulls into the driveway right behind his Mercedes.
My ex glances over, and when he sees Spencer stepping out of the luxury car, he turns to me with a sneer. “This isn’t about Courtney. This is about you.” Lifting his chin, he gives me a slimy wink. “Is this a new record?”
Heat burns in my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We were together three weeks before you moved in—has it even been four weeks since we split up?”
“It’s been longer.” I shove my hair behind my ear. “Even if it hadn’t, I knew him before I met you.”
“I see you found a new sugar daddy to take care of you.”
My body flashes hot then cold. “That is not what’s happening. He’s helping Courtney and Oliver—”
“And you just happen to be along for the ride.” Elliot lifts his chin, grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat. “Or is he getting the ride?”
“You asshole.” My fist tightens, my voice a heated whisper. “You’re nothing but a lying cheater.”
“And you’re a gold-digging slut.”
Spencer walks up to where we’re standing, and as always, he reads my face quickly. He can tell at once something is wrong.
“Can I help you?” He takes a step forward, partially blocking me from the idiot.
“Nah, man.” Elliot tosses his chin at me. “I was just saying goodbye. Enjoy her.”
Elliot turns and saunters to his Mercedes. The door slams, the engine roars, and he squeals tires getting out of the driveway.
My eyes close in the wake of his departure, and I fight back a tear. How could I have been such a fool?
Strong hands brace my upper arms, and I blink up to see Spencer studying my face. “Who was that man?”
