Better (Stark Ink Book 2)

by Dahlia West

  He listened to the sounds of Zoey in the bathroom down the hall, brushing her teeth and changing her clothes. It was odd how little time she’d spent in his apartment, but already his bed didn’t feel right without her. Colder, less comfortable. He knew he couldn’t sleep until she was in it. Finally, she slipped into the room and climbed under the covers with him. He drew her close, kissing the top of her head as her eyelids started to flutter. She was already wiped out.

  Once she settled into her slow, steady breathing, Dalton put his hand on Zoey’s belly. The baby found his hand immediately and thumped. “Hey, Tiger. How about we let Mom sleep tonight, okay?” He started to rub in slow circles and the baby seemed to calm down. “There you go.” He stopped and started to pull his hand away when he felt another sharp kick. “Okay, okay,” he conceded. “How about this? How about I tell you a story? Okay? I’ll tell you a story and you go to sleep. Ready? Once upon a time, there was an annoying, dirty, stinky, spoiled little prince who nobody liked. Nobody at all. That prince’s name was Aaron. Fortunately, for the King and Queen, Prince Aaron had an adorable and very handsome younger brother named Prince Dylan.”

  The baby kicked again.

  “What? Oh, I see. You’re a smart one, aren’t you? Just play along. Anyway, one day stinky Prince Aaron ate all the ice cream in the entire world and they had to roll him around the castle like a beach ball.”

  Another kick.

  “You should pay attention. This is what we call a cautionary tale. This one’s about greed and the importance of maintaining a balanced diet. And not being a douchebag. By the way, don’t say douchebag. So anyway one day handsome Prince Dylan, who, by the way, was the cleverest Prince in the Royal Family…”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dalton woke the next morning to find that Zoey was already out of bed. He found her sitting at the kitchen table flipping back and forth through a small notebook while holding her cell phone in one hand. Deep worry lines creased her brow.

  “Z?”

  She looked up. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Was it the light?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re fine. Or at least, you didn’t wake me. Is something wrong?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “No. Everything’s fine.”

  “You don’t look like everything’s fine.”

  “I canceled my last ultrasound with my regular OB. I booked another appointment here in town.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  Dalton sighed and pulled out one of the chairs. “I know I said you didn’t have to trust me because I’d just give you everything you needed. You don’t have to return the favor, Z, but I’d feel better if you did. Tell me what’s going on. Is it your insurance? Did he kick you off that, too?”

  “No, I pay for my own anyway.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  Zoey bit her lip. “I’ve never been to this new doctor.”

  Dalton nodded, finally understanding. “And you don’t want to go alone.”

  “I usually do, go alone. He’s never gone,” she said quietly. “The first time was hard, but after that at least I knew the Doctor and nurses.”

  Dalton rose out of his chair and went to the counter to pick up his phone. “When is it? I’ll get a few hours off.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she insisted.

  Dalton leveled his gaze at her.

  She looked up at him sheepishly. “Can you do that?”

  “I’ll make it work,” he said, already dialing. “What time?”

  Zoey worked her bottom lip again. “Today at two.”

  “Not much notice,” he said quietly as the phone rang.

  “Sorry! It was all they had.”

  He nodded at her.

  His boss picked up on the third ring. “Who is it? Somebody better be dead.”

  “It’s Stark.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. The last time a Stark had called him, someone was dead. “Oh. Sorry.”

  It was a half-assed mumbled apology, but hey, at least he said it. Kellan seemed to get over it pretty quickly. “You’re not calling out. We’re too close to done.”

  “I’m not calling out. I’m giving you a head’s up that I’ll be clocking out early today.”

  “Bullshit!” Did you not hear me? I said we’re too close to done.”

  Dalton drummed his fingers on the counter. “You won’t get done at all. Or at least not those custom cabinets in the master bathroom won’t.”

  There was only silence on the other end of the line. Dalton let it sink in how badly Kellan had screwed himself. The foreman had only contracted the carpenter for the kitchen work, no doubt thinking to save a few bucks by using Dalton to finish the bathroom according to the specs.

  Even with the bad hand, Dalton could finish the bathroom by the deadline, but by now the carpenter had surely moved on to another job. There would be no getting him back this late.

  “Son of a bitch,” Kellan growled.

  “Come on, Kellan. It’s a few hours.”

  At one time, Kellan hadn’t been such a complete asshole, at least not to Dalton. The ice was thin these days, but Dalton was confident that this wouldn’t crack it.

  After a tense moment, Kellan relented. “A few hours. That’s it. And overtime every day the rest of the week.”

  Dalton sighed. “Thank you.”

  Kellan hung up on him.

  Dalton looked at Zoey. “See? Done.”

  She nodded, frowning. “He’s taking advantage of you.” She hesitated. “I am, too.”

  Dalton crossed the room and took her face in his hands. “I never want to hear that again.”

  “Dalton—”

  “Not one more time.”

  He waited until she nodded before kissing her on the forehead. After he stepped back, he asked, “Is he going to look like an Alien chestburster?”

  Zoey threw the notebook at him.

  True to his word, Kellan let Dalton go in plenty of time to pick up Zoey and get her across town to her appointment. The office was nice and reminded him of the building he’d gone to for physical therapy. Zoey filled out the new patient paperwork, as best she could anyway. She dropped the pen a third time and Dalton bent over to retrieve it.

  “What’s to be nervous about? The place looks nice.”

  “I’m always this way. But I get to see him today, so that’ll help. Usually they use this thing called a doppler.”

  “And it forecasts the weather?”

  Zoey frowned at his attempt at humor. “No. It amplifies the baby’s heartbeat so we can hear it.” She pressed her hands to her belly. “That’s always the scariest part.”

  “I don’t get it. Listening to his heartbeat is scary?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not the heartbeat, it’s the wait. It takes a minute to find it with the wand. Sometimes a whole minute. I never told anyone, but in that minute I’m always afraid they won’t be able to find it.”

  Dalton put his arm around her and drew her close.

  Zoey put her head on his shoulder. “I know it’s crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy.”

  Sometimes in the night Dalton reached across the bed to make sure she was still there. When you wanted something badly enough, the fear of losing it could cripple you.

  “It’s not crazy at all. You love this baby. You wanted him from the minute you knew he even existed. There’s nothing crazy about that.”

  Dalton squeezed her hand just as the nurse stepped into the waiting room. “Zoey Grant?”

  Dalton gave her a reassuring nod and they both stood up.

  In the ultrasound room, Zoey went behind a curtain and came out in a flimsy gown. Dalton rubbed her shoulders to keep out the chill while they waited. He’d certainly never been in a room like this before. Being surrounded by all this equipment would set anyone on edge. His jaw twitched as he thought of Grant making Zoey face it all alone. The bast
ard didn’t deserve to be anyone’s father. “It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly.

  Zoey pressed her lips together but nodded.

  The technician arrived, complete with blue goo, and he watched, fascinated, as she sent the first image to the large monitor mounted on the wall. Dalton stared at the screen. Face, feet, fingers— all there. A tiny gray flash pulsed in the middle of the screen. The baby’s heartbeat.

  Zoey relaxed under his hands just as Dalton’s own pulse sped up. Looking at the screen, finally seeing the little guy, felt like all the pieces of a puzzle, previously scattered, suddenly coming together to form a picture. And that picture was more breathtaking than any portrait or landscape Dalton had ever seen. There was his little listener. The one-sided conversations they’d shared were fantasy, Dalton knew that. Every kick that felt like the answer to a question, hadn’t really had any meaning, of course. But this boy was real and he would be here soon, without a father, without anyone to protect him and keep him safe.

  “There is he is, Mom and Dad!” the technician chirped.

  Dalton shot her a dark look. He wasn’t the kid’s father. He was a damn sight better than that. Out of respect for Zoey though, he didn’t correct the woman. Zoey had enough going on without people judging her.

  Afterward, the technician shut down the portable scanner while Zoey headed back to the changing room. Dalton waited, staring at the freshly printed black and white photo in his hand.

  The technician grinned at him. “Not too much longer to wait, Dad. He’ll be here before you know it. Hope you’ve got your overnight bag packed!”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled as she headed out the door.

  The curtain moved and Zoey emerged fully dressed. She looked up at him with wide, cautious eyes. “Dalton—”

  Dalton grabbed the door handle. “We’ve got to go. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  He moved her quickly down the hall and toward the parking lot, trying to avoid an actual conversation. Would Zoey want him there at the birth? Maybe not. Despite their troubles, she might prefer her mother, instead. It was the logical choice, but Dalton was feeling anything but logical right now. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he soon wouldn’t be needed.

  As he put Zoey in the passenger seat and shut the door, he realized how ridiculous he was being. He sighed as he looked at the rusted out clunker. It wasn’t like a car seat would fit in it, anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  If nothing else about the reunion with Zoey was going as he’d hoped, Mr. J.T. McCauley, Esquire was exactly the way Dalton had envisioned him on the drive over. An aging man in a cheap suit beckoned them into a tiny office located in a strip mall off Main Street— far off Main Street.

  After crossing the thin carpet to reach the two threadbare chairs set out for them, Dalton was half-tempted to grab Zoey’s arm and wheel her right around and back out the front door. But if Zoey was put off by the yellowed wallpaper and large, brown, creeping stain on the ceiling tiles above their heads, she didn’t show it. For the first time since he’d seen her during this nasty business, Dalton thought she looked almost hopeful.

  The lawyer looked less so. “Mrs… ah,” he said and reached to rifle through a stack of papers on his desk. Dalton didn’t think that boded well. How many clients could the guy possibly have?

  “Grant,” Zoey replied through clenched teeth. It seemed obvious that she couldn’t be more impatient to shed the name.

  “Yes, yes.” McCauley looked up at Dalton and frowned.

  “This is my friend,” Zoey said by way of explanation.

  Dalton noted that the frown on the older man’s face remained firmly in place.

  McCauley flopped into a rickety chair and indicated they do the same. He sifted through more papers, but Zoey was clearly ready to charge ahead.

  “Do you have the papers drawn up?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “Well,” McCauley muttered. “I’ve started them.”

  It was Zoey’s turn to frown. “Started? I’d prefer they were finished. In fact, I’d prefer this whole thing just be finished.”

  The older man pressed his lips together. “Mrs-”

  “Connor,” Zoey interrupted. “I prefer Connor, as well.”

  McCauley’s gaze flicked to Dalton and then back to Zoey.

  Dalton shifted in his seat, irritated.

  “Anxious as I’m sure you are to… move on,” McCauley said cautiously.

  Dalton bristled at the implication that Zoey was doing anything wrong by being with him. What else was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to be alone? At the one time she needed someone to lean on the most? Grant did this to their marriage, not Zoey. Grant had pushed his wife, literally, into someone else’s arms and Dalton would be damned if Zoey would get the blame for that.

  “These things, generally speaking,” the older man said, “take time.”

  “How much time?” Zoey asked.

  “Well…” More sifting of papers. “Even if you and your, ah, estranged husband are in agreement to dissolve the marriage, there’s still division of property.” He plucked a sheet from the stack and laid it on top, adjusting his glasses on the end of his nose. “And, ah…” He glanced meaningfully at Zoey’s belly. “Custody arrangements.”

  Zoey’s hand landed on her middle and she rubbed it. “He can have everything,” she declared. “The house, the furniture. I don’t care.”

  McCauley cleared his throat. “That’ll grease the wheels. At least a bit. But custody-”

  Zoey shook her head. “He won’t care.”

  The lawyer stopped shuffling papers and looked up again. He seemed at a loss for a response.

  “He doesn’t…” Zoey trailed off. “He doesn’t care,” she finished firmly.

  A heavy silence hung in the room until McCauley said, not unkindly, “Be that as it may. Arrangements still have to be made Mrs., ah, Mrs. Connor. Custody, child support. And though you may not want to demand equitable division of the assets, there’s still an inventory to made of jointly owned property, assessments, paperwork.”

  “Well, how long?” she repeated.

  Dalton heard a slight strain in her voice. He reached out to put a hand on her arm.

  McCauley’s brow furrowed at the gesture.

  Dalton glared at the old man.

  “Weeks might be optimistic,” McCauley replied. “Months might be more appropriate. After both parties have come to terms.”

  Zoey’s shoulders sank. “Months? I thought it was 60 days!”

  McCauley sighed, as though he was weary of having to explain the finer points of the law every single day to people who apparently thought all it would take was the flourish of a pen to end a marriage. “After the settlement agreement is reached. And if an agreement can’t be reached, the court will step in, assign a mediator, and move forward from there, albeit more slowly.”

  Zoey worried her belly again and frowned.

  “And,” McCauley said cautiously. “That’s in a No Fault arrangement. In cases of… desertion,” again he glanced at Dalton but quickly looked away. “Or… adultery.” The man cleared his throat loudly and ducked his head.

  For Zoey’s sake, Dalton took his hand away and instead gripped the arm of the chair. He swallowed the fury rising in his chest.

  “Or extreme cruelty,” McCauley continued. “The state-”

  “Extreme cruelty,” Dalton ground out as he glared at the man. “I’m guessing spousal abuse falls under that.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at Zoey, whose cheeks pinked.

  Zoey looked away from both of them.

  Dalton decided to take the lead. “If she files over spousal abuse, what then?” he prompted. “Does that grease the wheels?”

  For the first time since they’d stepped into the office, the man offered Zoey a sympathetic look, even though she didn’t notice. His face remained dour, though. “Unfortunately, no. And it won’t help with division of the assets.”

 
Zoey’s head snapped back. “I said I don’t want anything. I just want it be over. Quickly.”

  McCauley offered her another somber smile. “Ms. Connor, dissolution of marriage is inevitable if a spouse pursues it. You will get a divorce,” he promised. “It will be over. But, quickly? There’s no guarantee of that, I’m afraid.”

  Another long silence descended in a day that already seemed too full of them. This time, it was Zoey who broke it.

  “If I paid him enough, he’d go away,” she said quietly.

  McCauley shifted uncomfortably in his own chair. “Well, a financial settlement could-”

  “Except I’m broke,” she told him. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I can pay you. That’s about it. And I’m sure Patrick wouldn’t settle for such a piddly amount.” She slumped in her seat again and turned to look at Dalton. She wasn’t looking to him for support, not financial anyway, but he was overwhelmed by the fierce desire to do everything he could for her. His own heart sank to the floor, though, because there wasn’t anything he could do.

  In the car, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Dalton wanted to say something, convince her that everything was going to be okay, but he wasn’t sure if even he believed it.

  She finally opened her eyes and sat up. “They won’t pay.”

  Dalton didn’t have to ask who she meant.

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s my mess and they shouldn’t have to.” She gave him a sideways glance. “I wouldn’t ask anyway,” she added quietly. “Not after the way they treated you.” She sighed heavily. “Doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I’ll fight. I’ll stick it out. However long it takes.”

  The words were there but the feeling behind them was flagging. Zoey didn’t look ready to fight. She looked tired, fragile and exhausted and Dalton hated Grant all over again for putting her through this.

  What kind of an asshole…

  Asked and answered, though.

  As he drove them home, Dalton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Zoey couldn’t take a long, drawn out legal battle no matter what she said. Not with a baby on the way and a life to rebuild. He thought again about how wrong this all seemed. Sometimes, not often though, he used to let himself think they’d meet, just by chance, maybe at a barbecue or something, some place, totally unexpected. And despite everything they’d been through, that spark would still be there, that thing between them that had been there from the start. It would ignite again and…