by Lexi Whitlow
“They better. It’s my only strategy.”
She sighs heavily, but before she can get a smart-mouthed comment in, we’re in the lawyer’s conference room. There’s Marta and her guy, who looks like a little bulldog. And there’s my lawyer, sitting across from him. I stop cold, because today there’s something different. Brie is here, too.
I knew it before we came today, but seeing her here is a reality I wasn’t quite ready for. Skye takes a deep breath in when she sees my daughter. I look over at her, and she cocks her head to the side, biting her lip.
“Daddy!” My daughter bursts out of her chair before Martha has a chance to catch her arm and hold her back. That’s how it usually is—Marta is always policing Brie’s quick bursts of energy, holding her back. But today, her gnarled old hand isn’t fast enough. Brie rushes into my arms and holds onto my waist. Before anyone can say a word, I’ve lifted her into my arms and twirled her around now. She’s at least fifty pounds and nearly four feet tall, but she feels as light as a feather to me. She always will.
“I missed you, pumpkin,” I say. I never expect my heart to fill up quite like it does, like there’s no one and nothing else in the room. It surprises me every time. Recently, it’s gotten even worse—not worse, exactly—but more intense. The longing for us to be a family again. I squeeze my girl tight. When I glance at Skye, there are tears in her eyes.
“This is inappropriate. The man is only allowed supervised visitation,” Marta says. Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Her face, so similar to my ex-wife’s, has been distorted by years of hatefulness.
“We’re here to overturn that today,” my lawyer says. “Mr. Dougherty has proven himself to be an upstanding citizen in the years since his release—”
“That’s it exactly,” Marta snarls. “Since his release. Kindly put her down, Liam.”
I don’t. Instead I shift Brie to my hip, and she nestles her head against my shoulder. “Not a chance,” I say. “Let me have five minutes.”
“Please,” Brie says. “I just want to stay with Daddy.”
“That’s right,” I say. “Just a few minutes.” I kiss Brie on her cheek and take in her little kid smell—kids’ shampoo, a hint of sweat, the faint smell of the outdoors. At least Marta is keeping her bathed, I think.
“At school,” Brie whispers, “There’s a big kid who’s—”
Marta’s lawyer cuts us off. “I’m afraid I do think this is inappropriate, just as Mrs. Maguire said.”
Marta looks at me, pleased with herself, a creepy-looking smile taking over her face. “And with your new girlfriend here too—might be confusing to Brie. Or is she even your girlfriend? I hear about you and your women from the bar. If you can rightfully call them women, that is.”
“Marta, please watch your mouth around Brie. If you didn’t want me to see her, why did you bring her here?” I try to keep the anger out of my voice. “And this isn’t just some woman from the bar—”
“Please put the child down,” Marta’s lawyer says. I can never quite remember this guy’s name, just that his face looks like it needs to be punched. “Mrs. Maguire was unable to find childcare this afternoon, which is something she wishes to discuss. We feel you should be paying child support—”
“Child support,” I growl, protectively putting my hand behind my daughter’s head, just like I did when she was a baby and couldn’t quite sit up straight yet. “I pay child support every month. I don’t know what Marta’s been telling you, but you can check my bank statements. I’ve saved every penny.”
“And that’s why you’re living in that horrible place above the bar. It’s no place for overnight stays, let alone joint custody,” Marta says. Her lawyer puts his hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to stop speaking, but she brushes him away. “And you—you wouldn’t even be able to get her to school on time.”
Skye looks over at me meaningfully and nods. Fucking Queens. Why did she have to be right about that? But I think about her in the apartment, how beautiful she looked when she was exactly where I wanted her. Maybe Queens isn’t that bad.
“I can get her to school on time when I move into a new apartment. It’s more than an apartment—it’s an old townhouse converted into apartments,” I say. Brie buries her face in my neck, her long brown hair cascading over my shoulders. “Two bedrooms. A backyard. Dishwasher, the whole nine yards.” I try to remember if there’s a washer and drier because I know it’s something Marta will find out before the day is over.
“In Hell’s Kitchen. That’s no place for a kid,” Marta huffs. “If my daughter were alive—”
I look to Skye and her eyes go wide. She regains composure before anyone in the room notices. That’s a thing you’d tell your serious girlfriend, isn’t it? Shit.
“She’s not, Marta. I’m the only living parent she has. She belongs with me.”
The old woman crosses her arms, shutting the rest of the room out. Good. I know where this is going. She’s about to say something she won’t be able to take back. Fucking let her. Marta looks up at me with her vicious cornflower-blue eyes. “You were in prison for six months. You’re broke as shit, and you’re a criminal. Every one of your brothers are criminals.” She’s on a roll now, and her lawyer is trying to stop her.
“Keep going, Marta. Brie certainly needs to hear all of this,” I say. I try to make my voice threatening, but I break out into a grin even as I put my hands over my little girl’s ears. “Brie actually hates when you pull this crap. When you yell. When you gripe. It makes her anxious. Know how I know? She tells me. She cries on the phone with me.”
When you hit. When you insult her. Those I’m saving for the judge. For the first time in months, I feel something new rising within me. With Skye, even standing next to me, not saying anything, I feel braver and more powerful than I have when facing Marta and the courts.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Marta says. “My family has ten times the money and power of yours. You’re a broke piece of shit.”
I hold Brie close, wishing I could take away every one of her grandmother’s words. “That’s where you’re wrong, on every count, Marta. I’m not broke. I’ve worked my ass off every day for two years, planning for this hearing. Waiting for it. Making sure everything was in order so I could get my little girl back.”
“Where were you before that?” Marta sneers at me.
“You know where I was. I went to prison for a crime your family had me commit. To pay for the funeral expenses for your daughter. I did the time. I’m out of that life for good.” I bite my tongue. I want to tell her that I know she had me do it so she could get rid of me—so Marta could have the prize of her granddaughter to show off to her friends for the rest of her miserable years on earth. But Donnelly has coached me not to say this shit. He sits back and nods, watching the back and forth between me and Marta. If she does this at the hearing—and we both know how to push her buttons—the ball goes back into my court.
“And here you brought this whore along when you knew your girl would be here,” Marta says.
That thing clenches tight in my chest again. I look over at Skye, and I see how pale she is. Shit. This is way more than she bargained for.
“That’s not what she is,” I say. “And if I were ever able to see Brie, I might have gotten to make the introduction a lot earlier. We’ve been together for—” I search my brain for a reasonable amount of time. “Three months. Isn’t that right?”
I glance at Skye again. She’s keeping her cool. “Yeah,” she breathes. It’s the first word she’s said since we got in here, and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice even if no one else in here can.
Marta looks over at her lawyer with an angry expression on her face. “I doubt that,” Marta snips. “You’ve never been with anyone for longer than a few nights. My people keep tabs on you, and you know it. This girl is nothing more than some tramp you’ve found to make you look slightly more reasonable.”
I take a deep breath. Rage has clouded my ju
dgment before with this woman, and it’s threatening to now. When I close my eyes, I see red. When I open them, I blurt out the only thing I can think of. “This is Skye Williams, and she’s my fiancée. We’re getting married. Next weekend.”
Skye makes a small, strangled sound. But, to her credit, she keeps her cool. She shouldn’t. I’m an asshole, and I have so little to offer her in return for her help.
I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs my hand.
“Well,” Donnelly says. “Congratulations.”
This probably isn’t the proposal Skye had imagined.
But if I get her out of this mess quick and get custody again, she’ll get the one she wants. The one she deserves.
I put Brie down, still holding her close, and pull out my phone. When I open it, there’s a signed copy of the lease.
“Brie should be able to come stay overnight. Get to know her new room.”
“Please—can I?” Brie looks at all the adults in the room, who are arguing loudly. Marta’s voice is rising. “Will it have to be locked, Skye?”
Brie turns her big brown eyes to Skye. Skye shakes her head and gives me a worried look. The comment is small, said in Brie’s quiet voice.
It might have gone unnoticed, but something dawns on Skye. She kneels on the floor next to my girl, and she takes her hands. This woman I barely know—she does this for me. She finds the key—literally—that sways everything in our favor. At least for today.
“Do you mean your bedroom, sweetheart?” Skye asks.
Brie nods. “It’s a little scary. At night. With the door locked.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “If I can stay with you, you won’t lock it, right?”
“No, honey, we won’t. Never.” Skye pulls Brie to her and hugs her tight.
The room goes quiet.
When Skye stands up, she brushes Brie’s hair away from her face, and she smiles. “We’re going to need visitation until we get this whole locked door thing figured out. Wouldn’t everyone agree?”
Slowly, Marta’s lawyer nods.
We stand there, waiting, watching.
Things start happening around us. Legal things. Pens to paper. The tapping of keys on laptops.
The sound of things, finally, moving forward.
Shit. I guess we have a fucking wedding to plan.
CHAPTER TEN
Dress. Okay, I’ve got the dress. It’s got cap sleeves, and a silk sash, and the skirt goes just below my knees.
Now how do I tell Rhiannon?
My parents, they were surprised. More than a little bewildered. But that’s not the hard part. The hard thing is explaining this to someone who really knows me, who was in the trenches with me when I was grieving the loss of Charlie. When I was resigning myself to be a spinster forever.
“I can’t believe you’re moving in with him. Today. You just found the place a few days ago?”
I gulp. “Yeah. I did. It’s nice. And he needs a stable place for the kid. I’m doing him a favor.” I must have said ‘I’m doing him a favor’ like sixty-five times so far to Rhiannon. All the while, she’s been helping me put clothes in suitcases, nodding silently and giving me looks like she thinks I might be certifiably insane.
Married. Married married. I’m getting married.
Here comes the bride.
Holy shit.
I swallow hard. I have that peculiar taste at the back of my throat—salt and metal. In my job as a writer’s assistant, I got used to that taste when I was making phone calls and scheduling advertising. It’s the taste of anxiety, the taste of fear. The words are on the tip of my tongue. I need to tell her. I have to tell her.
I open my mouth to say it, and then I just start packing again. In the days since we signed the lease and made the decision to get married—my stomach drops at the thought of it—Liam has informed his entire Irish family. He’s gotten adjustments on his brother’s tux. All I had to do was get a dress.
I did that, yesterday, alone. Without my best friend.
I sigh deeply.
I think of that little girl, and the urgency piles on. We need to get into that apartment so she has a place to go, a place that doesn’t terrify her. Doesn’t grind her down, doesn’t ruin her childhood. It’s all worth saving—Liam, Brie. The two of them together.
How did I get into this again?
I think of Liam. The way he makes me moan, legs shaking, brain and body seized with white hot light and energy.
“You’re in for it,” Rhiannon says, pulling me out of my reverie. She crosses her arm and watches me pack up my old pictures. “It’s been what? A couple weeks? And you’re setting down roots.”
“No—it’s not like that. It’ll all be done and over with when the court grants final custody.”
Hands against bare skin. His tongue, inside of me. I shiver when I think of it, the feeling reaching the very base of my spine. And by the way, there’s something else. We’re getting married.
“You say that like you know what you’re talking about,” Rhiannon says. “That shit could take months. I told you that you might be able to help him get custody if you can prove the grandmother is abusing the kid. Even if the girl is saying she doesn’t feel safe, it can take a while to overturn a decision like that.”
Then what? Does Liam want me with him that whole time? He said he did.
“Yeah.” I look at her. “I guess I didn’t really think that far ahead.”
“No, you didn’t. But I support you. Especially since I’ve heard about the size of his cock. You are boning him, aren’t you?”
“Uh—” I look down at the picture in my hand. It’s Charlie and me at the beach. His arm is awkwardly over my shoulders. It’s clear to me now that we didn’t even really like each other. “Not yet. We’re not boning yet. There’s plenty of other things going on.”
She pauses and starts picking out a few bras from my drawer. “Okay. That’s weird. I mean, no judgment.”
My heart pounds hard, blood rushing in my ears. “There’s something I didn’t really tell you—a few things actually.”
Rhiannon folds up a couple of my nightshirts and tosses them my way, looking at me expectantly. “Go on.” She says the words carefully.
“Charlie and I—we never—I mean—I never, with anyone.”
“What are you saying?” She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“I’m still a virgin. So Liam and I are holding off. For now. I mean—I would—with him, right now.” I’m stuttering over my words, and they’re all rushing together in an idiotic jumble. “But I think he’s waiting for dramatic effect.”
“Wait a second—” Rhiannon’s face dropped. It’s the look of someone who’s trust has been broken. But for so many years, I was ashamed. Waiting, wanting. Thinking it would all happen on my wedding night with Charlie, like he’d always promised. “You’re a what now—and you’re waiting to do it with Liam Dougherty?”
“I’m sorry, Rhi. I didn’t tell you. I just—”
“Hey, it’s fine. But girl, maybe you should warm up with someone else. Liam is supposed to be fucking massive. I don’t want to take you to the hospital. And besides, he’s never really stuck around with any chick. That’s what his brother told me. Come to think of it, Finn told me that a few days ago—”
“I know. I don’t expect him to. I’m just helping him because…” There’s not much of a because.
“I get it. He’s like walking sex. Like if God had created sex and made it into a person. I know what you’re getting out of the deal. I’m just worried it’s not enough. It’s not what you deserve, you know? He’s getting his daughter back, and you’re getting sex? A pretend relationship?” She walks over to me and pulls me into her arms, hugging me tight. “I just hope you don’t end up with a broken heart.”
We go back to packing, both silent for a while. After a few minutes, a thought comes to me, and I turn to Rhiannon. “It’s better than nothing at all.”
“What�
��s better?”
“A broken heart. I mean, I hope that’s not where I’m headed. But it’s better than sitting around this place, waiting for nothing to happen.”
Rhiannon sighs. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I mean, the guy’s a fucking legend.” She shrugs. “Might be fun for your first time. I guess looking at it as an adventure is fine.”
My heart flutters in my chest. When I pause to think about any of it, it doesn’t make sense. So I’m not pausing, I’m just packing. “He’s a legend now? I thought you only knew of him like, third-hand. And only because you know Finn. It’s not like he’s giving you stories about Liam’s giant cock.”
“So it’s giant?” She laughs and sorts through some of the perfumes on the top of the dresser. They’ve gone unused the past week. Somehow, I like the scent of my own body better. Like it’s waking up, finally, after years of being silent.
“It’s impressive. Pretty fucking impressive.” I look at her and smile. The blush rises over my cheeks, but I’m getting more used to the idea of being with him. But then I have to remind myself—I might not be. Not for long. Or does he want to keep using me, keep me there so Marta’s people think we’re really married?
“So I’ve heard. From like six women who’ve slept with him. That’s why we got you to the bar to meet him. I didn’t know you were looking for a casual fling for your first time. I thought that was more of a relationship thing. But—like I said, I get it. He’s hot. He just might disappear and start fucking a bunch of other people.”
I nod, sadly. But it’s good to remember that’s who Liam is. He’s not just the single dad who’s putting together a plan to get his daughter back. There’s more to him—he’s also the guy who took me upstairs and introduced me to his mother as his girlfriend. The guy who told three people that we’re engaged, without even proposing. Without discussing any of it beforehand.
And I’m the one keeping it from my best friend. For days, I have. Shit.
“I know. He made that plenty clear. I’m not special. I just happened to walk into the bar on the right night. And I have that conservative look.” I pull a cardigan off of my bed and hold it up over my chest. “The one that judges like.”
