It occurred to me I should’ve just told Maxwell no. Even if he decided to hound me, did it matter? All I had to do was file a complaint in court and amend the restraining order on grounds of personal and business ties. One small fee later, and he wouldn’t be able to bother me again.
I blamed old habits and fear for my inability to find a better—for me—solution to problems involving unwanted men in my life. Still, I’d gotten through the talk with Maxwell without informing him I’d drown him and Adken given a single opportunity.
Sometimes, I really wasn’t a nice person. I should’ve thanked the drowned squirrel for its sacrifice—and for birthing the fantasy of drowning the worst memories of my life in my sink.
A day of oil changes might cure me of my stupidity, and I pretended nothing else mattered. I wished I could get away with taking Tuesday off, but I couldn’t. All I’d do was worry my boss for no good reason.
I survived my shift and went home to discover another letter from Nolan, which joined the first two in my lingerie drawer. Tomorrow, I’d read them, when his father and his friends wouldn’t sour me on the words I wanted to treasure.
My worries plagued me so much I broke my promise to myself and left Nolan’s letters hidden, waiting for when I could last more than a moment without obsessing over the past I couldn’t leave behind. I craved the contact with my son like I needed my next breath, but the circumstances of his birth and my departure from his life locked me in a prison I couldn’t escape.
Nolan wasn’t his father, nor was he a reflection of his father. Nolan wasn’t his father’s friends, either.
Nolan was my son.
As though aware I stood on a thread ready to snap, Maxwell beat me to the garage and left the gift card on my desk. I’d never been to the Indian buffet, but it seemed like the sort of place Adken would go if he wanted to go slumming and pretend he wasn’t a rich bastard.
Damn it.
I had issues, and if I didn’t want to ruin my one-sided, newfound relationship with my son, I needed to stop obsessing over his father and his father’s friends. I had the damned gift certificate. Accepting it would suffice.
I didn’t have to use it, although my dislike of wasting money would ensure I did, and I’d do so as soon as possible so I could ditch the damned thing and be done with it. I’d go on Sunday, I’d hide among the afternoon crowds, and I wouldn’t waste time. In and out would help me escape any traps Maxwell might have set for me.
My decision lifted an invisible weight from my shoulders, and I went home that evening smiling.
Hestia waited for me on my couch, her feet propped up on my coffee table. “You’re late, Mom. Is that old man trying to work you to death?”
“What if I told you I have so many problems I need therapy, but I decided to master oil changes instead?”
“I’d ask how many of them are my fault.”
I loved my daughter, even though she was the living incarnation of havoc. “Surprisingly few. What brings you my way, my divine little brat?”
“I’m worried about you. You weren’t home on Friday night, and no one knew where you were. You’ve been getting strange mail, too.”
“Child support statements are hardly strange.”
“No, Mom. These.” Hestia held up two new letters from Nolan. “There’s been one almost every day. Is someone after you? Is it a secret admirer? Do you need help hiding any bodies? You’re really no good with bodies. That rat had you screaming.”
“Squirrel.”
“Bushy tailed tree rat. If you’re going to kill the sperm donor, you’re definitely going to need help hiding the body. We could put concrete-filled buckets on his feet and dump him in the bay.”
Great. My daughter had graduated from havoc to homicide. “Aren’t you supposed to be the patroness of prosperity and happy homes?”
“He broke ours. He can go rot in Tartarus for all I care.”
Oh dear. “You realize I wasn’t serious when I said you’re a walking catastrophe, right? I was teasing you.”
Would my child stoop to murder to go along with her usual mayhem?
Probably.
Shit.
“I’m not allowed to kill him, but nothing in the rules says I can’t help hide the evidence.”
“I’d be the first one they’d suspect. I’d spend a long time in prison, Hestia.”
“I’d break you out.”
While I was sorely tempted by the prospect of drowning my ex in my sink, I needed to set a good example before my daughter went overboard. “We aren’t killing Adken. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with those letters.”
“Is it a stalker?”
“No.”
“Come on, Mom. What are those letters about? You’re hiding them in your panty drawer.”
Damned nosy goddess for a daughter! “You were digging through my panties? Damn it, Hestia! Two weeks ago, you thought you’d contract cooties and die if you touched my bra,” I complained. Why did divine children have to grow so fast?
I wanted my baby back. Hell, I wanted more than a week of terrible twos and threes. Maybe other parents loathed the teenager stage, but I’d blinked and missed it with Hestia, and I’d never gotten a chance to experience most of Nolan’s life.
I’d missed out on so much.
“I was curious.”
I sighed. “You know what those three words mean? Trouble. Did you read them?”
“No, Mom. You’d light my ass on fire if I did. I just wanted to see if you were trying to hide them from me. You were!”
“Fine. I’ll tell you, but I require your sworn word you’ll discuss this with no one, not a single soul, not even another divine immortal.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No, baby girl. I’m not in trouble.”
“Will my silence cause you trouble?”
“Quite the opposite. It’s not a harmful secret. It just can’t leave this room. It’s important to me.”
“Okay. I swear what you tell me won’t leave this room.”
“Your half-brother’s been writing me letters when his father’s not looking.”
Hestia’s eyes widened. “Really? It’s really my brother writing?”
Not half-brother, brother. I found her omission interesting, but it also made sense. She lived and breathed family, and she didn’t do anything by half measures. I suspected that in her eyes, sharing a mother was enough.
“It’s not Adken’s writing, nor is it written by anyone I know. Adken’s a rat, but he’s not the type. If he wanted to do something to me, he’d do it himself. It’s been ten years. He would’ve tried something by now. He hasn’t. That doesn’t mean he won’t, but he can’t afford to break the law. He’d lose too many contracts.”
Adken made his money by toeing the right side of the law while growing the wealth of his colleagues.
“You really believe they’re from my brother? Can I prove it? I won’t say anything. I’ll snoop, though. I’m good at that.”
I bet she was. “I’ll think about it. For now, no. Ask me again next week.”
“Just be careful, Mom. I’m worried. Between those letters and Friday night, I’m wondering if you’ve finally lost it.”
I scowled. “Lost what?”
“Your sanity.”
Arching I brow, I placed my hands on my hips. “Care to rephrase that, squirt?”
“Uh, gotta go, Mom. Have a great night. I brought in your mail.” Hestia vanished with a pop and a flash of golden light.
Kids. Some things never changed.
I opened Nolan’s letters to discover an eclectic collection of scraps, note cards, and torn corners betraying how my son had been forced to be creative to send me anything at all. The envelopes and stamps must have posed a challenge for him, too. A few bucks and school books would let him hide his activities, and any mailbox would’ve met his needs.
What sort of life was my son living, that he couldn’t do something as simple as mail a letter without so much trouble?
When Hestia learned her brother’s efforts went beyond the reasonable, I feared she’d kill Adken. Divorce should’ve freed me, but I remained chained. I pondered if exchanging emotional captivity for a jail sentence would be worth it. Maxwell’s reentry into my life revitalized the terror, the anger, and everything else I’d wanted to forget. Had he told Adken where I worked? The restoration of the old Porsche would infuriate my ex, too. Adken knew too much about me as it was; the restraining order ensured he always knew where I lived.
If Maxwell’s goal had been to screw me over, he had succeeded.
Nothing was ever easy, and I stared at the scraps of my son’s life, helplessness crashing down on my shoulders and bending me to the breaking point. I sifted through them, trying to find some sort of hope in the pieces.
My son liked tennis, or so I thought; two notes came from practice schedules with his name on it. He played mixed doubles, and his partner was named Latasha. Without a doubt, Adken hated everything about Nolan’s choice of sport. Based on her name alone, Adken would abhor our son’s partner.
Why had I fallen for Adken?
Oh, right. I’d been young, stupid, and blinded by the idea of a rich knight on a white horse romancing someone like me. My parents had loved the idea—and him—more than I had. I wondered if Adken still spoke to them. I didn’t. They were his sort of people, and after the divorce, I’d run from their disappointment almost as fast as I’d run from Adken’s chokehold on my life.
Each letter on scraps of paper I read reinforced my regrets. If I had stayed, would my son be a happier man? Would I have still had Hestia?
Could I have somehow fixed my broken home?
My thoughts plagued me all week, and when yet another lonely Sunday rolled around, I cabbed to the Indian buffet, planning to do something I hadn’t done in years. I’d drink my memories away. I’d start at the buffet, and by the time I finished hopping from bar to bar, I wouldn’t be capable of remembering my own name, so I wouldn’t be able to worry over what might’ve been.
The guilt of abandoning my son would never disappear, but I could ignore it for a while.
Never had I hated a party of one at a table for two so much before, but all of the seats at the buffet’s bar were taken. I ordered a whisky on the rocks to start the show with a bang and went to get enough food to mitigate the danger of alcohol poisoning.
When I returned, my party of one had a very unwelcome addition, and while the first streaks of gray touched his shit brown hair, Adken hadn’t changed all that much. He held my whisky in his hand, and he dared to lift my glass in a salute.
The drowned squirrel had to have been an omen. If I ever got a hold of Adken and his asshole friends, the only question would be my sentence. Since making a scene would ruin my chances of a successful homicide, I sat. “I’m certain choosing to sit at my table violates your restraining order.”
“We both know the restraining order’s bullshit. It won’t kill you to sit and talk. I’ve left you alone, just like you wanted. I deserve a chance to have a civil conversation with you. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I ordered you a new drink.”
I checked the clock on the buffet’s wall. “I’m giving you ten minutes. If you don’t leave before then, I’m calling the police to report your violation of the restraining order.” I stabbed an onion on my plate and popped it into my mouth, hoping the smell would offend him enough to drive him away. “What do you want?”
“You’re holding out on your child support. Maxwell sent me photos of your luxury car. That’s not—”
“Divorce settlement property doesn’t factor into your monthly payments. It’s not my fault you discarded a treasure rather than investing in it. The only new pieces are valued at less than ten thousand. Your loss, Mr. Calsin. If you’d been bothered to put in a little effort, you could’ve had the nicer car. I’d asked for the family car. You gave me the junker.”
The waitress brought me a daiquiri, and a single sip confirmed it was light on the alcohol. Damn it. I shouldn’t have been surprised. “A vodka, please. Straight up, and make it a triple.”
The poor woman’s eyes widened, and she scurried off. Taking deep breaths, I set my drink aside. “Talk with your lawyer if you think you’re being short changed. I’ll be happy to confirm under angel-witnessed oath you interrupted my dinner wanting more money.”
Adken’s brows rose. “That’s my old Porsche? Who the hell did you rob to afford the mechanic?”
“I’m the mechanic.”
“You’re a mechanic?”
I shrugged. “I started as a mechanic’s secretary, and in the slow hours, he taught me how to fix my car. My car. Would you please leave? I’d like to enjoy my dinner in peace.”
To keep his over-sized ego from thinking I secretly wanted him to stick around, I stared out over the late lunch crowd enjoying the buffet. A flash of golden hair the match of mine drew my gaze. The hair went right along with the rest of my daughter, and I grabbed the daiquiri and drained the glass hoping my eyes were playing tricks on me.
Nope, they weren’t.
My daughter was enjoying her early dinner with a man closer to my age, and to add insult to injury, I couldn’t fault her choice. He was warm in all the ways Adken wasn’t, his dark hair the shade of rich forest soil, his skin tanned from time spent in the sun. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but Hestia seemed to like what she saw in them.
She’d grown up too fast.
“I offended you,” Adken stated.
“You being here offends me, Adken.”
My vodka arrived, and I waited long enough for the waitress to leave before slamming it back. I set the glass down, pulled out the gift card, and tossed it to his side of the table. Rising, I went to the register, paid, and gave the waitress extra on her tip for putting up with my ex. When Adken tried to follow, I closed the door on him and caught the first cab I saw, ordering the driver to take me to the airport.
I needed a ticket to get the hell out of town in a hurry, even if it was only for a night or two.