Soaring (Magdalene #2)(124)

And Mickey was also right that I should rejoice, build on it, let it be and not worry.

But I was a mother, and as removed from my children as I was, I knew them.

Something else was happening.

Until my last breath I wanted them to feel I was their safe harbor.

I just wanted to know, if that’s why they needed me, what I was harboring them from.

Mickey drove to my place, hit the garage door opener and drove right in. I sat beside him, taking my mind from my thoughts by thinking my house was perfect. In that moment, I was thinking that because it had a two-car garage as well as a smaller one-car one next to it that you could get to with its own opener and through a door from the bigger one to the smaller one inside.

The one-car one was perfect for my Mercedes.

The Rover and my son’s Civic got the big one.

See?

Perfect.

He parked. We got out. We went in.

I was wandering to the kitchen, flipping on the pendant lights, asking Mickey, “Do you want a beer?” when the doorbell rang.

I stopped and looked to it.

Mickey, a few paces behind me, had also stopped and he was twisted to it.

The outdoor light was on and I knew the body shaded in the glass.

Conrad.

What was he doing here at this hour?

Or at all?

“Shit, that’s Conrad,” I whispered.

Mickey stayed twisted toward the door, but slowly, his head turned to me.

I caught his look, which meant I caught my breath, and that was unfortunate because I had to focus on breathing and was too late in acting.

This meant Mickey was swiftly prowling toward the door before I got my body to move and my mouth to call, “Mickey, let me.”

He stopped at the door, aimed that dangerous look at me and said one word.

“No.”

Then he turned back to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.

I was five feet away but had a good view of Conrad on my doorstep scowling up at Mickey.

“You do not get to do this,” Mickey growled as I got to him, pressed to the side of his back and put a hand to its small.

Before I could say a word, Conrad looked to me.

“Call your Neanderthal off, Amelia.”

Mickey went solid beside me and I was right there with him.

“Don’t speak about Mickey that way,” I snapped.

“Why?” Conrad bit back. “You felt free to aim your venom at Martine.”

“Yeah, but she isn’t f*ckin’ me with your ring on her finger. You got no leg to stand on with that one so get past it, *,” Mickey ground out.

Conrad turned angry eyes to Mickey. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do and part of what I know is your woman knew you had to scrape off your wife before she got her own ring from you so she doesn’t have a leg to stand on either,” Mickey returned. “Now, again, get past it and if you got somethin’ to say, say it and then get the f*ck outta here.”

Conrad looked back to me. “This man doesn’t know me, he has no call to curse at me.”

“Man, you’re here at ten at night uninvited and unwanted and you rang the bell the minute we got in, so you been layin’ in wait for your attack,” Mickey shot back. “I opened the door and you brought it. You brought it and blew any respect you might have gotten from me. This isn’t your home. You got no rights in this situation. And advice. Fuckin’ grow a pair. No call to curse at you?” he taunted. “Fuckin’ sissy.”

Conrad’s face was hard and his fury was palpable when he turned that to me.

“I’ll thank you to adhere to the custody agreement ordered by the judge,” he stated.

“I’m not kidnapping the kids and forcing them to watch TV here, Conrad,” I replied. “They ask to come. This is their home. They can come anytime they please.”

“If they’re asking to come, as ordered by the court, you should explain you’ve got them one weekend a month and you’ll see them then.”

What a pompous ass.

And further, it could not be believed that he actually wanted to keep our children away from their mother when they wanted to spend time with me.

God! How had I ever been in love with this man?

“I can’t say I read every word, Conrad,” I retorted. “But I don’t think it says anywhere in the court documents that if the children wish to spend additional time with me, I’m not allowed to let them do that.”

“I’ll have my attorneys scour them and if that’s not the case, perhaps I’ll move to see them amended,” Conrad volleyed.

“You do that,” I invited.

“You don’t want to go in front of the judge again, Amelia,” he warned.

“You’re wrong,” I told him. “I so do. I really, really do.”

“You have a very short memory,” he sneered.

“I could say the same thing,” I returned.

“What? A few months of behaving yourself? That won’t go very far,” he scoffed.

“I’m sorry, my mistake. I’ll take one moment to mention that it actually hasn’t been a few months, but over a year. But to the point, it isn’t just your short-term memory that’s lacking. It’s your long-term.”