Soaring (Magdalene #2)(74)

He’d said it was a better opportunity.

He’d said it was more money (and it was).

He’d said not one thing about a sexual harassment suit.

“Worse,” she continued quietly. “They said that happened in Boston too and that’s why you guys went to Kentucky.”

I remained immobile and stared unseeing at the wine bottle.

“I know this seems bad but let’s look at the bright side,” Robin suggested. “If you want to get your kids back, you can dig these bitches up and—”

“Oh, I’ll be digging these bitches up,” I declared.

“What? Really?” she asked.

I had not fought for my kids. I thought I did. I had a good attorney. He cost a fortune. He was a shark, like my brother. My brother was sweet to me. He loved his kids. He loved my kids. But in a courtroom, he was a ferocious lion that showed no mercy.

In fact, Lawr had recommended my attorney.

But I had not let him loose. I didn’t want it to get ugly. I didn’t want my kids to go through that.

But really, I didn’t want me to go through it. I was too mired in pettiness that got me nowhere to involve myself in the real fight that would have been a far better use of my energy.

“I’m making headway with the kids. If that continues, I’ll want them more. If they want the same and Conrad doesn’t agree with that, then I’m going to parade these women in front of a judge and in front of Martine and obliterate him,” I decreed.

“You go, girl,” she returned gleefully.

I was going to go.

God, he’d not cheated on me.

He’d screwed everything in three states while married to me!

How had I been so wrong about him?

Before I could ask that of Robin, my head snapped around because a loud knock sounded at the door.

The outside light was on and Mickey’s frame was shadowed in the stained glass.

He was here.

My belly flipped.

“Oh God, Mickey’s here,” I breathed to Robin.

“Fabulous,” she didn’t breathe back.

The knock sounded again. Actually, it was banging.

Why was he banging and not using the bell?

“I need to go get that,” I said to Robin, slipping off the stool and putting my glass down.

“You so do,” she agreed.

“I’ll call you soon.”

“You better, and just saying, you ever try to blow me off again without telling me what’s on your mind, you won’t win me back so easy.”

I absolutely knew that to be true.

I moved to the door quickly and said, “I wish I could tell you how happy I am you made this time easy, but Mickey’s here.”

“Hot guy at your door. Every woman knows that takes precedence over pretty much everything. But I’ll expect a report. Soon,” she told me.

I unlocked the door saying, “You’ll get it. ’Bye, honey.”

“’Bye, sweetie.”

We disconnected as I opened the door and looked up.

My “hey” froze on my lips at the look on Mickey’s face.

Oh no, what did Rhiannon do now?

I moved back when he pushed in but I closed the door and turned to him to see he’d stopped four feet away and was facing me.

“Everything okay?” I asked tentatively.

“Oh yeah,” he replied, for some reason sarcastically. “My son is all good now, seein’ as he’s got an Xbox and about five hundred f*ckin’ dollars’ worth of paintball shit.”

I stared at him, mystified as to why this was what it was obvious he thought was a bad thing.

“Is that bad?” I asked when he didn’t continue.

“Fuck no,” he answered, crossing his arms on his chest. “It isn’t, seein’ as it reminded me why this shit isn’t going to work.”

On his “this shit” he threw a hand my way and then crossed it back on his chest.

And when he did that, my insides squeezed.

“This…shit?” I queried, sounding out of breathe because I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

His big body shifted, like he was settling in, and he asked, “You know how much of a hit my parents took sellin’ that house to Rhiannon and me?”

My head twitched in confusion at this odd question. “No.”

“Seven hundred K and I still paid two hundred grand more than I could afford, and now that’s a whole lot more than I could afford, gettin’ shot of Rhiannon, who was not much but at least the bitch made a decent paycheck.”

“Mickey—”

“And we don’t have coastal property,” he spoke over me. “That road I cross to get to your house, you know it, babe, is like crossin’ tracks from houses that cost a whack to houses that cost f*ckin’ five million dollars and you got a deal because those *s that lived here before you f*cked themselves.”

“I’m not certain why we’re talking about this,” I noted hesitantly.

“You don’t buy my kids, Amelia,” he stated bluntly.

I shook my head agitatedly, again confused, asking, “I’m sorry?”

“You spent more on my kid for his birthday than I did,” he bit out.

“But, he—”