Soaring (Magdalene #2)(76)

Not to mention Amy’s tits, that ass, those legs.

But his head was so far up his own ass because the woman was f*cking loaded and he’d been burned so bad, he’d protected himself by putting her off then lost control and backed her against a wall in a hall when she was on a date, for Christ’s sakes, then demanded she get shot of his ass.

And she did.

For him.

For a shot at them.

Then she’d gone all out for his son and he’d walked over there and kicked her in the teeth.

“Fucking shit, I f*cked that up,” he bit out.

You’d already given me everything I’d ever need just letting me sit at your dinner table with your family.

She hadn’t lied.

That was all Amelia Hathaway needed.

“Fucking shit,” he whispered to the trees. “I f*cked that shit up.”

He downed the rest of his beer, walked into his house, slid the sliding glass door shut, locked it, put the pole in the tracks, dumped his bottle in the recycling bin and walked through the dark house to his empty bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Wreck You

I walked toward the security door at Dove House, hand in my purse, looking for my phone.

“Amelia.”

I looked left and saw Mr. Dennison in an armchair, hand up, finger crooked to me.

I pinned a smile on my face and headed his way.

“Need something?” I asked.

“Closer,” he answered when I stopped at his side.

I crouched so he could look down and I was looking up, something he couldn’t do often considering he was stooped and further, had to walk with a Zimmer frame.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He studied me with his fading blue eyes.

“Mr. Dennison,” I called. “Can I get you something?”

Finally, he focused on me. “You ever need to talk, love, my ears are old, but they can still hear.”

Well, that answered that. I was not hiding the fact that I was still bleeding from that scene with Mickey last night even if I’d finally pulled myself together enough to call Robin back, tell her all about it through silent crying hiccups and listen to her ranting about how men were all jerks and I was better off knowing sooner rather than later, like I’d learned with Conrad.

She was not wrong.

But somehow, what happened with Mickey hurt more than Conrad’s betrayal, even when recent news could make it fresh.

I had no idea how this could be. Except for a shining twenty-four hours that held the promise of him, he and I never were.

It still destroyed me.

But this time, older, wiser, maybe stronger, but definitely tired of this crap, I thought I was letting it do it quietly.

Mr. Dennison didn’t agree.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe we’ll have a gab over a cup of tea when I’m back.”

“You bring some bourbon, you’re on,” he told me.

I didn’t need to bring bourbon. He had a stash his son augmented every week when he came to visit.

I smiled at him and gave his hand another squeeze. “See you later, honey.”

He squeezed me back. “Later, love.”

I walked to the security door, punched in the code, pushed on the bar, walked through but stopped in the vacant reception area to pull out my phone.

I activated it and scrolled through the notifications.

Bad news: another call from Boston Stone.

Good news: my attorney in California had called me back.

Unbelievably great news: Pippa had texted me.

Flowers are pretty. Thanks.

I was grinning like a fool (inside, outside, after the Mickey thing, I still couldn’t do it), as I poked at the screen and sent a text back to my daughter.

Glad you got them. Chin up, kiddo. Hope you know how much your mother loves you.

I sent that, poked the screen again and put the phone to my ear. I listened to it ring, got his secretary, and considering my last name, she put me right through to my attorney.

Only then did I again start walking.

“I got the message, Amelia,” Preston Middleton said in my ear. “Are you sure about this information?”

I pushed through the front door. “Not really but I’m sure enough I’d like to invest in being absolutely certain.”

I walked down the sidewalk to my car, eyes to my feet, as Preston replied, “I can set a private investigator on it.”

“Consider this the go-ahead to do that,” I told him, looking up.

My step faltered when I saw Mickey in his hot guy dusty construction outfit leaning against my driver’s side door.

Really?

What now?

What could he possibly have left to use to destroy me?

I kept my gaze on him as I made my way right to him and stopped just off the curb by my bumper.

“Is there something you’re thinking in having this information?” Preston asked in my ear.

“I want my children back,” I answered, gaze to Mickey, seeing his eyes in his impassive face flare at my words.

“Full custody?” Preston was sounding enthusiastic and I envisioned him rubbing his hands together and not only because of the billable hours but because he liked to get his teeth into a good fight.

“I’ll not be greedy,” I replied. “Every other week. My children love their father and I don’t want them to lose something they love. I need some time to see where the kids are, but when I’m ready, this time I don’t intend to lose. And I don’t care how much it costs. I want every woman he had sex with while he was married to me contacted, deposed and ready to testify should Conrad push this to ugly.”