Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(12)

He groaned at her joke, burying his face in a throw pillow.

She chuckled and answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Kara, hi.” The voice of her attorney, Tasha Williams, cut through any good feelings she’d had about the evening. Her stomach sank, dread swirling to mix greasily with the handful of buttery popcorn she’d already consumed.

Her attorney never called unless there were problems. Big ones. Otherwise, she had her assistant send a simple email. “Do you have a minute to chat?”

“Sure. Hold on just a minute.” With a sigh, she leaned out of the kitchen door. “Zach, go ahead and start the movie. I’ll be on the phone for a bit.”

He brightened and grabbed for the remote. His world, as he knew it, was right and perfect.

Kara’s was about to get another ding. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Henry is making another run at lowering child support.”

She sank into the kitchen chair. “Of course he is.”

“Something this time about how your job . . . I’m sorry, jobs”—her voice dripped with disdain on the word—“were too low paying. And that your choice to remain a freelancer rather than hold a regular nine-to-five job was irresponsible, and he shouldn’t have to compensate financially to pick up the slack. Since you want to keep him full time, you should have more skin in the game.”

Kara heard the unspoken “or else.” “Let me guess, he made not-so-veiled comments about gaining custody again.”

“Bingo. Never came out and said it, but as usual, it’s his favorite go-to threat.”

Super. Henry was, at the best of times, a negligent human. He didn’t care much about anyone or anything beside himself, and mostly Kara thought that wasn’t based on any malice toward others. Just a general lack of consideration and awareness. But when something inconvenienced him, he turned from negligent to nuisance to * in a hot minute.

He didn’t want custody. Never had. His entire life would come crumbling down if he suddenly became responsible for another human being. The man couldn’t be trusted with a goldfish. But custody had become that one thing he held up as a selling point toward being awarded less and less financial responsibility.

The idea of him taking Zach for a weekend chilled her to the bone. Zach as a ten-year-old was pretty self-sufficient. But with his allergies, and an uncaring, self-absorbed adult in charge for two days . . . it could be a disaster.

“Kara?”

She blinked. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

“You’ll need to come in tomorrow, if possible.” There was a hesitation, and Kara saw dollar signs in it. “And you’ll need to speak with the front office about the retainer.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure.” She hung up after agreeing on a time to meet, mentally calculating exactly where that money was going to come from.

This was Henry’s plan. Not only did he know she’d fight to keep Zach from going to visit his dad routinely, but that she couldn’t afford to play the lawyer game. It was a decision of whether to accept less money monthly, or spend greatly in chunks via attorney retainers.

She sat at the table for five minutes, giving her body a chance to calm down via deep breathing and visualization. When she felt calmer, she went back into the living room and sat beside her son. He grumbled, as there were plenty of other places to sit that wouldn’t put them shoulder to shoulder, but didn’t argue when she wrapped her arm around him and pulled him tight against her.

“Love you,” she murmured into his hair.

He grunted in a very male sort of way.

She smiled, and watched the Avengers kick ass.


*

“OKAY, don’t yell at me,” Marianne said as she held up her hands. “But I have to tell you something.”

Kara set her smoothie down and glanced at Reagan, who looked equally concerned. “What? What is it?”

“This smoothie sucks,” Marianne said simply. “Whose idea was it to come here for drinks? When I think post-work cocktails, I don’t think of one that includes a shot of seaweed.”

“It’s not that bad,” Reagan said, sipping her own concoction. She managed to hold the face for a full five seconds before scrunching up her nose and waving her hand in front of her mouth. “Oh, there’s an aftertaste. Oh, bad. Bad.”

Kara sighed and sipped her own. “Acquired taste. And I didn’t want to go to Back Gate, because if I went there, I might end up drowning my sorrows in five beers and having one of your manly men tossing me over their shoulder to haul me back up to my apartment like a drunken lush.”

“Very classy,” Marianne said.

“Ladylike,” was Reagan’s thought.

“Uh-huh. Speaking of classy, any updates on the vandalism?”

Reagan blew out a breath that shifted the fine hairs escaping her twist. “None. Since it looks like this time, the person popped the lock on the back door there in that never-used hallway, so it’s impossible to tell when it was done. Nobody knows when the last time someone wandered back there was. Could have been ten minutes before Coach Ace found it, could have been days. The gym is almost solely used for practice right now, and that hallway’s mostly ignored.”

“It sucks. So disrespectful,” Marianne said with an angry clench to her jaw.