Page 66 of Dandelions and Smoke

You first!

Angela:

Get the booter to do it.

Maria:

Do you want me to quit?

Levi:

… No.

Yeah, this will go well. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to fend off the headache I feel coming my way. As for the rest of the volunteers and probies, this won’t be an easy ask. Regardless, if we want to continue to receive additional funding, we need to stay on everyone’s good side.

For that reason, I find myself mumbling all sorts of agreements and promises while my mind drifts to thoughts of Rory. With her now on my mind, the feeling of being overwhelmed subsides, and my shoulders drop a fraction. The party she threw for me was three weeks ago, and it turned out to be an amazing time, not that I expected anything different from a party thrown by my walking glitter bomb.

Recalling the night, Ainsley and I did even worse during our beer pong rematch against Emma and Blake, but, with pride, it was Rory and I who finally stripped them of their reigning title. Fighting back a satisfied smile even now, I definitely didn’t win any points with Blake that night, but he did wish me a happy birthday. Judging by the fact that he handed me the coffee pot instead of chucking it at my face when I walked into his kitchen after spending the night with Rory, I’d say we’re making strides.

Still, it’s hard to tell.

I check my phone to see if Rory’s texted me back. I promised her I’d only be at the station for a couple of hours this morning before kissing and tucking her back into bed. We alternate between staying here at the station and staying at her house on the nights that Blake stays with Emma. It works since neither of us is a fan of sleeping apart. Some days I wish I could stick her in my pocket and take her everywhere with me, but when I accidentally mentioned that to her, I earned an adorable glare. Apparently, just because she’s pocket-sized does not mean she belongs in said pocket.

Lesson learned.

Frowning when I see there’s been no reply, I type out another text. Noting the time and that there’s no way she’s still asleep, I ask if she’s lost her phone again. I’m about to drop my phone on my desk when Jasenia’s name lights up my screen, and I break out in a cold sweat.

I tried calling her every day for a week before finally scheduling an appointment with the lawyer that Rory put on retainer for me. I told myself it was only to hear what she had to say about my situation and what she thought I should do, but by the end of the conversation, Katie Larue was clear.

“She’s in direct violation of the custody order. We’ll file a motion for contempt and ask the court to enforce your parenting time. Given that it’s been a year, we’ll also request a modification of custody. Judges don’t look kindly on a parent who deliberately alienates a child from the other parent.”

After Jasenia continued to ignore my calls, I finally sent her a text message last night letting her know that if she continues down this road, she’ll be forcing my hand and I’ll move forward with taking her to court.

“Jasenia,” I say in a neutral tone as I answer the phone. My neck stiffens, and I lean back in my chair, mentally preparing myself for whatever version of her is going to come through.

“That’s your big plan? Threaten me? You think that’s going to make me hand over my son?”

My jaw tightens before I speak. “Our son, Jasenia. And I’m not trying to threaten you. I just want to see him.”

She scoffs, and it carries through the phone. “What happened? Did you get tired of parading your new girlfriend around town, and now you two want to play house?”

I knew that Nora wouldn’t keep seeing Rory and me to herself, but I’m surprised it’s taken this long for Jasenia to say anything about it. Granted, that would have required talking to me.

“This has nothing to do with Rory.”

“Sure it does,” she snaps. “You expect me to believe that you’re suddenly interested in seeing your son, and it was your idea to contact a lawyer? I’ve known you for a long time, Garrett. You don’t have it in you to fight for what you want.”

With that jab, her words are meant to hurt me. I used to believe them, but it’s her way of manipulating me to believe the worst of myself. She wants me to take all of the blame, like I’ve been doing, but this isn’t all on me.

“I did fight, Jay,” I force out around the lump in my throat. The memory of everything we went through, the miscarriage, her accident, every moment leading up to our separation and inevitable divorce, is like an old wound that never seemed to heal. I swallow roughly around the emotion and push it all down before continuing. “You left me.”

“You let me.”

Her words hang in the air like loud static. Tears of frustration and anger burn in my eyes as I glare, as though she can see me.

“I thought that’s what you wanted. Everything I have done is because I thought it would make it easier for you to be happy again. You said being around me made everything worse and was too much of a reminder of what we’d lost for you to bear,” I choke out, remembering how every visit before my last one ended with her in tears, thinking about the little girl we’d lost and a panic attack over the thought of something happening to Scout. “So what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst loudly through the phone before she reins them back in. “Figure it out.”