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"I'm letting Mom and Dad down," I whisper into the phone.
"No, you're not. You've put a solid roof over the kids' head and given them all they need. Heck, you’ve given them more than they need. Your parents would be proud of you. Tell me if there is anything I can do."
"Thank you."
After hanging up, I barely wipe away my tears when my phone rings again. Jackson Hervis. That bastard.
"Ms. Hensley, we have a date for the hearing," he says the second I answer. "It's this Thursday at two o'clock. You will be served papers tomorrow morning. I know this is hard," he continues in a tone that conveys how clueless he is, "but it's for the best for you and the minors. They deserve a proper home, and you're obviously in over your head."
Even while grief looms over me, his words stab me, and I bleed anger.
"Hervis, with all due respect, you have no idea what you are talking about. From the moment you were assigned to us, you put a label on me. Then you started looking for anything that you could use against me. You are misjudging me, and Christopher. You look at us through checklist-framed glasses and miss the most important part: we are a family."
"Family is not always a safe haven, Ms. Hensley."
"I’ll see you in court." I hang up before he has a chance to answer. Panic flares through me, but I can't break down just yet.
I need a plan first, so I call Alan Smith. He informs me that Christopher has already called him and relayed all the information. As usual, he remains calm and warm, assuring me we can build a rock-solid case even in the short time span. It takes all I have to listen intently and absorb the information about the next steps, tucking it at the back of my mind, from where I can pull it out tomorrow morning and act on it.
After the call is over, I hurry upstairs, checking on the kids, fully expecting them to still be awake. Instead, I find them asleep in Sienna's bed, all three huddled together. The thought that they might have cried themselves to sleep has me
sobbing. I want to hug them, but that would certainly wake them up.
I run downstairs, locking myself in my room, needing to let the anger out. Because I am so damn angry. At Hervis, the system, myself… and Christopher. Oh, I am so angry with him. The worst part is that I know he meant well, and when he said the kids are his family too, I nearly melted. Hervis was pushing his buttons, but the result is all the same. I have to go to court to fight for the kids, and I might lose them. It takes mere seconds for me to break down. Opening the door to crying is a dangerous endeavor because it might end up consuming me, but I have to let the tears out of my system.
Tomorrow I will be strong again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Christopher
"There are bad Mondays, and then there's this." Blake places a glass of scotch in front of me, and I take a large gulp with no hesitation. I stepped into his bar a few minutes ago, heading directly to the counter. He started pouring me scotch before my ass was on the barstool. "What happened?" he inquires.
"Long day" is all I say for now. My brothers will arrive shortly for our Monday gathering, and I'm not up to repeating the story more than once. We originally chose Mondays to meet here because they were slow nights for Blake, but that's no longer the case. The place is full almost to the brim, to my annoyance. Too many voices to drown out.
Logan joins us by the time my glass is dry, sitting on the barstool next to me.
"Sebastian is still at the office," Logan says. "He won't make it today."
"That means it'll just be the three of us," Blake replies. "Daniel's busy, and the girls are a no-show, again."
"Don't take it so personally. They just all have busy schedules," Logan says.
"They never miss any gatherings at our parents' house," Blake points out.
"Yeah, but Mom always has chocolate cake for dessert. That's much more of a draw for the girls than alcohol. But not for me. I'm thirsty. Give me a scotch." Turning to me, Logan cocks an eyebrow. "Where did you disappear to this afternoon? You've been ignoring everyone's calls."
"Interesting," Blake remarks. "So this Monday is even worse than I predicted."
I quickly tell them what happened this afternoon, trying—and failing—to ignore their expressions, which change from grim to dismayed to pissed. In that order.
"Let me get this straight," Logan says after I'm done. "The social worker was riding your ass and instead of playing the part of the Dalai Lama, you somehow managed to convince him you're a raging, dangerous lunatic?"
"Yeah."
He groans. "You're lucky Victoria didn't strangle you."
All I can do is nod because I want to strangle myself. I've replayed that scene in my head over and over again, trying to make sense of it. I'm usually a calm guy. The people I work with can attest to that, as can my family. But I'm man enough to admit I was scared out of my wits the moment I realized that Hervis was grasping at straws so he could make a case against Victoria. Apparently fear turns me into a moron.
