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“That’s possible. And of course, there’s Dwayde to consider and how he’ll react to Joyce being found, let alone me talking to her. It’s a delicate situation. I don’t have to tell you that. The choice is yours. He’s your son and I will respect whatever decision you make.”
Mick remains quiet and still, which is unusual for him. I gather it’s out of respect for Victor’s inner turmoil—a thoughtful and careful man who prefers things to be black or white, he deals in absolutes rather than shades. There is nothing about seeing Joyce that is absolute.
“I’m skeptical, Bells,” he says, grimly. “This could blow up in our faces.”
“No outcome can be any worse than losing Dwayde.”
“He might not forgive us for talking to her.”
“He will,” Isabelle insists. “He knows our hearts. Please, mi cielo. We have to do this.”
“Alright, Bells.” His acquiesce doesn’t disguise the weight of his reluctance. “But we are not saying a word about it to Dwayde.” Victor looks from his wife to me. “Not until you meet with Joyce and we know what we’re dealing with. I’m not going to cause him more distress when this might be a total bust.”
Although his reason for not telling Dwayde echoes Mick’s excuse, the difference is Dwayde is a child and our job is to protect him. “Agreed. We’ll wait to see what comes of it. In the meantime, I’ll fill in Calista and book a flight to Louisiana for as soon as possible.”
“This better be it.” Victor pivots to Mick. “I know you did it from a good place. But so help me,” he warns, “if there’s anything else…”
“There’s not. You have my solemn word,” he says gravely. “I’m sorry for the way I sprung it on you, then getting defensive. I was an ass.”
“Yeah, you were.” But there’s a hint of softening in Victor’s tone.
I, however, am not as forgiving. Nevertheless, my cold shoulder doesn’t stop Mick from making plans to come with me. Given the custody hearing is three weeks away, I don’t expend the energy fighting him on it. Especially when he arranges for a private jet tomorrow evening.
Friday, shortly after take-off, the attendant brings sparkling water for me and Coke for Mick. I sip from my glass, staring out the window, cruising above the clouds. We haven’t really spoken since yesterday. Mick had made several attempts but my responses had been about as warm as an arctic storm. Eventually, he stopped and just gave me space.
It was the first time that we’d shared a bed and hadn’t touched, kissed, or made love. I slept with my back to him and got up early to go to the office. I hadn’t seen Mick again until I boarded the airplane and sat next to him in chilly silence.
I nurse my indignation, long and strong. After all, we’d promised each other honesty, even as he hid another of his secrets. Okay, so he’d told us as soon as Stiles had alerted him to Joyce’s whereabouts. He’d arranged to meet at our place, away from any possibility of Dwayde overhearing. But that doesn’t excuse him keeping it from me.
And yet, here I am, on my way to get information that could potentially help the case. Because, damn the consequences, Mick is protective, stubborn, and follows his heart at full speed. Except this time, he’d put on the brakes when it counted.
He hadn’t gone off on his own rogue mission. That, at the very least, meant he was trying. But instead of recognizing his efforts, I got caught up in my injured feelings and held him to some rigid standard, when I wasn’t exactly holding up my end.
I turn to Mick. Dark and broody, he stares down at his glass. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk.”
His head comes up in surprise. “You weren’t.”
“I was.” I set my water down and squarely meet his gaze. “I’m always preaching about open communication but I didn’t give you that. Instead, I reverted back to closing myself off. We’re still figuring all this out. You and me. We are going to make mistakes, have disagreements, mess up…that’s a given in any relationship. I don’t want to act like this. I want us to talk things out.”
“I want that too.” He takes my hand and threads our fingers. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. You had every reason to be angry, Dee. This week has been all kinds of fucked up drama. Hell…the last couple of weeks have been. You’ve put up with more than I had any right to expect.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t put up with anything. Being there for each other is part of the deal. These weeks have been hard on you too. I lost sight of that.”
“We haven’t had a dull moment, have we?” He huffs out a short breath.
“Nope. But we’ve gotten through those tough times together.”
“Yeah, we have.”
I lean my head against the solid strength of his shoulder and feel our connection lock back into place.
Two hours later, the planelands at a private airport just outside of New Orleans. The evening is clear and the weather is balmy. Mick slips on his cap and leads us to a black town car. The driver, that I recognize as a bodyguard by his marked demeanor, introduces himself as Paxton. He loads our overnight bags and takes us to a luxury hotel that’s located close to the French Quarter.
Mick checks in under his pseudonym, Anthony Michaels. We’re shown to the Grand Penthouse suite that encompasses the entire 18th floor. Panoramic windows boast a view of the city. A marble fireplace serves as the focal point in the living room that’s stylishly decorated in all white art deco furniture. I peer through the French doors, which open onto a balcony that has a fully stocked bar.
In awe, I follow Mick up the winding staircase that leads to the master bedroom. Decorated in white too, there’s a sprawling king-size bed with a tall upholstered headboard. In the bathroom is a deep Jacuzzi tub and glass shower that’s insanely large, big enough to hold six people. I’m not used to this extravagance. Mick isn’t showy with his wealth. Humbly down-to-earth, I often forget how rich he is until moments like this.
“The suite is gorgeous.” I slide my hand along the feather-soft bed cover.
