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Twenty One
Laurel
Somehow, I made it through the weekend without texting Lachlan. He probably hated me. I accepted that. No one would take that kind of offense lightly. He had held his arms out to me, offering comfort, and I had outright rejected him. I was sure I had really wounded him, and my only consolation was that I could breathe easier knowing that the more distance I put between us, the less likely Jason was to care about Lachlan’s personal life.
Jesus, the maniac had gone after Lachlan’s brother. Remington had a wife and kids, and he had devoted his talents to helping victims of cold case murders. I tried to bridge the gap between the funny, gentle Jason I’d known in my teens with the selfish monster he’d become, and it only fueled my anger. I didn’t care what villain’s journey he had gone on or what redemption he might still be capable of. I wanted walls, and I wanted them to be adamantium strong.
The first step was to put on my big girl panties and go to court again. This time, the right way. I spent the entire weekend filling out pro bono applications across most of the neighboring states, and I sent off so many copies of my shitty divorce decree, I was pretty convinced it would become public knowledge. I did my research, I found out what my rights were, and I spent hours revising the decree to reflect a fair outcome. Okay, if I was honest, I tried to screw him over a little. If I got a decent lawyer, I could probably afford to do that.
I knew he needed to be in Calla’s life no matter how much I detested him. He was a good father to her in the sense that he loved her. He was kind and patient with her. He doted on her. She needed that in order to grow up as even-keeled as she could, so I wouldn’t do anything to shut him out of her life. But I would be damned if he got a say in anything that started with “L” and ended with “aurel.”
By Tuesday, I felt good about my options. Wallowing Laurel was dead. Avenging Laurel was suited up and ready for battle. I woke up and got Calla and me dressed in swimsuits, and as she excitedly pranced around the living room, I packed lunches for us both. It wasn’t much, but I could take her to the indoor swimming pool, and then hope the weather held up long enough for a picnic at the park.
First, I had to do something I’d been dreading since Saturday night. I texted Lachlan.
Laurel: Hey, I filled your car with gas and the keys are in the potted plant just outside my door. Come grab it whenever.
I typed and deleted “sorry” three times. No, bitch,I thought to myself.You’re done apologizing. Boundaries. Walls. Thick walls. Safe walls that keep you sane. Build them and lock the doors, woman.But I didn’t have to be rude, so I added a perfunctory “Thanks” at the end.
Calla attempted to do handstands on the couch while she waited. “Do they have floaties? Do they have goggles? I need goggles.”
I snorted, slipping my phone in the back pocket of my jean shorts which I had pulled over my momkini bottoms. “I don’t know, bug. I’ve never been to this pool. I guess we’ll find out together.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the “y” sound, and flopping off the couch like a ragdoll.
I finished packing our sandwiches, chips, and—in silent salute to Lachlan—carrot sticks along with water bottles, and then I shoved the lunch bag into my large beach tote that I’d stacked with towels and a change of clothing for each of us. It wasn’t an afternoon on the Atlantic Boardwalk by any means, but it was something.
And honestly, it was just the afternoon I’d needed. Calla swam, and I taught her how to keep her body afloat. She jumped off the edge of the crowded pool into my arms, and we practiced holding our breath under water. I was, without a doubt, the luckiest mom alive. Calla had never wavered in her adoration of me, despite my missteps, despite my failings. She lived in the moment, and I found it infectious.
When we were dry and dressed in sundresses, we walked to the park. Upside of no vehicle? I was getting a lot of exercise, lately. As I watched Calla play on the playground equipment, my phone rang. Without even glancing at the caller ID, a smile still on my face, I answered, “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Miss Laurel Brook?”
Ice slithered through my veins. The woman on the other end of the line sounded professional. Direct. Lawyer-y. “Yes,” I answered uncertainly.
“Miss Brook, my name is Azura Brady with Falcon, Brady, and Brady. Do you have a moment?”
My heart did a double tempo. “Sure.”
“Miss Brook, I received an email from an associate of mine stating that you might be looking for pro bono services in a custody dispute. Is that correct?”
Some of the frost in my blood thawed a bit. “Oh, wow. That was fast. Yes, that’s correct. I need my custody agreement amended.”
“I had a look over it, and I feel confident I can help you. Is there a time you’d like to meet formally? I can set up a time that fits with your schedule.”
I frowned, suddenly suspicious. That was fast. Too fast. “Did you—your contact didn’t happen to be Dr. Cade did it?”
“Apologies, Miss Brook, but I’m afraid I wasn’t contacted by a Dr. Cade. Was I supposed to be?” I heard the sound of a clicking mouse in the background. “I didn’t see him listed as a person of interest in the case.”
“He’s not,” I rushed to say. “It’s just, this was way faster than I expected, so I guess I thought someone I know had… contacted you,” I finished lamely. Okay, that did actually sound a little crazy.
“I assure you, Miss Brook, your pro bono case is entirely my decision to take on. Does tomorrow work for you?”
“Yes,” I said breathlessly, and hope soared in my chest. “Tomorrow is great. Could we do one?”
“Perfect. I’ll email you a link for video chat. I look forward to going over the particulars.”
“Wow, thank you,” I replied.
