Hold On

I rounded Merry, did it with velocity, but got no further when his fingers caught the back waistband of my jeans and I came up short.


I didn’t need proximity. I wasn’t going to belt a bitch who was holding a baby.

I had the use of my mouth.

So I used it.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” I asked.

She turned to me, face contorted with what appeared to be more rage than I had.

“Where’s my husband?” she bit back.

“I don’t fucking know,” I answered.

“Refrain from cursing in front of my children,” she ordered.

“Get your kids outta my yard and I won’t have to,” I retorted.

“I want to talk to my husband,” she demanded.

“Then find him wherever he is and talk to him, something you’re not gonna be able to do here, seeing as he isn’t here,” I returned.

“He’s stopped going to meetings,” she declared on a toss of her hair.

“I don’t even know what you mean, but whatever you mean, I don’t care,” I replied.

She bent my way. “Meetings,” she hissed. “To keep out the devil.”

“My guess, NA,” Colt waded in to explain.

Oh crap.

“And he’s also stopped coming home,” Peggy went on.

Shit.

I took a small step back as what was happening here penetrated.

And what was happening here was not good.

“Is he here?” she asked.

“Like I said, Peggy, no,” I answered far more calmly. “I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He hasn’t been home in over a week,” she informed me, like this was my fault.

I said nothing.

She kept the information flowing. “He also hasn’t been to work.”

Oh man.

She was screwed.

“It’s his son’s birthday party. I was certain he’d be here,” she declared.

It was my turn to share some information.

“Then you don’t know Trent, Peg, because he doesn’t give a shit about his son.”

“He’s his father,” she snapped. “A father goes to his son’s birthday party.”

“He hasn’t been to one yet,” I reminded her.

“That’s because you,” she leaned toward me, “wouldn’t let him.”

I drew in breath.

I had to hold on and not get mad again. She was up shit’s creek. She knew it but was denying it and looking for someone to blame or take it out on.

But in the end, she’d go home to betrayal and abandonment.

When she was gone, I’d go into my house to watch my kid eat cake and open presents, my man at my side and everyone we loved who loved us back crammed in my little Janis Joplin living room.

So I could find it in me to be patient.

“That’s because Ethan wasn’t comfortable with it,” I explained, something she well knew.

“That’s because you weren’t comfortable with us being a part of your son’s life,” she fired back. “Trent wanted more.”

“Peg, seriously, think about it. You wanted more.”

“Trent wanted it,” she hissed.

“Trent is the guy who knocked up his girlfriend. That’s it. Even with the minimal effort he put into winning his son, all of it at your demand, so all of it really for you, he’s always just been the guy who knocked up his girlfriend.”

“That’s not true,” she snapped.

“He’s the guy who knocked up his girlfriend,” I repeated quietly. “He’s only been playing at being a father because it made you happy.” I glanced swiftly at her kids. “And I think that hasn’t changed.”

She lifted her chin and reiterated, “That’s not true.”

I looked at her with her kids in my yard and saw bravado.

She was giving it her all.

But she couldn’t hide it.

Her husband, a recovering addict, had disappeared. She had a part-time job and two young kids.

She was terrified.

I knew that feeling.

Something moved over her face.

I braced.

“He emptied our bank account.”

Oh shit.

“Peg—” I began.