“Yes, well, you could spend a little time with JT.”
I snorted. Spending time with JT was like having long, drawn out conversations with a blank wall. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions, unless I asked him what he wanted for dinner. But he was there. And he was engaging—sort of. That was a one hundred and eighty degree spin from the way he was before. But, still, it was difficult walking that field of landmines—not asking him questions about Harrison even though that was the only thing I really wanted to talk about.
I’d gone to all these lawyers, and none of them could help me. Jack was more than eager to help, but he had no fresh ideas and almost no optimism that we might be able to win. The only thing I had was the adoption papers my parents signed nearly sixteen years ago and the custody order I was given when my parents died. And those, Jack assured me, should carry some weight. Unless, of course, the judge threw out the validity of the original adoption order. Then we had nothing other than JT’s testimony to stand on.
And I wasn’t sure what JT would say when he was alone with the judge in his chambers. I think that scared me more than anything else.
“Go home,” Nick said again, his voice gentle, but dripping with concern.
I lowered my head, pressing my hands against my face. I was tired. I hadn’t slept in days. All I could think about was this custody fight. And Harrison. Harrison was on my mind a lot more than I cared to admit. And it was tearing me apart inside. I ached for him. It was a physical ache, a need like nothing I have ever known before. But he was threatening to take away everything that mattered to me. The conflict was unbearable and it colored everything in my life right now.
I got up and grabbed my jacket, sliding it over my arms as I made my way outside. There was a little chill to the air today as though Mother Nature were sympathizing with my predicament. I walked, deciding I needed the extra time to gather my thoughts. Or maybe I just wanted to indulge in them so that I wouldn’t be obsessing when JT came home for what could be our last night alone together.
The house was quiet when I walked in. I flipped on a few lights to fight the gathering gloom and went into the kitchen, shedding my jacket as I searched through the refrigerator for something edible to make for dinner. I guess I should have gone shopping for the ingredients to JT’s favorite food. The only problem was, his favorite meal changed from day to day, depending on how he was feeling that day. He used to like Mom’s fried chicken, but announced six months ago that it was too salty and too greasy. He used to like tacos, but apparently I didn’t make them as well as Taco Bell. The only thing he seemed to like consistently was hamburgers and fries. But we’d already indulged that craving once this week.
I dragged out some salad vegetables and a couple of steaks that had been in the freezer so long they were almost unrecognizable. Who doesn’t like steak, right?
I was about to lay a thawed steak on the hot grill when the front door burst open and JT came storming into the room.
“Hey, Penny,” he said, a big smile on his face.
“Hey.”
“Harrison wants to talk to you.”
I turned around, almost expecting Harrison to be standing behind him, but there was no one there. I looked expectantly at JT. He had his head in the refrigerator, but he has the sixth sense that most teenagers have.
“He’s outside,” he mumbled as he backed up, a soda in his hands.
“Watch the steaks,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel as I headed for the door.
What could this be about?
A flash of memory rushed through my mind: Harrison pushing me back against my desk in what was once my mother’s office, his hands under my shirt.
I blushed, grateful for the rush of cool wind that immediately touched my burning skin.
He was standing by his car, his arms crossed over his chest. I could imagine what he must look like in a board room. He would be wearing an expensive suit instead of the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing now. And he would have a group of people around him, willing to do anything he asked of them at a second’s notice. But he would have this same determined look on his face despite the casual way in which he leaned back against the car.
When he saw me, he straightened, his eyes moving slowly over the length of me, from the ponytail I’d haphazardly tied my hair into to the pink blouse that was spotted with flour and the black slacks that were also a little worse for wear after hours in the bakery.
I could just imagine what he was thinking of me. The outfit was three years out of fashion, the shoes scuffed and in great need of polish. And the dark shadows under my eyes…how unprofessional.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, clipping my words to suggest annoyance I didn’t really feel.
“I was wondering if we could talk about tomorrow.”
“What about it?”