After the third time I reached voicemail, I couldn’t take it anymore and headed to Alexa’s in person. It wasn’t the smartest idea, considering the mood I was in, but I needed to have it out with her. I had only one thing to lord over this woman, but I had lots of it: money. I wasn’t above paying her to cut this shit out. Again. This little game was retaliation for telling her she couldn’t take Beck on a two-week tour following the NASCAR circuit. She needed to show me who was in control. I knew my ex-wife; she was cunning and all about making sure she had the upper hand. Our fight, and likely seeing Emerie, had left her feeling that I needed to be put in my place.
The first knock on her apartment door went unanswered and only served to piss me off and make me knock louder. After two impatient minutes, I took out my key. When I’d kicked Alexa out and rented her this place, I’d kept a key for myself. There’d never been an occasion to use it, but I was done with her avoiding me.
The lock was jammed, but after a minute of jiggling the key around, I felt some sense of relief hearing the loud clank as it slid open. Not wanting to get smacked in the head with a pan, I cracked the door open and yelled.
“Alexa?”
No answer.
A second time. “Alexa?”
The hallway was quiet, and there wasn’t a sound coming from inside the apartment. Deciding it was safe, I pushed the door open.
And my heart stopped when I saw what was inside.
Emerie
Something was going on.
Office doors had been slamming for the entire last half of my telephone counseling session. In the past ten minutes, yelling had started as well. One voice was a very pissed-off Drew, and the other was Roman, who’d recently arrived. He frequently did investigations for Drew, but whatever was happening seemed way more personal than just a case.
After apologizing again to my patients—lying and telling them I was going to have a word with the construction crew about their language—I hung up and started toward my closed office door. I stopped upon hearing my name.
“Emerie? What the hell has she got to do with this?”
“Alexa basically told the court that I’m sleeping with an ex-con.”
“An ex-con? What’d she do? Get a parking ticket?”
“It’s a long story, but she was arrested for indecency last month.”
“What?”
“Happened when she was a teenager. It was an appearance ticket for skinny dipping that turned into a warrant because she hadn’t paid it. It’s a misdemeanor…nothing more serious than a parking ticket. But, of course, Alexa is making it out to be something more. The petition calls her an ex-con with a penchant for indecent exposure. And she also added in that it was the same ex-con who recently caused Beck to get burned.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck. That’s not the worst part. I could talk my way out of that in a New York court with the shit the judges hear here every day. But she filed the change of custody motion in Atlanta.”
“How can she do that when you both live here?”
“I just came from her apartment. She’s gone. Doorman said she left yesterday and gave a forwarding address. Her place is empty. She fucking moved!”
Drew wasn’t a heavy drinker. He had the occasional glass of whiskey or a beer or two, but slamming them back wasn’t something I’d seen him do.
Until tonight.
Even though he’d assured me that none of it was my fault, I still felt guilty as the catalyst for making him look like an unfit parent.
We sat in Drew’s apartment; both of us had cleared our afternoon schedules. I’d promised Roman that Drew would be at the airport for their flight tomorrow morning. The two of them were flying down to Atlanta to attempt to talk to Alexa, and I was really glad Drew wasn’t going alone. He couldn’t even say his ex-wife’s name without growling.
Closing the door behind Roman, I locked the top lock, picked up Drew’s drink from the kitchen counter and dumped the rest down the drain. Then I went to the couch where he lay with one arm covering his eyes. His legs were longer than the couch, and his feet dangled over the end. I unlaced his shoes and began to take them off.
“You trying to get me naked?” Drew slurred. “Fuck the shoes. Take off my pants.”
I smiled. Even loaded, the man was still himself. “It’s almost eleven o’clock. Your flight is in ten hours. I figure you need to get some sleep. The morning may not be too kind to your head.”
His large shoes clomped to the floor as I slipped them off, followed by his socks.
“I can’t lose my son.”
My heart broke, hearing the anguish in his cracked voice.
“You won’t. If you can’t buy her off, you’ll convince a judge that your son needs you and belongs with you.”