Arnie walked toward her. Every step he took closer, she backed away until she was slammed up against the Dumpster.
“I’ll be back next week, Sarah-Jane.” He reached for her hair, those fat fingers pawing it like he used to. “Why don’t we say five hundred this time for good measure?”
“No, Arnie, I won’t—”
He grabbed her hair, pulling her head hard to the side. “You’ll do as I fucking say, or I’ll show your boyfriend the photos, and he’s not going to want to be anywhere near you once he sees how you used to be.”
“Pix.” Cujo’s voice called out in the shop. Arnie stepped away quickly, leaving Pix shaken. The door opened and Cujo stuck his head outside. “Everything okay, Pix?” he asked stepping up alongside her.
“Yeah,” Arnie answered with a smile. “Asking about your shop. I’m in the market for a new tattoo.”
Cujo slid an arm over her shoulders and tucked her in against him. “Anything I can help with?”
“Was enquiring how much it would set me back. Seems like more money than I can afford right now, but I’m coming into some next week, so maybe I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Cujo led her back into the shop. “You okay, Pix? That guy seemed a bit of an asshole.”
A bit of an asshole. Serious understatement of the year.
*
“What do you mean I can’t see her?”
Dred paced the plush blue carpet of the fancy law office situated at the corner of York and Adelaide. His bespectacled lawyer, Jean Szalavitz, came highly recommended as one of the best family lawyers in the city, but right now that wasn’t proving to be true.
“Miss Veitch, as primary caregiver, mother of the child, and still breastfeeding—”
“Allegedly,” he added.
“Agreed. Allegedly. But unfortunately, this all means it is very hard to convince the courts that the baby should be out of her care for prolonged periods of time. She is attending an out-patient drug rehabilitation program, has frequent appointments with both the child’s pediatrician and social worker.”
“But why can’t I go and see her?”
“Because she used the money you gave her to move to a new location, and has instructed her lawyer that all communication is to go through him.”
“So she’s hiding Petal from me?”
“Technically, no, but effectively, yes. She has filed for full custody. Pieces of your past are public record, and the fact you live in a house full of men may not be seen as the best place to raise a little girl. Especially while the baby is so young and dependent on the mother, it would be very hard to convince a judge that the baby would be best placed elsewhere.”
“But my child was born addicted to fucking opiates. Hardly the calling card of a sane and capable mother.”
“Theodred, there is no doubt in my mind you will get some kind of access. The Canadian legal system tries to respect a father’s rights. And I will start the legal proceedings today to get you that access right away. But for now, we’ll have to communicate through her lawyer. As tempting as it might be to attempt to find her and confront her, I strongly suggest you do not.”
Unable to stomach much more, Dred wrapped up the conversation and stepped outside the law office. Sometimes the law protected the rights of the wrong people. He walked the four kilometers home. Spring had finally started to show its face, although right now he’d much prefer an ice storm, one that would match his mood, dangerous and frigid. Dred slammed the front door so hard, the glass around it rattled.
He took his coat off in the mudroom and hung it on his hook. Fuck. The lawyer was right. He was a grown man and he had a fucking coat hook, like a cubby for kindergarteners in day care. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? He could easily give the family living in his Rosedale home their notice and make plans to move in there. But what would happen to Jordan? Perhaps for now, the rest of the guys could remain at the house with him until all the legal mess was taken care of.
Voices filtered through from the living room. Nikan was angry, which was rare. The paternalistic peacekeeper was the last to lose his cool. Dred wandered through into the living room. Lennon sat on the floor next to the fire. Jordan and Elliot shared the sofa. Sam sat in an armchair, and Nikan was tapping his index finger against the center of his forehead. A sure sign he was pissed off.
“You’re late,” Sam said, his voice laced with frustration. “I don’t ask for much. Just that you turn up on time for team meetings.”
“Fuck you, Sam. If you put the meeting in the calendar for the same time each week, it wouldn’t be so hard to keep track.”
“How did it go?” Jordan asked.
“Don’t ask,” he said, taking the chair across from Sam. “I walked back, needed some space.”
“Where were you?” Sam asked.
“With a lawyer. About Petal.”
Sam leaned forward in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “You have enough money to make all this go away.”