Page 74 of At His Beck & Call

I look up at him, the words falling from my mouth before I can consider whether it’s wise to tell Oliver so much about my personal life.

“I have a protective order against James. He’s not supposed to come within five hundred feet of me, but he ignores it all the time. He has access to Henry, but only with my approval. I didn’t tell him Hen had cancer at first, and now he’s angry because he didn’t know, and he’s told me he’s going to take him away from me, and Henry’s all I have, and?—”

“It’s alright, Lissa,” Oliver says, so calmly that I almost believe him. “We’re going to go there now, and we’ll deal with this. He has no rights to Henry until a settlement is reached, and even then, preference often stays with the mother. You have full custody, I’m assuming?” I nod as he grunts angrily. “We’re going to head there right now and find Henry.”

I stare at him, every piece of hard-won independence I have fought for clamoring in my head.

I have to stop relying on other people.

But the truth is a brutal reality. I don’t have authority over James; I never did. He constantly ignores the court's orders, and I’ve never won an argument with him, even when I knew I was in the right.

Yet when I look at Oliver, with his stoic, angry stare, it feels in that moment as if he wants to fight the whole world for me. And he has every intent to win.

“Alright,” I say tentatively. “If you’re sure, but I don’t have a car.”

“We’ll take mine.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling up to the hospital. The drive over, after the euphoria of our time in his office, is jarring and unpleasant. Neither of us speaks, but Oliver’s movements are tense as if he’s holding himself back from speaking his mind.

As he pulls into a parking spot directly in front of the hospital, I climb out of the car and run toward the door.

“Lissa.” I turn to find Oliver standing beside the driver’s side door. “I see them, they’re across the street in the park.”

Spinning around, I crane my neck, standing on tiptoe, but I’m shorter than Oliver, and all I can see are trees. I can just make out the top of a man’s back, as if he’s pushing a child on the swings. Before I can think through it, I’m running into the road.

“Lissa!”

I am narrowly missed by an ambulance that’s pulling into the hospital and have to jump out of the way of another car as I sprint across the road, oblivious of anything but getting to my son.

Oliver catches up with me, grabbing my arm and slowing me.

“Be calm,” he says with such authority I feel it in my bones. “Yelling at him won’t help matters, and it’ll scare Henry.”

Alarm bells continue to go off in my head as I stare at him.

“I know you’re scared; you’re angry. But I have dealt with a lot of these cases before. Men like James will use your emotions against you. He’ll weaponize them. Youmustbe calm.”

I know he’s right. It would be just like James to let me fly off the handle at him, only to use it in court later.

Taking a long, deep breath, I make a conscious effort to relax, and I’m infuriated that the pleased little smile on Oliver’s face makes me proud that I was able to do as instructed.

Turning, I head toward the entrance of the park, the monotonous squeak of the swing the only sound as I come up behind them.

“James,” I say coldly. Henry twists around at the sound of my voice, his face breaking into a bright smile. James glances back, as if he’s been waiting for me.

“Before you lose your shit, it’s not far, and the poor little guy needed some fresh air.”

Not according to the doctors, you piece of shit.

“He needs to go back inside,” I say, my voice small and quiet over the sound of the swing.

“He’s fine where he is,” James mutters, sounding bored.

“Mr. Davenport.” James flinches at Oliver’s voice, turning, his eyes widening as Oliver takes an ominous step forward. “You had no right to remove your son from the hospital wing without his mother’s express permission.” Oliver’s voice is like a whip. “Shehas full custody.Youdo not.”

He’s right, but I hate to have this discussion in front of Henry. I always avoid these conversations when he’s around. The swinging slows, and when Henry turns to me, he looks pale, and my stomach turns over at the thought that this might have set him back.

He still needs lots of rest and recovery before the chemotherapy begins.