Page 21 of Drifter’s Heart

I toss my phone back at the laundry pile just as it buzzes. Timing. Now I want to know what West says in response to my sass, but he’ll have to wait until I deal with my irresponsible offspring.

“You know you need more time to pack than what you took,” I call out, not looking up as I berate my child. If I give Sally time enough to creep her butt down the hall and get whatever she forgot to take with her—shoes for volleyball, her phone charger, her toothbrush—then the ensuing argument afterward will be less volatile. Still, it’s in me to snark. Plus, I’m her mom. I get liberties, right? “Do you want a laminated list on the fridge here or at Coyote?”

“Are you that irresponsible with our kid that you let her wander around with anyone and not care?”

The voice that fills the townhouse isn’t the one that I expect, though somewhat horrifyingly it does belong here. Hell, we even still share a name, because I wanted continuity for Sally.

I take a step toward the laundry pile as my head snaps upward, meeting Brad Hamilton’s crystal-blue eyes. Eyes that once drew me in with all the promise of a happy life together and picket fences and all the bullshit we were supposed to do together.

Now those eyes simply remind me of how cruel he can be.

“Get out,” I muster enough volume to hiss at him as my throat clenches on the two words. My hand brushes the screen of my phone, but my trembling fingers knock it sideways. The device tumbles off the top of the laundry pile deep into the mass, useless. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Brad saunters up a step and pauses on the threshold like it matters if he puts his pristine boot that’s never seen mud on the carpet. “I own this house, Winnie. That gives me the right.”

I shake my head. “That’s not how it works.” He knows this. We both do. We’ve been through the boundaries of the restraining order dozens of times over the years. To everyone else, I’ve played his asshole factor off as exactly that—the asshole ex. Two other people in my world know what Brad Hamilton is really like. My brother, and West.

Without my phone, I can’t reach either of them. Nor am I stupid enough to turn my back on the man I once loved, the man who fathered the child I adore more than anyone else in my life.

The man who gave her up because he wanted a perfect wife and a perfect life. Who cheated on the same family that he acquired less than a month after our divorce finalized.

I retreat another step, the backs of my knees hitting the edge of the sofa. “If you don’t leave, and I call it in, breaking the restraining order will threaten everything you have now.” I force my voice to remain calm.

His smile is fixed and plastic. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

I shake my head. I don’t care. “Please leave.”

“What if I told you that my wife and I are separated?” Brad’s plastic smile widens, a monster’s maw decorated as a sugared trap to lure its prey. “We can fix this, Winnie. We can talk it through, just us. Especially without her here.”

I blink at him. “Her?” I know he means Sally. My voice rises. So much for staying calm. Don’t bring our daughter into this. I fight for breath. “Did you just say her?”

Brad stops for the first time, and I realize just how many steps he’s come inside the townhouse. Measuring the distance with my eye, I lower myself to the sofa and slide a hand beneath the laundry pile, feeling for my lost phone.

“If it’s just us, then we can start fresh.” His smile is almost beatific.

Like he’s high. On drugs or his own hallucinations of an impossible future, I have no idea.

I shake my head as I pull my phone free of the pile, standing up sharply. The action jerks him back a step. He frowns, staring at my hands as his vision clears of its glazed look.

Waving the phone in his direction, I hold my thumb over the keypad. “Cord, or the police? I have friends I can call too. Each of them is a witness to you breaking the restraining order. Most don’t care about the law side of it.” My smile is feral as I start to dial.

Brad backpedals. “Winnie,” he pleads. “Don’t tell me I didn’t try. I wanted to see you. Especially when she isn’t around.”

My vision narrows to a pinpoint at the second omission. Any remaining pity in my stomach for this man is a long, long way below ground zero. “Brad,” I start sweetly, keeping my voice all friendly-like.

“Yes, Winnie?” The hope in his blue eyes I once loved staring into is sickening.

“What’s our daughter’s name?”

He blinks at me and sways. “I⁠—”

I call an ambulance.

Two hours later, my townhouse is empty, though my head is still filled with enough chatter that it sounds like there’s a dozen people talking. Or maybe that’s just the residual white noise inside my head that refuses to quit.

I groan, my butt planted on my doorstep, where the paramedic team left me with a blanket draped over my shoulders and a handful of cards for domestic violence helplines stuffed into my lap. My elbows rest on my knees, the door wide open behind me. It’s not like security matters right now. The one person in the world who can hurt me is currently strapped to a stretcher, though I imagine Brad will be restrained once he’s seen triage at the hospital.

I didn’t call the police in the end, but seeing as one of my friends attended the scene, I know the call will be made on my behalf after a brief chat. That’s a relief as I don’t have the energy to deal with anything else right now.