“Deacon.”
I turned around to face but didn’t walk back to the door.
She walked to me, her arms still across her chest, her hips shaking. She looked at me with fury, like I’d really done something terrible to her. “Get rid of her. Or you’ll never see your son again.” She shifted her weight to one foot, cocking a full attitude.
I stared down into her face, hit with a million emotions that I didn’t show. Because of my former drinking problem, she would always have the upper hand over me, always have the judge’s preference, especially since she was gorgeous. I would always be at her mercy. But I wasn’t going to give in to her demands. “Cleo is family.” It was that simple. “She stays.” I wasn’t choosing my girlfriend over my son. I was just choosing myself over Valerie. She was a terrorist—and I wouldn’t negotiate.
She couldn’t hide her shock, both of her eyebrows rising to the top of her forehead.
“I hope you change your mind about Thanksgiving. Because I would love our son to see both of his parents at the dinner table, as friends. I keep extending olive branches to you for the sake of the amazing person we made together. I will always have some kind of affection for you because you made him…the one person in the world I love more than anything. I will keep trying to keep us together. But I will not let you affect my relationship with Cleo. Nothing you say, nothing you do, will change what we have. Don’t bother. Accept her…or don’t. But the way that affects our relationship with Derek, Derek’s relationship with me, his father, the impact it will have on his development…that’s all on you.”
I had a rough day at work.
My mind was elsewhere, thinking about my conversation with Valerie.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, scared that she would make good on her threat and take Derek away from me. She could move to another building, move back to California, take me to court to get full custody and make sure I had no legal rights…she could ruin my life.
But I wouldn’t sacrifice Cleo.
No.
Because if it wasn’t Cleo, it would just be someone else. Valerie would dictate the terms of my life until she was dead. Her foot would always be in my ass, kicking me forward, pulling the strings like I was some kind of puppet.
I refused to play the game anymore.
I just had to hope that Valerie was bluffing.
After the long day at work, I went home, feeling the same weight of pain in my stomach. There was anxiety in my blood, discomfort. Valerie knew exactly how to play me like a violin—and make me sing. I wanted to have both Cleo and Derek in my life. But according to Valerie, I could only have one.
I greeted the doorman then headed to the elevator.
Jake was there, standing in his suit, looking at his phone.
It was hard to look at him, to know what he did to Cleo, the way he threw her under the bus just to be petty. It also made me sick that she’d slept with him, made me feel a pain in my chest I couldn’t describe. It was like being pissed off but devastated at the same time.
The elevator beeped and then the doors opened.
Jake put his phone away, and that was when he noticed I was there. He stilled, his eyes on me.
I didn’t move to the elevator, holding his gaze, feeling a ferocity that was stronger than anything I’d ever felt toward Valerie. Wordlessly, a conversation passed between us, a coldness that rivaled the snow outside on the street.
He was either too stupid or too arrogant to speak, maybe both. “She did fuck me that night—and she liked it.” He slid his phone into his pocket and moved toward the elevator.
I was a logical person who thought through every single action before I made it, analyzed words spoken to me before I responded, but my reaction was so animalistic and carnal there was no thought put into it at all.
I lost my goddamn mind.
I grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanked him back, and then slammed my fist so hard into his face that he fell to the floor, blood gushing everywhere and spilling onto the floor.
“You fucking asshole!” He held up his hands in front of him, seeing the red color everywhere.
I stepped closer to him and moved my shoe onto his chest, pushing hard enough that his lungs couldn’t expand more than a few inches.
He struggled to breathe, started to squirm. “You—”
My foot moved to his neck, pressing down on his trachea so he really couldn’t breathe. “I know it hurts to lose a woman like her. But get over it. She’s mine now. Say anything like that again, even her name, and I’ll kill you.” It was tempting to slam my foot down and really cause damage, but it could be permanent, and that felt cruel. I lifted my shoe, wiped the blood off on the material of his suit, and then stepped into the elevator.