I needed this today, the talk, and the dog. More importantly, the hilarious way Chance is standing there opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
“Woah there lady killer, slow down, or you’ll use up all your energy before practice. There’s a problem with your method to try and convince me you have it under control, son. First, you do what I say and not as I do. Second, it’s dad, dude. Do your old man a solid and listen to me. I can handle the growing up part; it’s your mom who can’t, so you might want to think twice about getting any bigger, or she might lock you away in the basement and toss you bits and scraps every now and then and don’t be bringing up that you know how to treat ladies right around your mom. You want me to live until you grow hair on your chest or not? And who told you to flip people off? Come on; we’ll talk about this in the truck.”
Chance swings his arm around his son, grips him lightly by the neck, and tucks him close to his side. It’s a move I can see Mason doing.
Hope. I have to hold onto it.
“It was you who told me. You also said to pick up a rock and throw it at the asshole. You do it all the time to that friend of Noah’s who speeds down the street. You stick the bird up to people when driving, and you don’t have hair on your chest, dad. Call you, dad, when you called yourself an old man. Geez.”
“Boy, you best stop swearing, or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”
“You have to catch me first. I have speed as well as skills. Besides, you are getting old. I might start calling you old man. Yeah, I think I will. It sounds better than dad. It fits you better too. Think you have some gray hair in that mop. Bye, Aunt Eden, I think you should name him Sparky. It’s not one of the three names; it’s the perfect one for him, though. The minute you saw him, your eyes sparkled. Trust me, they did.” CJ says. Tone full of tease for his dad and truth toward me as if he’s picked up on my lie regarding Mason.
My heart falters as I watch him open the door and climb into the truck — his jaws just flapping away as he continues to poke fun at Chance.
Trust me. Those words, both the Bateman men said to me, stick as all drive away.
“If only I could trust my husband,” I whisper into Sparky’s ear when we get home right before I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Mason
I grip the sides of my head to block out the commotion around me. I can’t shake the noise—the static in my ears. It’s constant, like an alert signal that won’t shut off, and I can’t reach inside to make it stop.
I hate this city, why Eden and I chose this place to live beats the hell out of me. We could have lived anywhere, and we ended up in the city that sucks you into its wicked womb then spits you out.
This city isn’t for angels. It’s for the devil's helpers, and how lucky I am to have one of them dressed in black sitting by my side.
The dark angel is sniffling as if her world is coming to an end no less. Conniving, backstabbing sneaky bitch. She had to lodge the knife in my back a little deeper.
I need a drink about as much as I need away from Natalie and out of this cesspool of a town.
I lift my head at the voice that drowns out the static and creates a new crest of it on its own.
“Here’s a little something for you to consider. There’s a difference between taking pictures in public versus one of your photographers snapping them on private property. That angle of Mrs. Whitaker and Miss Kirkpatrick sure looks like someone was in my client’s backyard. That’s a lawsuit in the making. You might want to get a hold of your lawyer because I have the resources, the power, and the money to file a lawsuit against your trashy magazine. I’ll gladly take it one step further; I will get you to shut down if another lie goes to print. Pull the story or so help me God, if I catch one of your scum suckers sniffing around any of my clients again, you’ll be eating sand for the rest of your life.”
My face twists in disgust while my attorney, who happens to be Natalie’s as well, Nelson Richards, disconnects the call, slams his fist on the table while aiming a glare in my direction.
“If I find out there’s truth behind this, I will sue you both myself. Fix this garbage, Scott, and you,” he pushes his way in between me and Natalie and jabs a finger in my chest. “Don’t move your damn ass from this spot, Mason. You have some explaining to do. If this is the cause behind the divorce papers you gave me, you might as well take them to a different attorney because I will not represent you.” The only word I caught was divorce. It’s like a poisonous drug slipping under my skin, into my blood, and burning the millions of atoms before exploding my cells.
“And you,” he pivots toward Natalie, steam billowing out of his ears. “The same goes for you. I’m not telling you to stay away from Eden, I’m demanding it. I’m out of here to see if I can make some sense of why Eden would file for a divorce.”
Nelson doesn’t wait for me or Natalie to answer before tucking his phone under his chin and flying out of the room like a bat out of hell.
The man might be railing right now, but he’s on top of earning his money. If he can find out whoever the source is that claims they overheard Natalie and Eden arguing, I’ll double his pay. Not that he’d take it. He sure as hell will need it to cover his time for my murder trial.
Two murders. The pathetic piece of shit who stepped onto my property and Natalie. The only problem is, we’ll never find out who the photographer was or the source. The same as I knew when Natalie told me she’d find out who leaked about the boxing. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack unless we wanted to sue. That’s a waste of time and money. Bastards will be right back out blasting on someone else.
When Nelson called a few hours ago telling me to get my ass to his office, I thought for sure Eden called him about representing her for a divorce. Nelson is the only man we’ve ever trusted to handle every legal issue. Not that we’ve had many, up till now. He’s the only lawyer we know besides Aubrey, and Eden wouldn’t put that burden on her.
I high tailed my ass out of the gym as soon as the night-time and weekend manager arrived, and I’ll be damned if the minute I stepped onto the sidewalk if a guy didn’t come up to me and ask if I was Mason Whitaker.
I didn’t fucking want to turn around because I knew, Christ, I knew what he was going to hand me. Sure as shit, he thrust a manilla envelope in my hand.
Every day since I’ve seen my wife, I was hoping Eden was bluffing.
There was no bluff about it.
She served me.
As if she hasn’t been haunting me day and night. She goes and does this.
A divorce she thinks I’ll give her. She couldn’t be more wrong. I will fight until I take my last breath before I agree to one.
A divorce.
A goddamn divorce.
Instead of looking at the damn things that scorched my eyeballs every time I glanced at the envelope, burning a hole in my front seat, I drove across town in the hectic traffic on the 405 in less than an hour. Weaving in and out of cars, breaking every traffic law, thinking, the hell will I do if Nelson asked to see me because Eden called him to let him know out of the kindness of her heart.
Fat chance of that happening when my wife doesn’t have a heart anymore.