Page 23 of Offside Devil

Hanna curses under her breath. “Oh, no. Are they already there? I was busy and I didn’t see the email in time. CPS is coming for a check-in.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” I glance over my shoulder. At least Jodie has the decency to look apologetic.

“I got the email half an hour ago, but I was—Shit, Zane, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Hanna asks.

“No. I’ll handle it.”

Like I’ve handled everything else this shitstorm of a week has thrown at me.

I hang up and Wannabe G.I. Joe is lurking right behind me. I regard him coolly. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll need to strap on forty pounds of pads. I’m desensitized.”

He doesn’t even pretend to laugh at my non-joke. “I’m not here to intimidate anyone, sir. I’m here to make sure we are placing children in safe homes. That’s all I care about.”

“Then, by all means.” I step aside and wave them both in. “Come inside.”

He breezes by, knocking his shoulder against my arm as he goes.

New item on the to-do list: Don’t kill the asshole CPS agent.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Jodie mumbles. She tucks a manila folder under her arm and slinks in behind her partner.

The man turns on his heel in my living room, arms crossed. “Where is Andy?”

I run my tongue over my teeth while I filter out all of the shit I definitely shouldn’t say. “Aiden is taking a nap. He hasn’t slept well the past two nights, so he’s tired. I don’t want to wake him if I don’t?—”

“Why hasn’t he been sleeping?” he interrupts.

I shrug. “A question for the ages. Does any parent actually know why their kid won’t sleep?”

“Good parents know,” he retorts flatly. “Parents who are paying attention know.”

I release a slow, dangerous breath through my nose. When guys try to start shit on the ice, Daniel likes to remind me that I can’t do anything about it from the penalty box. Show them by winning. I channel that thought now.

But goddamn, murder is such a tempting second option.

“He isn’t sleeping because he’s four,” I grit out. “His mom also just died, in case you didn’t know, so he’s living in a new house. He’s been through a lot.”

He snaps his attention to Jodie. “How did the boy’s mother die?”

Jodie looks mortified. She leans in, hand over her mouth like I might miss a conversation happening less than ten feet away from me. “Overdose. Mr. Whitaker stepped up as a family placement.”

I can’t fight back a bitter laugh. “You really studied that case file on the way over, huh, pal?”

“My job isn’t to read up on the child,” he spits, taking a step closer. His mustache quivers, and I swear I hear an Old West-style twang in the air. I half-expect a tumbleweed to blow through. “It’s my job to know that you are an addict with a record.”

“Recovered addict. I’ve been sober for years.”

“You haven’t been arrested for years.” He rolls a shoulder. “There’s a difference.”

I clench my jaw so hard that I hear my molars creaking under the strain. “Not for me, there isn’t.”

Jodie steps between us. “No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Whitaker.”

“He is. Whoever the fuck he is,” I growl, looking over Jodie’s head at the man. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but you came into my house and questioned my character.”

He arches a brow. “I’m Peter Morris. And I’ve seen enough cases like this one to guess how this is going to turn out.”

The guy is an asshole, but shockingly, I’m half-tempted to hear what he thinks. Because for the first time in a long time, I have no fucking idea what my future looks like. I don’t know what’s going to happen minute by minute, let alone day by day. If this guy has some crystal ball, then by all means—show me.

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