Page 57 of The Little Things

She drove off and I closed myself back inside the cabin. I carried our wine glasses to the sink and shut off the lights on my way to the bedroom.

I wasn’t going to give up on him. No matter what. But I also wasn’t going to sit by and watch him suffer while I did nothing.

Curling up in a ball on my bed, I thumbed through my contacts until I got to my father and hit call. He answered, a ring and a half later.

“Hey, princess. How’s it going?”

“Not too good,” I admitted. “Dad, I need your help. Are you still friends with that PI who helped you track Mom down all those years ago?”

A beat of silence filled the line before he said, “I think maybe you should tell me what’s going on before I answer that.”

So I did. I told him everything, and he listened as I gave him everything, beautiful and ugly alike. Then, once I was finished, my cheeks tight from the salty tears, my father proved that he was one of the best men on the face of the earth by saying, “Grab a pen, sweetheart, and I’ll give you his number.”

Chapter Thirty

Rae

“Rae, are you sure you want to do this? That’s a lot of money.” My annoyance grew as the man on the other end of the line asked the same question for what felt like the hundredth time.

“I’ve already told you, Tony. I’m doing this, whether you agree with it or not.” I’d never been more determined in all my life.

His sigh carried through the line as I looked out the driver side window of Lennix’s little red car to the ratty, dilapidated singlewide trailer I was parked in front of. “Fine, if you’re going to do this, I’m not going to stop you, but I feel like I should remind you that the contract I drafted won’t hold up in court if it were to ever reach that point.”

I wasn’t worried about whether or not it was enforceable. Something told me these people would take one look at the document my father’s attorney had worked up for me in the middle of the night last night and wouldn’t have the smarts to question it.

“So you’ve said.”

“Jesus. You’re just as big a headache as your father, you know that?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Tony. I have to go. Talk soon.”

“I hope not,” he grumbled through the line before I disconnected the call and shoved the phone into my purse.

I turned off the car and pushed the door open, climbing out and brushing the wrinkles from the front of my pencil skirt. I’d decided to pull out more clothes from my old life for this, dressing in a skirt, a designer blouse, and expensive heels. I’d even slicked my hair back into a bun, taming all flyaways to project a look of importance and authority.

I hooked my purse over my shoulder and tucked the folder with the documents inside under my arm. It also contained the check Tony wasn’t happy about. Fortunately, when I told my mom and dad my plan, they’d been fully supportive, and as long as they had my back, I didn’t care what anyone else thought.

I puffed out a breath and steeled my spine before starting up the cracked walkway to the trailer. I probably should have been scared—or hell, even nervous—given I knew what these people were capable of, but I was too angry to feel anything else. It also helped that I’d noticed the truck parked at the corner of the four-way stop a few yards away and spotted Zach’s father, Cord, sitting inside. I had a feeling Lincoln had filled him in on my plan, and the man was there to make sure nothing bad happened.

It had been three days since the scene outside of Muffin Top, and no one had seen or heard from Zach. I was beyond worried about him, and the more worried I got, the more my anger at these horrible people grew.

It was time to put an end to all of this. I stomped up the rickety front steps and lifted my hand to knock, banging my knuckles right over the top of the eviction notice taped to the door. I could hear sounds coming from inside. Something that sounded like a game show playing on the TV inside.

I waited a few seconds, but when no one answered, I knocked again, this time putting my fist and my foot into it.

“Jesus Christ!” the man inside barked. “Hold your damn horses, will ya? I’m comin’.”

The door flew open a second later and the man I’d seen holding Doreen Caswell back as she screamed horrible, nasty things at Zach stood in the doorway, one forearm braced on the frame. “Charles Caswell?”

He looked me up and down, a sneer curling at his lips. “Who’s askin’?”

“My name’s Rae Blackwell.”

He squinted, looking closely. “You’re the woman my wife and I saw with that piece of shit the other day,” he growled. He was going for intimidating, but his words had the opposite effect. I wanted to reach down and rip off my shoe so I could use the heel to stab him right in the eye.

“I’m the woman you saw with Zach Paulson while your vile bitch of a wife verbally assaulted him,” I corrected on a hiss.

He narrowed his eyes in a glare. “Got nothin’ to say to you.” He started to close the door, but I slammed my hand against it.

---