Page 40 of Sinful Sorrow

“What are you…” Charlie takes another step forward. Though remembering the bag of trash in his hand, he holds the parcel back, as though to save me from smelling its contents. “Why are you here, Sera?”

“My name is Seraphina.” I swallow and give the bear a gentle squeeze. A hug, before I hand it over. “Or Fifi, I suppose. If you insist on being like the others.”

“Or Sera,” he presses. “Because Seraphina is for those who aren’t your friends, and Fifi is for Minka and Aubs because they like to screw with you.” He nods toward the bear. “Why are you carrying that around with you?”

I drop my gaze to the soft red fur and the hearts on her belly. “Um…” Dragging it up again, I meet his eyes and nibble on the inside of my cheek. “I wanted to give it to Mia, actually.”

His brows pinch closer. Another line of stress marked onto his skin. “Why? It’s not her birthday. It’s not Christmas.”

“Can’t I bring her something just because I was thinking of her?” I offer the bear and let it dangle, despite the ten feet that separate us. “You can tell her it’s from you if you want. Or that you found it.”

“You don’t want her to know it’s from you?” Giving up on our distance, he starts away from his door and stops at the top of the stairs, looking down at me until I’m forced to fold my neck back to maintain eye contact. “That sounds a little creepy to me, Sera.” Finally, at least, his lips quirk subtly at the side. “Here kiddo, I got you something, but I’m a secret admirer.”

I purse my lips and stare. Since I guess he so easily finds his taunting attitude, even amid fresh trauma.

“Give it to her yourself if you want her to have it.” He strides away, so fast I startle, and jams the bag of trash into a chute built into the wall a few doors up from his. Then he spins back and studies me, salacious and flirty. “I’m not lying to my kid. So you gotta do it.”

“It’s not about lying to her. It’s about…” I swallow the groan working its way along my throat. How do I say, ‘I don’t trust your ex-wife as far as I can throw her, and I don’t trust you not to take her back out of guilt,’ without making an enemy of the man I thought was becoming my friend? “I just wanted to get this bear to her while I had a second. It’s not deeper than that.”

Lie.

“So give it to her yourself.” He moves back to his door, placing his hand on the knob, but not opening it just yet. “Jada’s asleep, by the way.”

“Is she, uh…” I guess we’re not beating around the bush. “Um… so she’s really in there?”

He chuckles, soft and barely audible. But I see it in the movement of his chest. The shift in his shoulders. “I doubt Archer kept my shit quiet. Which is precisely why you’re here, looking like someone kicked you in the guts.”

“No, I?—”

“You overheard his side of the conversation, at least. The bits where he mentioned Jada being here. I also know you care about my daughter.”

“No,” I repeat. “I?—”

“Even if, outwardly, you act like children are sticky and gross. There’s only so many times you can braid my daughter’s hair and dance with her on a boat before your ‘I don’t like kids’ spiel falls apart. You care, and then you heard about Jada coming home.”

“Home?” What was that bit about being kicked in the guts? “This is—” I swallow and jut my chin toward his door. “That’s her home, huh?”

His eyes shutter, at least. A reaction somewhere deep in his soul he’s not quite ready to verbalize. “You know what I mean. This is my home. It’s Mia’s home. And now Jada is in it.”

“Forever?” I hate that my eyes itch. I absolutely loathe that my heart skips a beat and leaves me damn near breathless. Because he’s Charlie friggin’ Fletcher. Manwhore extraordinaire. Not only is he a divorced homicide cop, but he’s a dad, too. Multiple red flags I would have stayed far away from a year ago. “You throw your life on its head so quickly. As soon as she calls, you run?”

“You sound like Archer.” His jaw ticks from faux humor to instant anger. “Why is everyone on my case because I’m doing the right thing? If I told her to fuck herself and stay gone, I would be a deadbeat piece of shit. But somehow, helping her still makes me the asshole?”

“It’s not about you taking care of her! It’s about you and Mia having stability. It’s about the fact you were in the middle of an active homicide case, took a phone call that revolved around her associating with drug dealers, then you blew everyone else off to go save the day. For a woman who?—”

Doesn’t deserve it, I want to say. For a junkie abuser who uses people and creates drama behind everyone’s backs.

“There’s no way I can say what needs to be said without becoming the wretched and horrible person on the side. There’s nothing I can say that won’t leave me looking like the jerk.”

“So don’t speak about something that doesn’t affect you! Be here for me, Sera.” He releases the door handle and slams his fist to his chest until the thump reverberates in my heart. “Be my friend. Be my ally. Mia has everyone looking after her. Caring for her. Watching out for her. Which is how it’s supposed to be. But how about you take care of me? Focus on me, instead of my daughter, or worse, my ex-wife. It shouldn’t be that fucking hard.”

“It is hard! Because I want what is best for you both. Don’t you understand?” I move to the top of the stairs, then half a dozen steps closer until I can lower my voice. Until my words come out with a dangerous grit and my exhaling breath surely hits his exposed skin. “She is poison for you, Charlie. Everything she is, everything she touches, is toxic. And right now, you’re willingly holding on.”

“I’m trying to save her life!”

“And she’s going to take yours down with her!” I shove the bear against his chest and pray with everything in me that isn’t bitterness, that he gives it to Mia. “Supporting your spiraling ex-wife is to leave her in the hospital while she’s coming down from meth addiction, and placing her in a clinic the very first moment you can. Bringing her to your apartment? Putting her inside that little girl’s home, while she’s at her most volatile, even leaving her in there right now, while you’re out here bickering with me, is not helping anyone. You’re flailing, Charlie. And if you’d take your head out of your ass for just a second, you’d hear me when I tell you it’s okay to pull away. When someone we care about won’t help themselves, it’s okay to save yourself. We’re here for you, Charlie, and we’re begging to help you.”

“It’s ironic, really, that you say you’re here for me.” He clutches to the bear and brings it up to study her smiling face. “You even claim to be here for my baby.” Finally, he drops his arm and lets the stuffie dangle. “I told you to go in and see her, and yet, you stand out here, arguing with me about a woman you don’t even know.”

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