Page 39 of Poison's Promise

I push open the door to the living area of the bus.

It’s cluttered with the usual mess—empty beer cans, guitar picks, and bits of sheet music.

The smell of stale smoke and beer hangs in the air, familiar and oddly comforting.

“All right, what the hell am I gonna do today?” I ponder aloud, scratching my beard.

Maybe hit up a local bar, find some trouble to pass the time. But then, just as I’m about to formulate a plan, my phone buzzes angrily in my pocket.

“Who the fuck is calling this early?” I grumble, fishing it out.

The screen flashes a name that makes my stomach knot up. My attorney. Great.

“Yeah?” I say, answering the call.

“Asher, it’s Mark. We’ve got a situation.”

“What’s new?” I reply, rolling my eyes.

There’s always a situation when it comes to Rachel.

“She’s going for sole full custody of Tilly.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I snap, pacing the length of the bus. “She can’t do that. She won’t get away with it.”

“Any judge would see that too, Ash,” Mark says, his tone calm and measured. “You haven’t been ruled an unfit parent. We’ll fight hard. Trust me.”

With as much as I fucking pay him, damn straight he better fight hard.

“Yeah, well, you better,” I growl. “I’m not losing my daughter because Rachel’s on a goddamn witch hunt.”

“Don’t worry about it, Asher. I’ll handle this.”

“Do more than handle it, Mark. Win it.” I hang up, my hand trembling with rage.

How could she? Sure, she might be mad at me, but she’s using Tilly as a weapon against me.

Tilly’s my world. There’s no way in hell I’m giving her up without a fight.

I collapse onto the worn leather couch, running a hand through my buzzed hair.

The ache in my chest deepens, mingling with the frustration boiling inside me.

Rachel’s always known how to push my buttons, but this... this is a new low.

“Goddamn it,” I whisper, staring at the ceiling. “What else is gonna go wrong?”

As if on cue, the door to the bus swings open, but I don’t bother looking up.

My mind’s too clouded, too focused on how to keep my daughter safe, how to make sure Rachel doesn’t win this time.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls out, breaking through the fog of my thoughts.

I look up, and there she is—Polly.

“Not now, babe,” I mutter, trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside me.

But even as I say it, I know there’s no escaping this conversation.

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