Page 152 of It's Always Us

He closes his door and pushes the start button.

“Hey.” I stop his hand from putting the truck in reverse. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t—”

“Have these people lost their damn minds?!” His voice is in that range that tells me to just let him go. “How can she retain rights? She had dealers squatting in the room next to Bree. She was cutting and stashing . . . ” Hegrips the steering, his knuckles turning white. “How the hell is this even in question?! The whole system needs some C-4 and a match taken to it. It’s complete shit! Her rights should’ve been obliterated when she showed up baked out of her mind and handed Bree over to you.”

His head tips back toward the ceiling, eyes closed, nostrils flaring. It’s all finally boiling over. I knew it would, and I’ve been waiting.

“She doesn’t have to sign over rights. I’ll fight. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t ever let Bree go back to that. Lex, she could have been . . . ”

He groans in frustration, his jaw clenched tight, but the ache in his tone hits me square in the chest. It’s one thing to think about all that could have happened, but it’s another to have lived that life, and he did.

I inhale and let it out slowly, knowing I’m going to have the battle of my life on my hands. Mark needs football, just like Bree needs safety, security, and stability. I won’t let him walk away, not after everything, and not when he needs it.

I grab his hand and put it on top of my belly where a foot is wedged, threatening to bust my abdomen wide open.

“Please don’t give up,” I whisper. “I’ve never wanted you to have to stay here and . . . live in this.” I can’t bear what it does to his insides.

“To hell with football. I’m done. I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel the fear rolling off him, backing him into a corner. Every past horror on one side, current circumstances on the other. The future and everything it could be, sitting just beyond—within view, but still out of reach.

“You’re not doing it without me this time. I’m right here. Bree, the babies, and I will be here. I’ll fly to games . . . ”

“It’s not enough. I’ve seen guys try that. It’ll never be enough for me.”

I won’t win this battle in the next five minutes, but I won’t quit fighting for him.

“I’m not giving up.” I bring his hand to my cheek. “I might not be very good at reading, but it’s taught me how to fight.”

He lets out a defeated huff. “Lex . . . I love you.”

“I know. I think somehow, I’ve always known.” His eyes draw up to mine, studying me. “It’s why I married you within an hour of seeing you again.”

I smile. His beautiful dark eyes show me a hint of sadness. I love him so much. So much so I’m not willing to let this be the end of what has allowed him to survive.

______

“Pal, are you certain you should be doing this?” Grandpa leans over and whispers in my ear. It’s not often this man is uneasy, but I hear it in his voice.

I lower myself into the metal chair and let everything settle. “He’s not quitting. This is all I’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“He’ll lose his shit if he knows you came here. Then he’ll kick my old, wrinkled ass for bringing you.” Grandpa stands to the side of me, shoving his hands in his pockets while he surveys the surrounding tables.

There’s no sense in arguing because both are true. Mark might not actually kick Grandpa’s ass, but there will definitely be a long, drawn-out outburst we’ll have to sit through.

There’s a loud buzz, and Linda is led in, her hands cuffed, and her white jumpsuit making her olive-toned skin look pale. The officer leads her to the chair across from me, and she uses her foot to slide it out.

This isn’t the woman I used to have dinner with. Her eyes are set on the table between us, but there’s a hardness to them that I’ve only ever experienced once. The cold, absent stare makes me even more determined to get through to her.

Grandpa steps away, giving us a little privacy, but he doesn’t move far.

“How are you?” I ask the question I’m pretty sure I know the answer to.

“How’s Bree?” Her voice is soft as her eyes drag up to mine. Shame replacing the fierce avoidance.

“She’s . . . okay. She’s doing well in school and dance. Only a few more weeks, and then she’ll be out for the summer.”

“I remember.” She adjusts her hands in her lap, and I slide a picture across the table Bree drew that she’d be ok with me bringing.

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