Page 97 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

“He doesn’t want them talking shit about me.”

“Yeah, probably,” she agrees, wiping her fingers on a wad of napkins, “but I still think he likes you.”

Despite my best efforts, hope, the most dangerous feeling of all, springs up inside my chest.

23

DAIRE

“Admiring your handiwork?”Rosie asks from the doorway of the nursery.

All the furniture finally arrived, and while a good deal of it was already assembled, like the dresser beneath the window, a few things, like the crib, needed to be put together.

I turn to face her. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

She’s already dressed to go. If we don’t leave in the next couple of minutes, we’ll be late to our visit with Sammy.

My chest aches at the thought of holding him again. This’ll only be the second time I get to cradle him in my arms.

In his whole life, the amount of time I’ve gotten to spend with him can be counted in minutes.

She steps up beside me. “It looks nice, right? Cozy?”

I nod. She did an incredible job picking out the furniture and decor. It’s… honestly, it’s perfect. But the thought that he’ll never get to stay here with us is like a knife to the chest.

I understand and respect the court’s caution with this.

But selfishly, I just want my son.

I step out of the room, and Rosie follows. She eases the door shut with a quiet click.

“Thank you for this. For all of this.” My words come out thick with sincerity. Rosie didn’t have to agree to marry me, to help me out the way she has. “I’m sure this isn’t the way you hoped to spend Christmas Eve.”

Her answering smile does something to my heart. “I’m right where I want to be.”

Fuck. That means more to me than she can possibly know.

Just like last time,we’re met by my lawyer and a social worker.

I cradle the present I got for Sammy in my hands, twirling the box around and around as nerves skitter through me. It’s a silly little thing, but when I saw the tiny hockey jersey, I couldn’t pass it up, so I had it customized with my last name. Maybe it’s forward of me to want my son to share my last name, but it’s hard not to dream about the prospect. Sammy might not like hockey as he gets older. He might prefer another sport or even no sport at all. But I can’t help but envision us playing together when he’s older.

“You’re fidgeting,” Rosie whispers, pulling out the chair at the table.

“I can’t help it.”

She points at the seat, silently directing me to sit.

I don’t listen. Instead, I pace the room, filled with a nervous energy I can’t expel.

Minutes pass, and my restlessness only gets worse.

Even my lawyer looks worried, eyeing her watch.

Eventually I stop in front of her, my heart lodged in my throat. “They’re not coming, are they?”

She exhales a breath, exchanging a look with the social worker. Nothing is spoken, but information is conveyed, nonetheless. The social worker slips from the room.

“They should have been here an hour ago. That doesn’t look good for them. We’ll wait a little longer, but I can’t force them to show up. The good news for you, however, is that going against a court ordered visit won’t look good for them when it’s time to make a decision about custody.”

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