Page 97 of Exposed

When I straighten with Simon in my arms, he’s beginning to wake up from his nap during the car ride.

“It’s okay, Simon. Daddy isn’t leaving you, but you have to visit your grandma and grandpa for a few days. Daddy will take you home as soon as I can,” I murmur to him and kiss his head. “I love you, Simon.”

Part of the custody battle also entails his name. The Trumans are fighting for his last name to be Truman since I’m not married to their daughter, and they also want to change his first name.

Like hell, they will. His name is Simon Galloway, and that’s never changing.

“Here’s his blanket. He loves it. And here’s the formula he uses. We put a can in there so you’ll know,” Jasmine hands Simon’s blanket and a diaper bag to Mrs. Truman.

“We don’t need those,” she looks disdainfully at Jasmine and knocks them out of her hand. Simon’s favorite blue blanket tumbles to the dirty ground before Jasmine can grab it.

“Hey,” I rumble. “That’s Simon’s. Show some respect.”

Mr. Truman purposefully crowds my space and growls, “Respect?” I’m holding my son, but Mr. Truman roughly pokes me in the chest anyway. I instinctively take a step back and tighten my hold on Simon.

“You don’t know what respect is. Quit fighting me for custody,” he spits. “You’re going to make it a bloodbath.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Truman?” I ask, and he looks insulted.

“Me threateningyou? I would never. I’m bringing my lawyer next time to the drop off. He’ll see how disrespectful you are,” Mr. Truman answers.

I snap my mouth shut even though I want to deck this loser.

“Give us our grandson,” Mrs. Truman steps forward and opens her arms.

I turn away from them to face Jasmine.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper to her.

“Of course, I want to kiss him,” Jasmine says loud enough for the Trumans to hear, then leans down close to Simon and me.

“You have no choice right now. We have to play nice,” she murmurs, then kisses Simon’s head.

“We’ll see you before you know it, little guy,” she whispers to him with tears in her eyes.

Mrs. Truman takes Simon from me, and I feel like she’s stabbing my heart. Simon starts crying and reaches for me.

“It’s okay, little man. I love you,” I say in as strong a voice as I can muster while feeling like I need to grab my son and run away with him.

Before they get to their BMW, another woman steps out. She looks to be in her 40’s, and Mrs. Truman hands Simon to her. Simon is turning his head frantically like he’s looking for me, his face red from wailing.

“A fucking nanny? She can’t hold her grandson for twodamn seconds?” I whisper shout to Jasmine and take a step towards them.

“Matt, maybe this is better. The nanny could be nicer than them,” she halts me with her words. “They could have a photographer around. Maybe they’re trying to provoke you so they’ll have photo evidence to use against you.”

I nod, because she has a valid point.

I crack my neck and pop my knuckles before turning back to my car.

As soon as we’re safely locked in my car, I hit my steering wheel, and Jasmine jumps.

“Fuck! He’smyson. I’m supposed to protect him,” I say angrily as hot tears fill my eyes. “What if he cries the whole time they’re with him? What if they hurt him, and I can’t do a fucking thing to stop them?”

“We have to pray he’s okay.” She’s clutching Simon’s blanket to her chest like it’s her own security blanket. I know this is hard for her, too, and I reach over to squeeze her thigh.

“I videotaped as much of the drop off as I could with my phone,” she reveals.

“What?” I saw she had her phone out, but didn’t know she was doing that. I love this girl to the moon and back.

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