Page 11 of Hold You Close
“Or me,” I say, trying to wrap my brain around this. Why would Sabrina and David choose Ian, of all people? I was distraught by the thought that her parents might be taking the kids to Florida, but at least I was somewhatpreparedfor that news. This is a total bombshell. I’m torn between feeling glad that the kids won’t be leaving and hurt that Sabrina chose her irresponsible, heart-breaking, playboy brother to raise her children instead of me. What kind of example will he be?
“Are you sure it doesn’t say Philip Chase?” Sabrina’s mother, Nancy, asks. She’s gripping her husband’s hand with both of hers, and her voice shakes.
“Yes. Look again, please.” Silver-haired Philip speaks with the authority of a retired general, and the attorney does as requested.
“No, it says ‘my brother Ian Chase.’” He looks at Ian again. “I assume you are her brother?”
“Yes. But I—”
“Ian,” Nancy says, looking up at her son. “If you don’t want them, we can take them.”
“I never said I—”
“I want them,” I announce, rising to my feet. “If Ian won’t raise them, I will.”
“Can everyone just wait one fucking minute?” Ian puts both hands out, one toward his parents and one toward me. In the chair next to me, David’s mother gasps. She and David’s father are Christian missionaries, and Ian’s foul mouth probably offends her. I can’t imagine what she’d do if she witnessed the debauchery at one of his pool parties.
“I never said I didn’t want the kids,” he goes on. “I’m simply digesting the news.”
“But Ian,” his mother says, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You’ve never had children. You don’t know how to take care of them.”
“She doesn’t have children either.” He gestures toward me. “What makes her so qualified?”
Remaining on my feet, I lean forward and brace both hands on the table. Clearly the uneasy truce we’ve had all week is over. “I love those kids like they’re my own. I know everything about them.”
“I do, too.” His eyes are a piercing blue, and the way he’s got them focused on me, like I’m the only person in the room, is unsettling. It drives me insane that I still find him attractive after all these years. I hate it.
“Oh, really?” I challenge. “What grade is Christopher in?”
“Ninth.” His expression is smug.
Damn. He got it right.“When’s Morgan’s birthday?”
He looks a little less sure of himself. “January . . . tenth?”
Ha!“Twelfth. What does Ruby call her stuffed panda?”
That one stumps him completely.
“Fred,” I announce, glaring at him. “She calls him Fred.”
Ian runs a hand through his dark blond hair. “Look, just because you’ve memorized more random facts about them doesn’t mean you love them more than I do.”
“No, but it means I’m better qualified to raise them. You’re a nightclub owner, Ian. Gone all hours. And when you are home . . .” I let that sentence dangle for a moment.
“What?” he demands, his brow furrowing. “Fucking say it, London.”
Another gasp from my left.
I straighten up, lifting my shoulders, determined to show everyone that I am clearly the better choice. “I’m not sure your home environment is the best one to raise children in, that’s all.”
“And why’s that?”
“You want me to say it? You want me to talk about all the parties and the drinking and the women and the loud music?”
He rolls his eyes, which infuriates me.
“Some people are sleeping at three AM, Ian,” I snap.
