Page 265 of Branded
But I’d gotten good at bracing, at waiting for it to turn to steam and disappear.
Of course, it always burned me on its way out.
But then again, punishing myself, scalding my insides with that guilt was the only way to bank it.
I’d chosen a man who wasn’t kind, who hadn’t been interested in being a father, had contested every bit of support I’d asked for, so much so that I’d yet to receive a dollar. It was all currently in a trust, tied up in litigation that continued to cost me money and left me stressed and sad and angry. I’d managed to get my hospital bills paid for, at least, because they would have been crippling, but only recently had the results of the DNA test—taken a full two years before—been accepted as coming from an accredited lab. This being a blood test taken after the saliva one hadn’t been “gathered properly.”
Try explaining to a toddler why I needed to hold him down for a pointless blood draw.
More hurts Ethan had suffered.
As I navigated reports of tersely worded emails and phone calls between my lawyer and his.
We were protected now—legally, I had full custody.
But I was still chasing Nate for child support.
And I probably always would be.
It was a fight I was going to keep up with, though.
The money was Ethan’s—or should be, anyway—and hopefully, one day, I’d be able to collect enough to pay for him to go to college or to put a down payment on a house or…whatever he might need it for.
“Ethan is a good kid,” Mr. Philips said, and I clenched the books tighter, bracing against his closeness, the familiarity, and I knew—knew—that whiplash was going to come my way.
I could feel it in the air.
“Yes, he is,” I agreed.
“And you’re a good mom.” His lips curved. “I can tell, you know.” Said like he was bestowing on me the greatest of all gifts—his approval.
That made my skin crawl.
“Well, thanks,” I murmured. “I should finish with the books?—”
Urgency flaring in his eyes. “I just wanted to ask?—”
Multiple screams on the playground.
It made me jump and drew his gaze again, his brows dragging together, and when it came again, he half-turned, opening some space between us, giving me an escape route, and relief slid through me.
Maybe I’d read it wrong?
Maybe I was too cynical, too jaded, too uncomfortable with all men.
Shoving the books on the shelf—and no, they weren’t perfectly in order, but I wasn’t going to worry about that, not with the alarms still blaring in my mind—I scooted through the opening.
“I’ll let you take care of that,” I said, waving a hand to the noise that was still continuing.
The screams had been female, so I knew Ethan was fine.
“Julie—”
“Bye, Mr. Philips!” I called, booking it for the door, knowing that running wouldn’t solve this, knowing that his interest, his familiarity, was going to become an issue that needed finagling.
Knowing that this was going to become another fucking thing to shoulder.
I hustled down the hall, slipped out through the office, and headed for my car, my eyes prickling.
