Page 91 of Wild Hit
Damn Henry Vos for doing this.
Damn Charlie Cox for getting a weasel like that in his daughter’s life, and now in my daughter’s too.
I don’t know how, but I’m going to protect them. With whatever it takes. Somehow I’ll figure it out.
*
I think I’m fueled by spite because later, I’m fully awake, sitting on the couch between the two ladies as they calm down with some chamomile tea. For some reason, just the smell of it makes me angrier and my cup lays untouched on the coffee table.
“I’m going to sue,” I declare.
Audrey sighs a little into her mug. “It’s not worth it. He’ll just drag all your private stuff out into the open.”
I don’t have anything to hide, but I do have to safeguard Marty’s privacy.
Running my sweaty hands up and down my thighs, I say, “Then we have to talk with your dad. I’m sure even something like this is gonna snap him awake.”
“I don’t want to tell him.” She sets her mug down as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.
Even Marty agrees when she demands, “Why not?”
Audrey takes in a deep breath and lets it all out at once. “Because I don’t want to know if he’s also not going to care about this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Right. I’m a jerk. It’s not like they have a normal relationship.
“I’m sorry—” I start to say, but then a smaller, cold hand falls over mine and I open my eyes. The gold band and the glimmering rock on Audrey’s finger taunt me. Gently, I turn my hand around and she lets me. She grabs on tight.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Miguel.” She turns to face me, her puffy eyes scanning my face for something. They stop briefly on my lips, enough that it almost feels like a touch, but then she continues. “I think it’s time for us to divorce.”
Marty gasps from my left.
I stay quiet, thinking a million thoughts that make no sense, trying to survive through the needles stabbing my chest in all directions. I stay quiet, because what I really want to say isno. That I don’t want to. That I want her here with me. That I want to be the one who keeps her safe.
And then—then two neurons rub and finally make a worthwhile spark. Without filtering, I blurt out the whole idea. “I think you should move in with us instead.”
“What?”
“Yes!” My daughter jolts.
“Miguel—” Audrey looks from Marty to me. “That’s not the solution.”
“Divorcing isn’t, either,” I respond with ease, like there isn’t a riot in my gut. “That’s just gonna open you up to that vulture swooping in for you. What we have to do is the opposite, keep you safe and cozy away from him.”
“Exactly,” Marty agrees, even though I can’t tell how much of that she actually understands.
Meanwhile, Audrey’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head. Her hand is still squeezing mine, though. Maybe that counts for something.
Or I wish it does.
“What if something like this happens again? Or worse?” She shakes her head. At some point she gave up on the updo and her hair is a mess all around her face. She’s never looked more beautiful than this moment. “I can’t—Miguel, I refuse to put you two in danger again.”
“We want to defend you,” my daughter quips in, leaning forward so she can watch her intended’s reaction. “And you saw me, I also know how to use a bat.”
“Quite well,” I add. A couple of years ago before the bullying at school really started, Marty and I used to hit the batting cages at an arcade center, and her record was nearly as good as mine.
This succeeds in getting a little laugh out of Audrey. “Guys, I’m serious.”
