Page 97 of Playing With Fire
“Of course not,” she scoffs. “I turned his ass in to the bar association this morning, filed an official lawsuit for the state of North Carolina against Gregor Hartley, and have already ensured an investigator has been assigned to the case you opened yesterday. I imagine they’ll be coming to collect him for questioning soon, and that subpoena will be placed in Jake’s hands by Friday.”
“Why the theatrics with the custody form then?” I ask, genuinely curious if my sister just enjoys destroying souls for funzies these days.
“Do you know how long it’s going to take the system to sort his shit out? This way, you, Shannon, and Serafina can start over immediately without having to wait for the courts to decide what legal rights he has where that sweet girl is concerned.”
Monica’s mask begins to break as she finishes her thought and I know what she’s thinking.
Pulling her into a hug with my arms wrapped around hershoulders, I whisper into her hair. “He’d be so fucking proud of you, Mon.” Her sobs echo in the room as my sister clings to me and her tears soak my shirt. “I hate that we can’t go after Jason Reed again, but at least Gregor will pay for the injustice of it all.”
She nods, but is having trouble pulling herself together, so I keep talking.
“I heard his voice, you know. At the beach. I went into the water lost, angry…” I trail off hoping she doesn’t misunderstand the next word. “…lonely. And when I dipped below the surface, he was there.”
Finally, she pulls back to look up at me. “What did he say?” she asks, wiping her eyes.
I chuckle. “You know Will. He basically told me to get my shit together and take this fucker down. I’m a little embarrassed to have to tell him that you did it for me. I suspect he’ll give me shit for that.”
She lets out a short chuckle of her own. “That won’t surprise Will. Besides, we did it together.” She flashes a quick look at her watch. “Shit, I’ve gotta go. Wish me luck, the rest of this afternoon ought to be interesting. I’m assuming Greg will finish the day out so I’m about to sit through the most awkward four hours of my life.”
“But you’ll sit through them as the victor,” I remind her.
She smiles one more time. “That, I will.”
“Congratulations!” Phoenix yells, waving a bottle of Dylan and I’s favorite tequila in the air as he dances—literallydances—toward my front door. I’m still not sure this is acongratulationskind of moment, considering the heaviness of everything that’s happened, but when I look at Shannon and see her wide, carefree smile, I think maybe itisthat kind of moment.
“Thanks, Phoe.”
Behind Phoenix, Knox is carrying a casserole dish and a wearing a look that saysmake fun of me for this and I’ll break your teeth.
I hold my hands up in peace. “I’m not saying shit. I’m going to eat it, like it, and just be glad you made it.”
He nods as he passes by me into the house.
With their arrival, everyone is here. My house is filled to the brim and even Shannon’s parents made it for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s the most excited I’ve been about this holiday in a long time. There are dishes everywhere. We eat, and laugh, and entertain the kids. At one point, Phoenix offers to pour shots from the bottle of tequila he brought.
“Show of hands, who wants one?” Everyone raises their hands except Shannon’s dad and Knox.
“I’m driving though, so I’m only having one,” Jake announces.
“I’mnotdriving so go ahead pour me two, sugar,” Shannon’s mom says to Phoenix.
Shannon pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, Phoenix, donotpour her two.”
Phoenix flashes a wink at Shannon’s mom. “I’ve got you, Barb. Two shots of tequila coming right up.”
Shannon’s dad looks at us across the table. “I hope you know she’s staying with you tonight.”
Barbara smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, you hush. I’m not driving and I’m not responsible for any kids right now. Besides, how many opportunities do I have for a bartender that looks likethatto pour me a drink?”
Here we go,I laugh to myself.
“Barb, you could be the guy’s grandmother,” Hank says. Several snorts are made around the table, but Barbara is unfazed…mostly because it’s so far from the truth. Barb is fifty-seven, meaning she could only be Phoenix’s grandmother if she had a child at fourteen who also had a child at fourteen because Phoenix is twenty-eight
She just shrugs a shoulder and fires back, “Age is just a number.” Then she turns her attention back to Phoenix. “I’ll give you fifty bucks to let me do this shot off your abs.”
“MOTHER!” Shannon cries. “Jesus, did you pre-game before you came over here?”
Phoenix loves the attention and plays along like a good sport. “Now, Barb, how do you even know Ihaveabs? I’m wearing a sweater.”
