Page 79 of The Archer and his Rosebud

Archer smiles and turns his head to meet my lips. “Noted.”

When there’s a knock at the door, I say, “I’ll get it,” and dry my hands, steering around the counter.

“Happy New Year, Bunhead. Looking Good.” Ty smirks on the other side of my front door.

With anxious fingers, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and shift my weight in the tight jeans and oversized sweater I’m sporting. Without the extra stress of school, I’ve spent a little more time on myself. For Archer, but primarily for me. It makes a world of difference for my mental health when I take care of myself. I have more energy and more confidence. I’m happier.

But at Ty’s appearance, that happiness disintegrates.

My ex’s voice has Archer stepping up against my back, settling his hand on my hip, and Ty’s expression morphs to disgust in less than a second.

“I thought Willa asked you to call or text before you showed up here again.” Archer’s tone leaves no room for civility.

Ty glares beyond my shoulder then sets his laser focus on me. “Does he ever leave, or have you invited this prick to live with you?”

“Insult slinging. You’re a real class act, aren’t you?” Archer’s hand tightens on me, a protective hold.

“Says the thirty-year-old man taking advantage of a single mother ten years his junior.”

“Archer isn’t taking advantage of me,” I say with all the control I can muster, struggling to dampen my anger. “And his being here is none of your business.”

“It is if he’s living with a child I helped put in you.”

Archer stiffens, and I can’t stop my snort, my nails digging into my palms. “There are a million things I could say to refute your logic, but for arguments sake, no Archer doesn’t live here. He’s my boyfriend, and we spend a lot of time together. Why wouldn’t he be here?”

“Because he shouldn’t be.”

“Oh my gosh, Ty. For the last time, you don’t get a say. I don’t know how to get that through your thick skull. You’ve been a lousy sperm donor, and you don’t get to show up now and tell me how to raise my daughter or dictate who I spend my time with.”

Standing taller, his shoulders broadening, he says, “I want custody of Clementine.”

Ty’s words jolt me into Archer’s chest and his other arm loops around my waist. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

My heartbeat races. “You didn’t come to see us during the holidays. You didn’t send her a gift. You didn’t even call or text. But you want custody?”

“I can’t trust your judgment when you have her around a murderer.”

A stunned laugh bursts from me as I shake my head. “The audacity you have. Truly, it’s amazing.”

“Don’t believe me?” He shrugs, his face smug. “Why don’t you ask your precious stand-in daddy.”

So caught up in Ty’s gall, I don’t notice Archer’s grip growing tighter and tighter until it’s hard to breathe. I twist in his hold, glancing over my shoulder, waiting for him to shut down the accusation or at the least laugh with me. Because this is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

He does neither. His face is ghost white, his jaw clenched.

“Archer?”

His dazed gaze slides to me, and with one faint, “Willa,” I can’t breathe.

Oh my gosh.I wrench out of his arms, spinning to face him with my back to the open door.

Holding up a pleading hand, he gnaws on his lower lip. “It’s not what you think.”

Ty’s voice travels from behind me. “Not really sure how killing a man can’t be exactly that.”

“Shut the hell up.” Archer’s eyes slice to him before softening when they return to me. “Listen to me, Will. You know me. Please, let me explain.”

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