Page 77 of Thanking Her Brother's Best Friends

"Biscuit."

He didn't need any further instruction and flanked Ollie and me immediately.

"Selene." Dave spoke in a surprisingly toned-down voice. "I promise I'm not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see Ollie."

Ollie was already squirming in my arms. I cast a protective arm around his shoulders, and he looked up at me with big eyes. I did not know the expression in them—they looked like a strange mix of fear, guilt, and longing.

But what was the guilt doing there? I ignored the rising unease creeping up my skin.

"Dave, do not cause a scene here. Not in his school, not around the other parents." My tone held the makings of the strongest warning I could muster. "You will not ruin this for him."

"I'm not here to ruin anything," he protested. He looked lanky and careworn, but there was something else in the depths of his gaze. Something sinister—like a man who was at the end of a long rope and would do anything to take someone down with him as he fell.

"Then leave. Leave and do not bother us anymore."

"What if he wants me around?" he asked defensively, casting what I could only label an offensive glance at my kid.

I opened the door of the Fortuner and asked Oliver to get inside. He complied quietly.

"You're making a mistake."

"I made so many of them when I was married to you," I replied as I followed my son inside. "I know what mistakes feel like, and this sure ain't one of them."

"Selene—"

He tried to lurch forward, but Biscuit grabbed his shoulder and held him like a rag doll. "What'll you do?" asked Dave, his mouth open and his teeth showing visible yellowish-red stains. "Will you run like a little coward?"

And there, at that moment, I met my ex-husband's lecherous gaze with murderous calm in my own. "No, Dave. I won't run. But pull any more shit, and I sure as hell will ride you out of my fucking town."

25

SELENE

"Selene, this is such a pleasant surprise!"

Abigail had a big, plastic smile slapped on her face. I wondered how many hours of practice she'd had in the mirror since last night when I'd called Ben to tell him I'd be sending Oliver to stay with them for a few days.

"Is everything okay?" he'd asked.

"Can you do it?" I'd evaded the question with another.

"You know you don't need to worry about Ollie."

I didn't. Ben and Abigail both loved my son—even if Abigail's love was fashioned to suit a specific construct. She thought Ollie deserved a full home, which, according to her, meant a home with a father, no matter that the father had been a proper asshole.

"It's good to see you," I replied, trying to be as genuine as I could.

Ben's apartment was situated in the family-clustered heart of Beacon Hill, Boston.

Located just a stone's throw away from the picturesque Boston Common, the apartment boasted a prime location that offered a perfect blend of urban convenience and natural beauty.

Or at least, that's what the real estate agent had told Abigail in a sickeningly saccharine voice. It worked.

I ascended the steps of a well-maintained brownstone and entered through the main door, stepping into a cozy foyer, complete with a vintage chandelier and an antique hall table.

The air was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

"How are you?" I asked Abigail as she ushered me toward a seat.

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