PHANTOM
Holly loans Poppya sweater to wear over the dress she wore on our first date. We don’t have time to get nice clothes for her to wear to court, but with the sweater covering up the one bare shoulder, she looks fucking sexy and a hell of a lot better than the rest of the jokers lined up in the halls of family court. I’m wearing dress pants and a dress shirt without a tie, and I’m sweating because I’m so nervous.
I’ve got my fingers laced through Poppy’s, and we’re sitting side by side on a shitty wooden bench that reminds me of going to church. Your ass never forgets a church pew, and this feels as uncomfortable as it did when I was seven. That was probably the last time I set foot in a house of worship. With seats like this, it’s no wonder why.
“Owen.” My lawyer extends his hand to me. “Good to see you.”
I shoot a look at Poppy, whose lips curl into a small smile at hearing my given name.
“Thanks for handling this, Ed.” I motion toward Poppy. “This is Poppy Vallejo. Poppy, my lawyer, Ed.”
Poppy and Ed shake hands, and Ed gets rights down to business. “I’ve also filed a temporary restraining order that applies to you, Poppy, and both girls. I expect the judge to rule on that today as well.”
Poppy squeezes my hand, and I don’t even need to look at her to know what she’s thinking. “Poppy has a son,” I remind Ed. “Is his name on those papers?”
Ed curses under his breath. “How old?”
“Ten,” Poppy supplies.
“I’ll talk to the clerk. Let them know, under the circumstances with the break-in, it’s a detail I overlooked. We’ll get it amended.”
Ed looks us over and locks on us holding hands. “Is this something I need to know about?” he asks. “If you’re dating the woman who gave a sworn declaration to the court, that could call her impartiality into question.”
Poppy releases my hand. “I was just trying to be supportive,” she explains. “This is stressful. Probably as much for me as for him.”
Ed nods. “Shayla’s been served with a notice to appear, but she doesn’t have to. I talked to her lawyer last night, and I don’t think she’s going to show. We both think there’s almost no chance the judge won’t rule in your favor, but…” He glares at me. “Just remember. Nothing’s guaranteed in family court. Taking the girls away from their mother completely is only going to be granted on a temporary basis. Just stay quiet, let me do the talking, and no matter what happens, keep your cool.”
He gives me this talk every time.
“Got it.” I move to take Poppy’s hand but then remember what Ed said. I shoot her a look.
The court clerk calls my last name, and Ed motions for us to go into the courtroom.
“That’s us,” I say, nodding at Poppy. I stroke my beard nervously, and she gives me a look. I’m starting to understand Poppy’s many expressions. The way she blinks and works her lips like she’s whispering to herself when she’s thinking. The way she stares at her son like he’s water and she’s dying of thirst. And the way she looks at me. Like she is drawn in and yet repelled—or maybe is just pulling back—at the same time.
I get it.
There hasn’t been a woman I’ve wanted to make mine for more than a night since Shayla. I told Poppy I wanted her with me so I could protect her, and that’s true, but the minute Ed’s back is turned, I lace my fingers through hers and squeeze.
Maybe this isn’t just about her body, her kindness, the tiredness around her eyes that make me want to burn down the world so she can get some rest.
Just as with the ink on my chest, I haven’t believed that I have room in, around, or anywhere near my heart for anyone but my daughters.
I’m an asshole through and through. And I’ve been wrong before. Maybe I’ve been wrong about how big that space around my heart really is.
“That was fast,”Poppy murmurs against my ear as we stand and wait for the judge to dismiss us.
It was fast and easy. Too easy, really. I shake my lawyer’s hand, and he tells me I don’t have to wait.
Once the court stamps everything and does whatever they do, he’ll have all the paperwork confirming that I’ve been granted not only full temporary custody of the girls, but a restraining order against Shayla that keeps her away from me and the kids except for scheduled visits through a social worker. That’s going to be a lotta bullshit, appointments and scheduling, but I’ll do it if it means I get to keep the kids with me.
“You still want to go to your place?” I ask once we’re back in my truck. As if it has a mind of its own, my right hand reaches out to hold hers.
“Yeah,” she says quietly.
There’s something in her voice I don’t like. “Was that too much for you?” After everything I’ve been through, I still fucking hate being in a courthouse. Seeing the bailiffs and judges brings back too many painful memories. I just try to remind myself that as long as there’s nothing they can put cuffs on me for, I’m all right.
I realize now that, having Poppy with me, I was way less fucked in the head than I normally am about judges and legal shit. But she probably hasn’t been through anything like this before. She hasn’t even gone through a divorce.
