“Are you stupid or something?” I snapped.
“I didn’t know, honest!” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
My own nose itched, but I resisted the urge to rub it, keeping my hands were the jumpy, marshmallow slurping drunk could see them.
“He’s mine, but it’s time for him to go home.”
Those words hurt.
Hurt worse than any pain I’d ever felt.
“I don’t get it, man.” The farm boy, because that was what he was under the polished veneer of being a deputy in the county sheriff's office, shook his head again. “Why would you want to sendYOURson andHISmother away?”
I wasn’t explaining myself to him.
It hadn’t worked out. It was one big, failed experiment.
“Poppy chose you.” The kid stabbed a finger at me.
No, she feels trapped.
“She said she loves you.” He sank onto the edge of the bed, reached for his cup, and threw it back, only to find it empty. “Hey, man, could you pass me the bottle?”
With slow movements, I lowered my reach and plucked the bottle but paused. “Why should I give this to a lying drunk?”
The cop pouted. Pouted! He was more of a child than my own sweet boy. “I’m not lying. She loves you. She said so. And she chose to stay here with you.”
Doubt was beginning to creep into my mind. Not about what he said, because my little flower did not love me. She might not fear me, but I was the beast of fairytales, who imprisoned her in a castle in a foreign land.
No, the doubt was from the idea of sending my son back into the wild wild west. If this was the best example of masculinity, I didn’t want Brady growing up to be some shiny face with a hero complex who fell apart the moment life got tough.
“Oh, wait, there’s something you need to know,” the cop said, forgetting about the bottle I kept held high in my hand. “Steve Dallas was charged with a misdemeanor. Pays to have friends in high places, I guess. Anyhow, he’ll be out on bail tomorrow morning.”
My grip tightened around the bottle until a splintered crack shot through the room.
“Jeezes, man!” The deputy shot to his feet. “You’re bleeding.”
Was I? It was hard to feel anything under the blinding ball of fiery rage tearing through me.
“Thanks for telling me,” I ground out. “Once again, the justice system has failed.”
“Yeah, they do that quite a bit.” This time the farmer boy picked up his glass, turned it upside down. “Dammit, it’s empty.”
Fucking hell, he was shit-faced. I doubted he would remember this conversation in the morning.
But just to be sure. “I’ll find another way for Poppy and Brady to return to Carrington.”
The deputy’s head snapped up. “They’re coming back? When? Why?”
That proved my point.
“Goodnight.” I backed away slowly. Warm, sticky tears ran down my wrist, losing themselves in the leather of my jacket sleeve.
“Wait, why is Poppy leaving you? Do you think my grand gesture worked?”
I paused. “What?”
The cop rolled his eyes. “I came out here as a big, grand gesture to prove how much I care about her. If I saved her, maybe she would FINALLY notice I existed.” Those light eyes peered at me, as if trying to see me more clearly. We were standing not five feet away. “She never looked at me like she looked at you.”
