The next morning, I texted Jules: “You did a bit of drinking yesterday. Did you mean what you said last night?”
Her reply came instantly: “Every word.”
I sent a thumb up.
FORTY-EIGHT
One month later
My head was under the raised Toyota Camry. Grease caked onto my fingers. The garage had become my new home. I hated being alone in that big, stupid house. Being alone there was never the plan. I despised it. Wished it would burn to the ground so I could cash out the insurance.
Sunny was the final thing holding me steady. If I could make it through fourteen years of prison and the death of everyone close to me, I could make it through a breakup for Sunny. Only had to keep my head on straight. Stay sober. Stay consistent. Stay faithful to the end goal. Sunny needed me, and I would do everything in my power to hang on tight for her.
But man, the pain in my chest was unbearable. Every passing day proved how in love with Jules I actually was.
I’d tried texting her, confessing my love. Even called a couple times. Radio silence. I was heartsick. Felt like I was grieving a death all over again.
At least there was enough work to keep me busy. Perks of doing business with someone old as sin. I rolled my eyes. The stupid Camry was from Michigan, and the brake rotors were rusted on tight. I grunted, slamming the rotors with a hammer.
The soft tinkling of my phone interrupted my banging around under the car. Was surprised I heard it at all. I skootched out and hopped up, frantically rubbing a towel over my fingertips. My heart thumped when I saw Debbie’s name. March visitation was tomorrow, and most of my dealings regarding court proceedings were with the attorney now. Wasn’t expecting a call from her. I frowned and swiped across the screen with my clean-ish knuckle. Leaned against the table and hit speakerphone.
“Hey, Debbie.”
“Hi, Patrick. Sorry to interrupt your work day.”
“No problem. Is—is everything okay? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Uhm, well, there is something we need to discuss.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. Her tone did not sound good.
“O—okay.”
“We are having a bit of a hiccup with Sunny. She’s not wanting to do visitation tomorrow.”
“Is she sick or something?”
“Well, no, she’s—”
Debbie was fumbling for words, and my anxiety was shooting sky high.
“—she keeps saying she doesn’t want to do visitation anymore and won’t consent to your receiving parental rights.”
I froze. Not sure I heard right. “Wait, what?”
“She is adamant that she doesn’t want to do this. Now, because of her age…” Her words tapered off in my brain as a swirl of panic swept over my heart.
Doesn’t want to do this? Why?
“…Patrick? Did I lose you?”
“No.” My throat was so tight. “I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why does she not want this?”
Debbie sighed. “I don’t know. Truly, I don’t. Me and several others have tried to talk to her. She won’t say what’s wrong. Maybe she’s discouraged? Scared? I don’t know, Patrick. Everyone here sees how great you’ve been for her, so this regression is unexpected.”
