“No, I have a ride.”
He studies me. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I know it’s the right thing to do,” I say as I head to the exit.
I’m in the car before the team bus even loads.
“Morning Scotti,” I yawn.
“You sure you’re up for this?” She asks pulling away from the curb.
“I am.”
“You sure I can’t drive you?” she asks.
“I need the wheel.”
“Understood,” she says as she hits the gas. “Let’s get you to your vehicle.”
The skyline fades behind concrete and wire.
The fact that security knew my name was jarring, but it’s New York. I hate that they do.
I sign in, hand over my phone, and walk through metal detectors.
The air smells like disinfectant and darkness, and I try very hard not to inhale too deeply because it’s honestly nauseating. They led me into a sterile visitation room with bolted tables and chairs. I already know I am going to shower as soon as I can. Hell, I may stop at the arena before I step foot into the house. I decide not to sit until she is seated.
I look at the clock and wonder if she is keeping me waiting, on purpose, no doubt.
At first glance, when she walks in, it is obvious that she is Hildy, and Lucy’s mother, but as she gets closer, her eyes? There is little life in them. They’d be completely dead if not for the fact that she is looking at me, trying to figure out how to push my buttons. Chaos. Cornered. Anger. The rest of her is composed, sharp, and calculating.
Her eyes rake over me slowly.
“So,” she says, sitting, “My eldest finally found a man who she thinks is worthy of her.”
I don’t sit immediately, I let her look, then I take the bench across from her.
“She found one who will try every day to be that, worthy of a woman like Hildy,” I pause, and add, “and Lucy.”
She smiles, thin. “So, you’re the one who thinks you can save her.”
I don’t rise to it. “I’m not here to save anyone; they’re good, great actually, but thank you for asking. I’m here to simplify paperwork.”
Her eyebrow lifts, “You’re very confident for someone playing house.”
I place the folder on the table already done with this bitch. “Sign.”
She doesn’t touch it. “You’ve known her how long?”
“Long enough.”
“She won’t marry you. She’ll never have children, she thinks she’s better than?—”
“Lucy asked if she could call her mommy.”
She stiffens. “She’ll never replace me.”
I bite back a laugh, “You do know that you put her in the position to do exactly that, correct?”
