The way that not yelling is some kind of bonus feature rather than basic human decency—makes me see red.
“I need some air,” I say, heading for the back door.
The deck is cold under my bare feet, but the January air feels good on my face. I can hear Seattle waking up—traffic on the main road, a neighbor’s dog barking, normal sounds from a normal world where fathers don’t hit their children during a hissy fit about custody.
Dex joins me after a minute, bringing my coffee and a throw blanket.
“You okay?”
“No.” I pull the blanket around my shoulders. “But I will be.”
We stand there not talking like it’s any other day.
“What Blythe said,” I start. “About you being my boyfriend. You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he interrupts. “All of it. The good parts and the shit parts.”
“There might be a lot of shit parts.”
“I figured.”
I study his profile, looking for doubt or hesitation. But he just looks tired and determined and maybe a little sad.
“You sure about this? It’s not going to be simple.”
“Nothing good ever is.” He turns to face me. “Besides, simple’s overrated. I tried simple. It was boring as hell.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “We are definitely not simple. Are you using my kids to solve your boredom problem?”
“I’d rather have complicated with you than boring alone,” he says, no jokes this time.
My phone rings from inside.
“That’s probably Jessica,” I say.
“Hopefully good news.”
“How do you know?”
“Because today you’re getting what you deserve instead of what you’re afraid of.”
I hope he’s right.
“Emergency protective order granted,” Jessica’s voice comes through the speaker. “Full no-contact order. He can’t come within five hundred feet of you or the children.”
“What about his job?” I ask.
“Administrative leave pending Internal Affairs investigation. His service weapon’s been surrendered.”
I sink into the couch, relief hitting me so hard I feel dizzy. “So he can’t just show up here anymore.”
“If he does, you call 911 and he gets arrested. Simple as that.”
Simple. Right.
“There’s one more thing,” Jessica continues. “The file of evidence you have on Evan? There’s an IA officer who wants to talk to you. Off the record.”
“About what?”
