Page 155 of The Comedown

“That is Honorable Anne Matheson.” Bodee’s thumb scrolls down, revealing digital versions of the photos still sitting on the bar. The ones of me and Julian by the river that day. The ones I have no idea how the hell he got ahold of in the first place.

“She’s a judge?” I choke out, wishing my voice didn’t carry the tears I’m desperately trying to hold back.

“Family court judge. Another friend of mine. A good friend, very reliable.” Motioning over my head, he calls out, “Let my son through. I want to tell him the happy news.”

“No. No, no, no.” One-handed, I scramble to get all the photos sorted, then hidden back in the folder.

“Two weeks or I take him permanently.”

I stop to stare at my ex.

“Why? We both know you don’t even want Holter full-time.” It hurts to say but it’s true. Bodee would’ve tried it the second I gave birth, or any other time during his son’s thirteen-year life, but he hasn’t. He truly only cares about himself.

“And we both know what I’ll do to keep you from getting what you do want…”

He doesn’t have to finish his statement. One way or another, Bodee will always find a way to win. My reputation being questioned and beaten and dragged through the mud, I can handle. My son being taken away from me, I can’t. Which he knows and was holding on to as his trump card.

I loosen the paring knife I’d been keeping in my palm, then angle it directly under Bodee’s bottom right rib—the side out of everyone’s view.

Keeping my voice for him alone, I tell him, “Irelynn will handle everything to ensure Jack’s out of the country by tonight. You’ll take Mary with you today and she’s to be by Holter’s side the entire two weeks. At any time, if I hear, see, or even think Jack’s within thirty feet of Holter, I will finish what I started, then I’ll do the same to you.” My eyes trace Bodee’s baby-smooth cheeks, the same place I sliced Jack’s wide open all those years ago, leaving behind a scar from one ear to the other.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Holter asks as he makes it past the guards.

“Smile and nod if you understand,” I whisper to Bodee. I’m not backing down. I refuse to. He can threaten and bully all he wants, but I know the one thing he won’t risk is a public downfall, and with all these people watching our every move right now, this could become very ugly, very quickly for Bodee. I’ll make sure of it.

With a smile designed for fame, he nods, and we grin into each other’s faces all while I discreetly press the tip up into his rib cage.

Satisfied from his sharp intake of breath, I tuck the knife away again.

Just before our son reaches us and our façades can fall back into place completely, and with enough underlying menace to make my skin cold, Bodee says, “Break a leg.”

I gnash out between my teeth, “If you weren’t already dead to me, I’d kill you myself.” The only thing I need to break is this curse. I haven’t survived it at all. I’ve just been fooling myself.

Bodee reiterates that point by whispering, “Dumb bitch, true legends never die.”

Collette

“What were they of?” Julian asks, and I tear my gaze away from my phone’s screen, briefly looking down at the worn, sandy boards we’re walking over. One hour until the wheels on Bodee’s private plane lift from the tarmac its currently parked on, eagerly awaiting Bodee and Holter and Mary. Thank God Mary was nearby and able to get here quickly. Now Irelynn and I just have to get Jack’s trip squared away.

“You and I, outside the strip club,” I say, returning my attention to the travel itinerary Irelynn sent over for review.

Approve. Approve. Approve. I don’t care what I have to pay, just get that asshole out of the country. If only it was a one-way…

“We weren’t doing anything wrong out there.”

“Inside, too.”

“What do you mean? He’s got pictures from inside the club? How’d he fucking swing that?”

“How’d he swing getting any of the photos in his possession?” My voice is unrecognizable, void of any emotion whatsoever.

“What else does he have?”

The toe of my sandal catches on a loose board, but Julian shoots a hand out, catching me by my elbow.

“Fuck, would you stop? What else does he have on you?”

“It’s not just me.”