Page 9 of Broken Halo
I can’t help the edge in my tone as I glare at the woman perched on the edge of the linen chair across the family room from me. “Maybe that’s because they don’t know since they live across the country and we haven’t seen them for more than three months.”
“Yes, they did mention that.” She flips through a stack of papers in the open file. “However, it’s our responsibility to investigate all reports made to CPS.”
The two uniformed officers have wandered around the house—looking for what, I have no clue—and are now standing to the side watching the shit-storm this lady is stirring. Unlike Paula, they’re not judging me with their gaze or body language. They look like they’d rather be anywhere else and annoyance is seeping from them, which makes me relax just a bit, hopeful they might see this whole scenario for what it is—bullshit.
But when my front door bursts open, they don’t look annoyed any longer. They become alert at the same time my body sags with relief. I sent her an SOS text while I was trying to get Griffin to take his medicine.
I hear her heels clicking across my wood floors with attitude and passion and purpose. Everything that makes my big sister what she is because, unlike me, she has her shit together. Just as my life has fallen into a pile of class-A drama worthy of a Dr. Phil rerun, Jen’s life has peaked. She was recently named CEO of Montgomery Industries when my dad officially stepped aside and just got engaged. She and Eli are currently trying to wade through the troubled waters of nuptial-planning, attempting to appease both of their families, and not create a spectacle that will show up on TMZ.
I guess she and I have that in common—both of us doing everything we can to not be the star of crap TV.
She rounds the corner from the entryway, all business as she announces herself. “Jensen Montgomery. I’m Ellie’s sister and Griffin’s aunt.”
The moment I see her, her eyes move from Griff to me as something changes in her expression. I know my sister and she’s on fire for me—always for me—and I hate that I’m such a taker. When it comes to us, I’m the needy one and she’s always there to pick up my pieces, glue me back together, and do everything she can to convince me I’m as good as new when I know that will never be the case.
But when another set of footsteps echo hers, I lose my breath.
It’s him.
Not only am I dealing with my dead husband’s parents making false allegations against me as a mother that has CPS breathing down my neck, but the police are also standing in my house, and Trig is here. In my house, in the flesh, standing there in the same suit he wore this morning when he buried his mother. It fits him like it was stitched on while he stood there waiting.
The blood drains from my head and I close my eyes, turning my face to Griffin’s soft curls at his nape. As difficult as an Act of Congress, I make myself breathe while my sister commands, “This is Easton Barrett, counsel representing my sister. Going forward, any questions for Ellie Ketteman will go through him.”
No. He can’t be here and he definitely cannot represent me. I won’t allow it.
The sofa dips at my side. When I look over, Jen has fit herself next to us and places her lips to Griffin’s head. She spears me with her eyes, and unlike the stormy day that seems to match the constant state of my heart, her glare is as clear as freshly polished crystal and she’s silently telling me to shut the fuck up.
I’m just glad my parents are traveling in Europe and not in town to insert themselves into this.
“Easton Barrett.” His deep voice rumbles through my family room and my heart.
I always loved his voice—deep and penetrating, especially when his words were murmured in my ear or across my bare skin. To hear him speak for the first time in a decade is too much. Especially today, and even more, at a moment when everything seems to be teetering on a ledge that’s so horrific, it’s paralyzing. I open my eyes and he’s standing across the room with his attention set on Paula.
He goes on. “I’d appreciate it if you could start at the top and bring me up to speed. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with, seeing as the child is clearly not in any physical or emotional danger.”
Trig doesn’t sit and slides his hands into his suit pockets, which might seem like a casual move, but the way he’s towering over everyone as he demands information on my latest nightmare displays a confidence that would be enough to tame a lion. Paula, the barracuda, doesn’t seem quite so menacing now. She rustles through her papers and has to work for it when she straightens her spine and searches for her previous poise as she lays it out—the false claims my former in-laws have spewed about me.
Jen squeezes my hand as Paula repeats their bullshit, but I can’t take my eyes off Trig. His icy blues are just that, cold and emotionless, and I hope Jen didn’t screw me by bringing him here. Sure, he got her off of insider trading charges just a few months ago, but that was his job. He doesn’t work for me and I can’t imagine he’d want to after all that happened.
One of his thick, arched brows hitches and he tips his head. He’s unimpressed. “That’s it?”
Paula’s face falls. “Yes. But it’s my job to investigate every report, make sure any child who’s brought to our attention is safe and cared for. The grandparents of Griffin Ketteman fear he’s being neglected.”
“I appreciate the fact your job is an important one, Ms…?” Trig’s voice trails as he waits for an answer.
She clears her throat and purses her lips. “Watson. Paula Watson.”
“Yes, Ms. Watson.” Trig nods. “As you said, your job is to make sure the children in our community are safe and cared for. Does this child appear unsafe to you?”
I wince as Paula’s eyes dart to Griffin and me.
Trig goes on. “Does he seem malnourished?”
Paula looks back to Trig and shakes her head.
Trig folds his arms across his chest. “And does it seem as if he’s living in an unsafe environment?”
I’ve hated this house since the day the realtor turned into the driveway, but Robert insisted this was the one. I was young then. Now I’m only twenty-eight, a widow, and a single mom. We didn’t need this house then and I certainly don’t need this much space now. Paula looks around at what I shouldn’t feel ashamed of, but right now, I do. Her eyes even wander out the back windows, looking over the vast patio and fenced in pool that I’ve had safeguarded in every way possible because I’m scared to death of what could happen if Griffin got out of my sight.
