“She’s not mine,” he interrupts, fists clenching at his sides. “Marlee moved on a long fucking time ago. She started another family. The child—” He shakes his head. “She’s not my kid, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not here to speculate your relationship toAurora,” I say, purposefully reminding him of the baby’s name. “I’m here to follow the court’s orders. And the order is that I inspect your residence to see if it’s fit to bring a newly orphaned child into it.”
And apparently, to break the worst news a person can hear to a man who looks like he’s already battling demons.
Suddenly, Kade spins and half-stumbles, half-collapses onto a worn leather couch. A puff of dust erupts, swirling through the golden sunlight streaming in from the only visible window. The contrast between the bright day outside and the heavy, suffocating darkness inside isn’t lost on me.
Unsure what else to do, I follow him in, leaving the door open.
The professional side of me knows I need to be doing my inspection. It’s the perfect time. He’s distracted, likely has no idea I’m even here, but when I hear him choke out a barely audible, “Oh,fuck,” I find myself moving closer.
Closer to him, to his pain.
His huge hands drag over his face, gripping his temples like he’s trying to wake himself from a nightmare. I don’t talk, or ask any questions, letting him process, while I do the same.
“Is she okay?” He looks up, his eyes dim but coherent. “The baby? You said there was an accident.”
“I don’t know much, but from what I’ve read, she’s stable and in a temporary hospital placement until further decisions are made.”
He nods absently, but the far-off look in his eyes sends a pang of something uncomfortable through me.
I want to sit, but the room is chaos—wires tangling under furniture, clothes in piles, dishes stacked in the sink. The desk chair is blocked by a mountain of God knows what. The couch is clear, but for some reason, the idea of sitting next to him makes my nerves riot.
Instead, I dust off the least offensive spot on the coffee table and sit cross-legged, perching my notebook on my knee. Kade watches my every move in a daze, his eyes landing on my heels, where they stay.
The desire to kick them off and burn them races through me. I uncross my legs, dropping both feet to the floor and lean forward.
“I know this is a lot, Mr. Archer, but things need to move quickly here,” I explain, careful with each word. “There’s a court mediation hearing scheduled in Wildwood one week from today. The judge will assess your suitability as a guardian. I’ve been asked to conduct the preliminary oversight until the social worker assigned to Aurora’s case returns from medical leave. I—”
I break off, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, but inevitably, the words lodged in my throat break free. “I apologize for the way I informed you. That wasn’t my intention.”
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at the floor, his broad shoulders hunched forward like the weight of the world has settled there.
I make a mental note to get his phone number for future contact. I’ll likely need to go over all this again when he’s processed the shock.
“You’ll need to be sober,” I add gently. “Showered. Dressed nicely. Try to get some rest before. The judge will expect—”
“Fuck.” His head snaps up. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”
My spine stiffens. “Excuse me?”
“You walk in here like you’ve got it all figured out. Drop this shit on me, actin’ like I’ve already failed.” His voice is low, but the barely contained rage behind it crackles through the room. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
The weight of his words slams into me, but I refuse to flinch. Not for him. Not for anyone.
My jaw tightens, and I fight to keep the tremble from my voice.
“I’m doing my job, Mr. Archer. This is a child’s life, not a game.” I shove to my feet, the old coffee table scraping against the linoleum tiles, and step toward the door. “Maybe if you weren’t halfway through a bottle of whiskey on a Wednesday afternoon, you’d have the sensibility to take the advice I’m giving you.”
His head cocks, his lips lifting in a cruel smirk as he gestures to the room at large and leans back on the couch, legs spread wide.
“Well, go on then, darlin’. Tell me all the ways I’ve fucked up for just existing. Tell me how I’m not good enough.”
My throat tightens, but, fine.
Fine.
If he wants to hear my initial impressions, he can have them.
