Because I’m not a heartless bastard, I offer Warner my version of a comforting smile. “Let this play out. You wanted to give me a redemption arc, then let’s see how low my value can go. I want my brother safe—and fuck the cost. I want the woman and when you find out who she is, you’ll love her as much as I do.”
Fuck. Do I love Emma?If I had a magic 8-ball, the answer would beyes.
“You are tanking my ability to negotiate,” Warner warns.
“I’ve opened the email from Benz. You have been accused of stalking the cheerleader’s locker rooms. Multiple breaches,” Hunt says. “Dyl, I don’t know how I can help you.”
“Fucking Fleski does not want full custody of my brother.” I don’t want to explain why I know this to be true. “He either signs Squid over to me now and receives a settlement more generous than he deserves, or I will get Child Services involved, and he’ll get exactly what he deserves. Either way, I want Squid with me by the end of the week.”
“But what about the cheerleaders?”
“There is only one cheerleader.” I stand, needing to pace to keep my limbs relaxed and brain clear. “Now, do you want to invite Benz back in here so I can formally apologize and he can verbally kick my ass? Or do you want it to all be legal and in writing?”
“You’ll have to name her,” Warner says. “If she is found to be fraternizing with a player, her contract will be terminated, and she will be escorted from the building.”
“Hunt, how much do you love me?”
“I want to say, ‘not at all’, but since you’re paying me in six-minute increments, let me count the ways.”
“You have a new client. I want you to be prepared to defend her reputation and her career as vigorously as you would any client. I will tell you her name when she agrees to be represented.”
“You’re not giving me much to work with.”
“Assume everything I’ve been accused of is true, but it was consensual and not stalking. Assume that the woman and I met before she worked for the team. Assume that she is worth protecting, and then work out how to protect her.”
“On it, but it will cost you.”
“Then, assume she’s worth it.”
The ink isn’t even dry on the court order when I pull into the driveway of my father’s house. Squid is in the passenger seat, his knee bouncing, hands curled into fists in his lap. He doesn’t look at me, just keeps his gaze locked on the front door, his breathing shallow.
“This is it,” I say, not sure if I’m reassuring him or myself. “One last time and you’ll never have to be here again.”
Three days. That’s all it took. From me pushing back on the Mavericks’ to the ink drying on all the documents I need, it took three fucking days.
Not because my father suddenly decided to do the right thing. Not because the legal system is efficient. No, the process was only expedited because the Mavericks put out a statement saying contract negotiations were on hold while ‘serious issues are being investigated.’
My issues. My family.
And like magic, the courts found a way to fast-track everything.
My father barely fought it. The second the pressure was on him and he realized his name might end up in the headlines with the risk of my mother’s accident being investigated, he folded. The asshole signed the consent orders, handed over full parentalresponsibility, and washed his hands of his youngest son like he’d been waiting for the chance.
It didn’t cost nearly as much as I’d been willing to pay to save my brother from more trauma. It didn’t cost nearly as much as Emma would pay to have her sister talking up a storm.
“You ready?” I ask.
Squid swallows hard but nods. “Yeah.”
We step inside, and the house smells the same—stale beer, sweat, pee, and something burnt lingering from whatever meal he half-assed last.
As soon as we enter, Fucking Fleski grunts and heads down the hall, slamming his bedroom door behind him. I should have taken up Hunt’s offer for a security escort, but didn’t want to scare Squid. He should feel safe with me by his side, and I haven’t been scared of my father since warning him if he threw another punch at me, he could expect one back.
For the record, I’ve never hit my father.
For the record, I should have made the threat years before I did. I should have also bought my mother a Plan B house the minute I could afford a shack instead of waiting until I could afford the penthouse she deserved. Waiting to give my mother a grand gesture cost her her life.
No. The asshole she married is the reason she is dead.
