"Custody agreements can be... revisited." Adrian adjusts his cufflinks, the same expensive suit and diplomatic money he's always worn as shields. "Especially when new circumstances come to light."
Cole takes one step forward, and Adrian steps back.
He's afraid of Cole. Good. He should be.
But even through the fear, Adrian's smile doesn't waver. He's playing a longer game. He always was.
He's going to try to take her. He's going to use his connections and his money and his goddamn diplomatic immunity and he's going to try to take my daughter.
I can't breathe. The parking lot is too bright, too loud, too full of people who have no idea what's happening ten feet away from their normal Saturday morning.
"We'll talk soon, Angelina." Adrian's voice carries that familiar undertone, the one that sounds pleasant to outside ears and lands like a threat in my chest. "About our daughter's future."
He walks away unhurried and deliberate, like he's already won whatever game he thinks he's playing.
Cole's hand lands on my lower back, warm through my cardigan, but I can feel the tension running through him. Every muscle locked and ready. He would have done it right here. In front of witnesses. If Adrian had touched Chesca.
Part of me wishes he had.
My hands shake so hard I can't get the car door open.
Cole reaches past me, opens it, and guides me into the passenger seat with careful hands.
Xander's truck pulls up beside us. Chesca's face presses against the window, her eyes huge and scared in a way that cracks something open in my chest. My baby. My whole world.Looking at me like she needs me to fix this, to make it make sense.
"She's okay." My words come out automatic, desperate. "She's safe with Xander. She's—"
"Breathe, firefly."
I can't.
Cole pulls out of the parking lot and drives like he's trying to outrun something. Maybe he is.
The seatbelt presses against my chest and my body flinches from it before I can stop the reaction. The phantom pressure of it cutting across my pregnant belly while Adrian laughed and accelerated. The world blurring past the windows. Begging him to slow down. Begging him to stop.
I force my hands flat on my thighs.This is Cole's SUV. This is now. That was eight years ago.
"Sorry," he says quietly, and eases off the accelerator.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
We pull into my driveway. The house looks exactly the same. Windows reflecting afternoon sun. Everything normal, everything a lie.
Cole's phone buzzes against the center console. He glances down, and something behind his eyes closes like a door being locked.
"What?"
"Judge Sandoval. Albuquerque." He sets the phone face-down. "Number seven."
I stare at the house through the windshield. The flowers Chesca and I planted arguing about whether to do rows or clusters, the door I check three times every night. Sandoval probably had a door she checked too.
I don't move. Can't.
"He's never met her." My voice comes out hollow. "Eight years of deliberate separation. No photos, no conversations, nochance encounters. I made sure of that after the hospital. And he shows up at hersoccer game." My composure cracks. "How did he know where we'd be?"
"I'll find out."
The certainty in his voice doesn't scare me. It settles something.