Her composure thins. “I’mtrying, Worth. I’m making an effort and you?—”
“You call from different numbers and move time zones like apartments. That’s not effort. That’s chaos. And last time, Bri waited for you for hours. She was heartbroken.”
“I was busy and I apologized. You can’t keep her from me,” she snaps. “You think a judge won’t see what you’re doing?”
“I think the court will see a pattern.” I stare at the clean line of the joint I just sanded. “As I said, if you have an issue, call my lawyer.”
“God, you’re such a?—”
I end the call and drop the phone face down. My pulse ticks in my wrist. Something in me has been off the last few days, and I’ve been trying to tamper it with busywork. Vanessa’s calls don’t help, nor does the fact that I’m struggling to concentrate at work; whenever Mya walks into a room, my brain goes full-on territorial, like I have any right.
I dust off my hands then head back to the house. Inside, it smells like whatever sweet thing Maggie baked earlier. Bri is at the kitchen island, hunched over her sketchpad, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth. Colored pencils explode in a bright fan around her.
“Whatcha got there, Piglet?”
“Wolf,” she says without looking up, shading the fur along the animal’s neck. “But this time I’m trying moonlight. Like it’s shining on one side.”
My chest softens. It’s her favorite animal. She’s been obsessed with wolves ever since we watched a documentary about them some time ago. “Looks good.”
Bri tilts the page towards the light, squints, then adds a darker line. “Can we put it in the frame near the stairs when I’m done?”
“Of course we can.”
She smiles, pleased. “What were you doing in the shed? I heard the loud cutter.”
“Window bench for the breakfast nook. Art-supply storage.”
Bri perks. “For me?”
“Mostly you,” I tease.
She grins and goes back to shading. I don’t mention her mother’s call. The guilt nips anyway, but I know how this goes. I’m not letting my kid get her hopes up only to see them come crashing down.
My phone rings a second later. This time it’s my lawyer.
“Work call,” I tell Bri, tapping the counter. “I’ll be in my office.”
“’Kay.”
Once inside, I close the door and answer. “Ryan.”
“Worth,” he says, voice clipped. “You free?”
“I’m here.”
“Just got a heads-up from opposing counsel.” Paper rustles on his end. “Vanessa retained a new firm. They’re filing a motion to modify custody.”
“On what basis?”
“Allegations of withholding access, parental alienation, the usual garbage. They’ll push for expanded visitation as a first step.”
Heat flares behind my eyes. I cross to the bar cart, pour two fingers of Black Briar and knock it back.
“She called me from an unknown number twenty minutes ago,” I say, setting the glass down hard. “Said she’d ‘fly back’ if I agreed to a meeting. She’s in Asia. I told her to go through you.”
“Good,” Ryan says. “Don’t engage further. Send me the number and any texts.”
“She doesn’t text. She calls, throws grenades and runs.”