“It’s not fine. A judge ruled he was unfit to be around you. I know you’re planning to petition for full custody of your boys. If you keep allowing him to violate the order, you’re only making that legal battle tougher.”
“I know.” Her voice got small. “He hasn’t been violent. Not lately.”
“Georgia—”
“Don’t worry. I know he won’t change. I’m not that stupid. You don’t have to worry about me going back to him — not ever again. But the boys… they don’t understand. Even if Donny is a rotten bastard to me, he’s still their dad. They miss him. They still ask all the time when we’re going to move back home.”
Cade’s face was set like stone. “The sooner you’re honest with them, the easier it will be for them to accept that they’re never going back there.”
“I know.” Her voice broke. “I know, all right? And I’ll tell them. Soon. I swear.”
“In the meantime, you’ll keep me informed if Donny comes around again. You’ll let me know if he escalates in any way,” Cade said, and it was not a request — it was an order.
“Of course, Detective.”
“He may not respect the law, but he will abide by it,” he added. “I’ll make sure of that, Georgia.”
She blew out a breath. “Okay. Okay. I promise, next time he shows up unannounced, I’ll call the station.”
“If you can’t get me at the station, call me directly. You have the number.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said in that deep, authoritative timbre of his. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Thanks, Detective.”
Cade shot me one last lingering look — a look, I might add, that made the previous somersaults in my gut appear amateur by compare — and murmured, “I’ll be seeing you, Goldie. Soon.”
Then, he turned on his heel and stalked out the front door, into the night.
For a moment, there was only silence in the reception area. When I mustered the courage to look over at Georgia, I found she was already studying me, her curious eyes moving back and forth the between me and the door. A slow grin moved over her face.
“Are yousureyou don’t want that room for two?”
Chapter Six
Climate change is the ultimate glow-up.
After being mistreated by men, Earth is getting super hot!
- Imogen Warner, doom-scrolling at 3AM
Despite its unimpressive exterior facade, the rooms inside The Sea Witch were surprisingly well appointed. At least, my room was. After checking me in — without batting so much as an eyelash at my shoebox of wrinkled bills when I’d forked over a hundred and twenty precious buckaroos — Georgia had led me up the curved, creaky staircase to the second floor, down a short hallway to a door marked with a tiny gold number 5 nailed above the ornate center knob.
“No fobs or keycards,” she said apologetically, lifting up a heavy brass key with a teal tassel on the end. “We keep things old school, here.”
She held the door open for me to walk inside, then followed me in like we were old friends, chatting away the entire time about the continental breakfast, which would be served in the parlor room from seven to ten, and lamenting the fact that I hadn’t come earlier in the season when the outdoor pool was still open for business.
I half-listened as I studied the nautically-themed room, with its deep blue and green color palette, various oil paintings of ocean scenes, and knickknacks scattered around on practically every surface — featuring, but not limited to, a ship inside a bottle on the table by the window and a painted mermaid statue on the desk. The coat hooks by the door were shaped like seahorses; the twin nightstand lamps like seashells.
“Sorry, I know it’s a bit over the top?—”
“It’s perfect, Georgia.”
“Gigi.” She smiled at me. “Everyone calls me Gigi.”
Except Detective Hightower, I thought.