Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MARY

When Dottie told me on the phone, I nearly slipped into an instant panic attack. I’ve spent all these months trying to soothe Aidan about Glenn’s absence. To help him believe that his father loves him even if he can’t, for reasons A, B, and C, see him for the time being. But I should have pulled off the Band-Aid months ago—because what the heck is a Band-Aid going to do for a broken heart?

My house no longer looks bright and cozy and festive. It looks small and cramped, like Glenn’s infested it with negative energy. Except my eyes follow Jace and Aidan out of the room, and maybe Dottie’s rubbing off on me, but it’s as if golden light is spilling from them, casting the Glenn poison away. Aidan trusts Jace. And Jace cares about him on a deep level that makes me want to weep from gratitude and wonder and joy. It’s then that I realize what should have been obvious. I love Jace. I love him.

“This isn’t like you, Mary,” Glenn chides. “Dating a criminal? Bringing him around the kid? You’ve always been sensible, if nothing else. It’s those sisters of yours, isn’t it?”

The kid?

Flames of rage lick at my insides. How dare he speak about Aidan like that?

Dottie snorts from her seat at the kitchen table, but my gaze is now firmly on Glenn. “We have an official separation agreement, Glenn , and you signed away your parental rights. You can’t just show up uninvited.”

He takes a step toward me, looking down at me—his signature move from arguments past. “You’re still my wife.”

I point to the calendar. “You’re right. I can’t send out divorce papers for precisely thirteen days. But don’t worry. I’ve already marked the day on next year’s calendar.”

“We’ll have a party!” Dottie interjects. “Those sisters of yours will help me plan it.”

“What are you still doing here, anyway?” Glenn sneers, turning toward her.

“I was invited, dear,” she says, making it quite obvious that, in this one situation, she does not mean the endearment fondly. “Next time, you should try it.”

Maybe I should tell her to leave but, absurdly, I want her here. I like that this house is full of people who are on Team Mary. I like that I’ve changed enough to have a Team Mary.

“I’ll fight it,” Glenn says, his face red. “I’ll fight the divorce.”

I feel a wave of fear, because every part of me wants this to be over, but the rage returns, weaving through me, bolstering me. “Why?”

“What?” he sputters, his body swaying a little. He reaches for the wall and holds it. It’s weird, but he’s probably worked up too. There’s so much adrenaline in my body right now, I’m practically shaking from it.

“Why? Why would you fight me on it? Do you really want Aidan back?”

“Because you’re my wife,” he says, “and my mother told me what you’ve been up to. Took me all of fifty seconds to figure out the guy you’re slumming it with is a criminal. You did this to get my attention, didn’t you?”

I ignore the asinine comment and the barb toward Jace. “Do you really want Aidan back in your life?”

“He’s part of the package, isn’t he?” he asks. His body sways a little more, and he tightens his grip. “I looked it up, and there are boarding schools for kids like him. Maybe they’ll be able to straighten his head out. I’ve always said you’re too soft on him.”

White-hot rage pulses through me, and I’m tempted to lunge at him, to hit him, to do anything I can to make this worthless man hurt for talking about my son like that. But I fist my hands at my sides and force myself to stay back, because if I attack him, Jace will back me up. And if Jace lays hands on Glenn, then he really will be able to make trouble for us. No, the only thing I want from Glenn is for him to leave.

“You get the fuck out of here,” I say, my voice trembling slightly in the beginning but then firming up, “and don’t you ever attempt to contact either of us, ever again.”

His eyes widen, because I’ve never spoken to him this way before, but it doesn’t take long for him to recover. “No,” he says, giving me a smile that makes my stomach turn over. “I think I’ll let your boyfriend make me leave.”

He gives another slight wobble, his forehead creasing into a frown. Is he drunk? I don’t smell any alcohol on him, but who can say?

That’s when Jace emerges from Aidan’s room. His jaw is firmly clenched, and he stalks toward us like a lion. My lion , and there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to let anything happen to him.

“Glenn, it’s time for you to go,” he says in a flat voice.

Glenn gives me an almost gleeful look, and I barely restrain the need to stomp on his foot. “What did you just say?” he asks Jace.

“I said it’s time for you to go. Now. ”

I try to give Jace a stay several feet away from this asshole look, and I guess I’ve gotten more fluent in silent communications, because he plants his feet in the middle of the living room and stands strong. My heart swells. Of course he’s standing strong. He’s our champion. Just like I’m his.

“Is this your house?” Glenn sneers.

“No,” Jace says, “but it’s not yours either. And right now, there’s a very scared six-year-old boy sitting in his cool-down tent, and your yelling is only making things worse.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Glenn demands. He releases his hold on the wall, leaving the kitchen and taking several shaky steps toward Jace, obviously trying to rile him, but he stumbles a little, which underplays the delivery. “Don’t you try to tell me how to raise my son!”

“He’s no longer your son,” I say, following Glenn into the dining room. We’re getting closer to Jace. “Now, I’ve already told you to get out. I’m very sure Dottie didn’t invite you in—”

“I did not,” Dottie interjects from the opening to the kitchen. “You have very red energy, I’m sorry to say, and not the good kind. I noticed it at once.”

“That means you’re trespassing,” I finish. “ Leave , or I’ll call the police.”

“You expect me to leave my son with this white trash criminal ?” Glenn says, stepping out of the dining room into the attached living room. But he’s beyond foolish if he thinks he can rile Jace by going after him. No, he could only do that by going after Aidan and me.

Jace takes a step back.

“Jace has learned more about him in one month than you have in six years,” I say tightly, stepping toward them. “You never would have thought to bring him to his cool-down tent.”

Glenn scowls. “You’re goddamn right. It’s like I said—you’re coddling the kid, Mary. You’ve made him into a sissy.”

Something snaps in Jace, and he grabs Glenn’s shirt. “Don’t you ever talk about that boy like that again. He’s fucking amazing . You don’t deserve him. He’s too good for you.”

“What?” Glenn stammers. Then he glances at Jace’s hand clutching his shirt, and victory lights his eyes. “You assaulted me! I’m going to press charges!”

“He wrinkled your shirt,” I say. “ And you’re trespassing.”

Jace releases him, and Glenn stumbles a little, lifting a hand to his head. That confused look passes over his face again, but he’s not done. He intends to rile Jace into doing the very thing he’s accused him of. “It’s my word against yours,” he says. “Who do you think a jury will believe? An upstanding businessman or an ex-con and his whore?”

The look on Jace’s face suggests he might be seconds away from actually assaulting Glenn, but I shake my head, and he clenches his jaw and stands down.

Glenn’s brow wrinkles, and he staggers a little on his feet. “I feel strange,” he says.

“Were you drinking before you came here?” I ask, baffled. I’ve seen many sides of Glenn—cold, detached, self-righteous, and angry—but he’s never acted like this.

“ Interesting ,” Dottie says, and I glance up to see she’s followed us into the living room. “I had no idea it would work so fast.” She removes a little notebook from her pocket and writes something down with the attached pencil.

“I’m just…I’m going to lie down on the couch for a minute,” Glenn says, and he stumbles over and does just that, barely making it to the edge before he sprawls onto it, face-first. He doesn’t move, although a sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a snore escapes him.

Jace and I exchange looks of shock, because honestly, what the hell just happened? One moment, Glenn was threatening to ruin us, and the next he’s taking a snooze on my couch?

I span the short distance between us, and he wraps me up in his arms, his scent engulfing me and filling me with comfort.

“Is he asleep?” I ask in his ear. “I’m trying to figure out how much to freak out.”

He gives me a squeeze and then pulls back and pokes Glenn, who stirs slightly before settling again.

“This is truly a breakthrough, my dears,” Dottie says in obvious delight. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”

That’s when I make the connection. When we arrived, Glenn was drinking some sort of tea. Dottie’s tea.

“Dottie,” I plead, turning to look at her. She’s still scribbling, a wide smile on her face. Surely she wouldn’t be this excited about homicide. “You didn’t poison him, did you?”

She tucks the pencil into its loop on the notepad and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Now, why on earth would I do that, dear? It’s much better to let unpleasant people sow their own misfortunes. No, no. His energy was very red, like I said. I’ve taken to bringing my tea kit everywhere—you can’t imagine how many times it’s come in handy!—and I made him a calming herbal blend.” She tucked the notebook back into her pocket and clapped her hands. “It worked better than I could have dreamed!”

He didn’t get the fight he wanted, true, except now he’s asleep on my couch, which means we are several steps farther away from getting rid of him. Plus, if he figures out what Dottie did, he can claim that he was drugged, even if nothing in Dottie’s tea was harmful.

Jace slides an arm around my waist. “We could dump him off at his hotel…if we knew where he was staying.”

It’s then a knock lands on my front door. I throw a wild-eyed look at Jace, my what-ifs working overtime. What if Glenn was so certain his little plan would work that he arranged for a police officer to show up? What if they find Glenn passed out on my couch and assume the worst? (Okay, Dottie did give him some sort of sedative, so they wouldn’t be fully wrong.)

“Should I answer it?”

“Dear, there are three cars in the driveway,” Dottie says. “I expect they’ll know someone is home.”

She seems completely unfussed by the whole thing, as if she doesn’t realize it might be frowned upon to give unwitting people sedating tea. Still, she’s not wrong. Someone, or rather three someones, is obviously home. I exchange a look with Jace, who gives a tight nod.

Turning back to Dottie, I ask, “Dottie, can you please check on Aidan? Make sure he doesn’t come out here.”

“Of course, my dear. I’ll have him sleeping in no time.”

I flinch. “Do not, under any circumstances, give him that tea.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Oh no, I’d never do that. That tea is for people whose red energy is off the charts. Aidan’s energy is a lovely blue.”

I’m not totally comforted by that, but I’m running short on options at the moment.

Jace lifts a hand to my cheek. “If it’s someone looking for Glenn, let me talk to them.”

I start shaking my head before he finishes. “I’m the lawyer. And if he tries to pull something, I’m your lawyer.”

He gives a small smile, even as the knocking on the door turns into an annoyed pounding. “I think they call that a conflict of interest.”

“Probably,” I say. Then, because I have no idea what we’re walking into, I lean forward and kiss him. When I break away, I inhale deeply and walk to the door. Opening it to…

“Nicole?” I ask in shock. She’s wearing a blond wig, possibly the same one she had on at her wedding.

I haven’t heard a single word from her this past week—not even in response to my text asking for her home address so I could forward her present. Her silence didn’t faze me, honestly. Given the way she and Damien carried on after their wedding, I figured they’d be busy on their honeymoon.

“You should try answering your phone,” she says with plenty of attitude, as if she hasn’t been sitting on two unanswered texts from me.

“Have you been trying to call me?” I ask, baffled by her sudden appearance, piled on top of the whole Glenn snafu.

“For half an hour,” she says, lifting her phone out of her pocket, face forward. I’m not sure what she intended to show me—all I see is a very graphic photo of her and Damien making out—but I step aside when she barrels ahead. I glance around outside, seeing the outline of her car at the end of the long driveaway, and shut the door behind her.

Two steps in, she sees Glenn on the couch. “Oh shit, you already killed him?”

“What? No! No one’s killing anyone. He’s asleep. He…”

“He was upset,” Jace says, “and the officiant from your wedding gave him a sedative tea.”

It’s a perplexing statement, but Nicole shrugs it off as if he’d made a comment about the weather. “Good. I’m glad he’s not dead. It would have really fucked up my plans.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, suddenly overwhelmed by all of it. “Haven’t you and Damien been away on your honeymoon?”

“We spent it in Washington, D.C.,” she says with a sharp-toothed smile. “With several detours to Northern Virginia.”

It takes me a good five seconds to connect the dots. Her location. The wig. That smile.

“You’ve been following Glenn around?” I ask in shock. This is what she chose to do on her honeymoon? I honestly don’t know whether to be touched or weirded out. Then, because the former emotion wins out, I add, “Did you find anything?”

She reaches into the crossbody bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out a thick manila folder. Shoving it into my hands, she says, “Merry Christmas, Mary.”

Jace clears his throat. “Is it illegal? Whatever he was doing?”

“Prostitution is still illegal in forty-nine out of fifty states,” she says. “Better yet, it would be very embarrassing for an uptight jackwad like him if the truth came out.”

I crinkle my face in disgust. “How long has he been doing it?”

It doesn’t matter anymore—my tests all came back clean—but for some reason, I still want to know. Maybe because I still grieve for the unhappy woman who thought she was stuck in that marriage, that life.

“Years,” she says.

Jace swears under his breath, and it’s obvious Glenn would be in serious danger of getting that beating if he weren’t currently snoring on my couch.

“Wait,” I say. “Did you know he was coming over?”

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Hence the several phone calls.”

“Then why’d you wait so long to call me?”

“Allow me some dramatic license!” she says. “I thought it would be better if we could hash it all out together, so I waited until he was close before I got in touch with you.”

“He was already here, Nicole!” I belt out in frustration.

She shrugs. “What can I say? It was our honeymoon, and we got kind of distracted at the last rest stop.” She waves at Glenn as he snuffles another snore. “Honestly, this is kind of a bummer. I was hoping to see tears. I wanted him to beg .”

“Because he’s an asshole?”

“Because he was an asshole to you,” she says, her eyes flashing. And, God help me, she does get to see tears after all, welling in my eyes.

Her phone buzzes, and she perks up. “Damien must have finished practicing his monologue.”

This confuses me because (a) he’s in the car (?), and (b) there aren’t any Danny Zuko monologues in Grease , are there?

I say as much, and she gives me her you’re an idiot look. “Not in the actual play, no, but Damien doesn’t allow himself to be limited by things like ‘supposed to’ or ‘it’s not in the script.’ He’s a free spirit.”

His director probably doesn’t love that, but given Damien just sacrificed his honeymoon to help Nicole dig a grave for Glenn, I don’t feel the need to say so.

“Thank you, Nicole,” I say, pulling her into a hug. She’s all angles, and it’s obvious she is not a hugger—frankly, neither am I, under normal circumstances—but these circumstances aren’t normal, and she may have just saved me and Jace—and Dottie, for that matter—a whole lot of trouble.

Nicole lingers for a second longer than I would’ve expected, and by the time she pulls back, her disgusted look is firmly in place.

“Please don’t do that again. Ever,” she says.

“Uh-huh.” Before she can run off, I dart over to the tree and retrieve her present. “Don’t forget your wedding gift.”

She takes it. Shakes it. “This better not be a toaster oven.”

“I can attest that it’s not,” Jace says. Then, sobering, he adds, “Thank you, Nicole. For everything.” There’s emotion underlying his words, and I feel choked up by that too.

Nicole acts disaffected, but I can tell she’s pleased. There’s a certain air about her—she’s not less prickly, exactly, but she wears it proudly.

She stops in the doorway and turns back. “We’re meeting Tina at Tea of Fortune at ten a.m. on New Year’s Day. Your presence is not optional.”

Then she leaves, and I stand there holding a folder full of what is, presumably, photos of my soon-to-be ex-husband in various stages of undress with prostitutes.

Flinching, I set it on a console table.

“I know I should confirm what’s in there,” I say, “but I don’t want to open that.”

“I’ll do it,” Jace says, a firm set to his lips. And he does. His eyes look stormy as he flips through the contents. Then he pulls out what looks like a thumb drive and pockets it. “It’ll be enough to get him to stay away. She made copies, and there’s plenty of backup.”

Relief and disgust war within me, relief winning out. “Thank God.”

“I’m sorry, Mary,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” I sputter. “None of this is your fault.”

“I know, but this asshole treated you and Aidan like shit, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I wanted to throw him out on his ass, but if I had—”

“If you had, he would have figured out how to have you locked up for it,” I say firmly. “Which is exactly what he wanted.”

I can tell he’s seething with frustration, with helplessness, and I take his hands, needing him to know exactly what he means to me, and what it meant to me to see Aidan go to him earlier.

“And you don’t need to be sorry for the way he treated me, because in a roundabout way, it led me here. It led me back to myself, and it led me to you .” Emotion chokes my voice. “The way Aidan went to you earlier…it made me think. I know I’m getting way ahead of myself, and if this absolute freak show hasn’t completely scared you off, then maybe I’m going to do that now, but I…”

Fear pokes at me, telling me that I’m going to chase him off, that it’s too soon, that I should stop while I’m ahead (or behind), but I’m sick of listening to fear and judgment and what-ifs, and I’ve learned to push past them. So I finish, “But I love you. I love you. And I can see us having a life together, and it’s a life I like, Jace. One I love.”

The look in his eyes shifts, like the ever-changing ocean, and they’re so achingly warm as he pulls me to him, lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist, confident in the knowledge that Dottie’s with Aidan and won’t let him run out here—knowing that we’ll go in there together and make sure that he’s okay. Then Jace is kissing me, his lips warm and confident, and the hot press of them makes me warm inside. We lose ourselves for a moment, and then he pulls back, my legs still around him. “I fucking love you, Mary O’Shea, and I have no intention of going anywhere.”

There’s a stirring in the background, and then Glenn calls out, “What’s going on? Are you kissing ?”

Jace and I exchange a look, and we both burst out laughing.