Chapter 21

21

ISAAC

The long plane ride home is torture. Simon grumps and whines about leaving the party, Prince Adrian, and Reginald. I get it. Adrian wanted to go with us, but I told him no. Reginald told him no. Then his mother got involved. "Running away from another wedding, Adrian? How would that play in the media?"

Reginald suggested he should go with us, but I put my foot down. I've been handling things all Simon's life. I don't need anyone to take care of us.

Adrian rode with us to the royal airstrip. I couldn't resist putting off the finality just a little longer. My walls cracked when he asked if he could kiss me goodbye. A single nod, and then I was in his arms, clinging to him and kissing him desperately.

I was crying when I pulled away. "I'm sorry."

He thumbed my tears away and kissed me again. "Don't be sorry."

And now we are again on a royal airplane. This time, heading for our old, uneventful life. I have plenty of time to think about things.

What's your greatest fear?

Has it really only been days since Adrian asked me that question? And yet, here we were.

I'd known being with Adrian would put us in the spotlight, on the press's radar. But I'd somehow rationalized that I could do this. Handle the publicity. Handle everyone telling me I'm a horrible parent for not letting Simon see his mother. Would they blame me for Jane not getting the help she needed? For me giving up on her?

It's likely since I blame myself.

I kept Simon from Jane because he needed stability and less stress. This time, I can't say the things I did were for Simon. I wanted this. Wanted to be with Adrian. Wanted to take the chance that it would all blow up. And now that it has, it's my job to fix it.

I let my guard down. Let others take care of things for me. And what do I have to show for it?

A broken heart for my son and me. The possibility that Jane might escalate things even more. God, I can't believe I trusted her. That might be the thing that hurts the most. I thought things with Jane were getting better.

But nothing has changed. This is the perfect reminder that Simon and I are better off alone. No matter how much it hurts.

Miles picks us up from the airport. Zye is busy distracting the paparazzi. He's the face they know.

Simon is exhausted even though he slept on the plane. He conks out before we reach Mule Creek. Miles offers his home since it's reporter-free, but I want to be in my house. In my own bed. Licking my wounds.

Miles takes us the back way through the alley. And we sneak into the house. Simon almost wakes up, but Miles nestles him against his broad chest and he goes back to sleep. Zye helps us get settled and then brings out his whiteboard. Ugh.

"Sleep first. Then planning."

Zye wraps me in his arms, and I let myself have a good cry. The last time he did this was the day of the custody hearing, when I was sure I would lose custody of Simon. And here we are again. The post office is closed, so I can't pick up the letter from the lawyer until tomorrow. And I'm glad. I usually don't hide from my problems, but I'm not ready to face everything just yet.

Zye tucks me into bed and tells me to sleep, but I call him back before he leaves my room.

"Zye?"

"Yes?"

My voice is soft. I don't have the energy to yell. "You were right. About everything. Thank you for waiting to tell me I told you so."

He returns to kiss my forehead. "Sweetie, I'm not so sure I was."

In the morning, my mind is clearer, but my determination to meet this challenge head-on lasts as far as the mailbox. I open the door and people are in my face and yelling. It's difficult to understand what they're saying, but a few words sneak through. What's Prince Adrian like? Do he and Simon get along —that was the local reporter. Jesus, Terry. Have some respect. Does he have a big dick? What? Are you making this all up? Is your ex telling the truth?

How did I forget the yard full of reporters? I haven't had my coffee yet. And my heart is still heavy with the weight of missing Adrian. I barely know the guy. This shouldn't hurt so much. My pillow smells like him, which has to be my imagination because I've washed the bedding since then. The jacket I wore on the plane smells like him. Washing it would be the best thing, but I can't bring myself to do it.

Simon is unusually quiet as he hugs his Squishmallow giraffe.

I wander around listlessly, picking things up and putting them down. What was I doing again? At one point, Simon must realize I'm not acting normal because he plants his little body in front of me. "One or five, Daddy?"

"What?" My gaze settles on his face. So serious. Not even a hint of a smile.

Then he brings his hands from behind his back. He has Stella, the cube timer. "One or five minutes to feel your feelings."

My eyes well up with tears. There's not enough time on that cube or in the universe for me to feel all my feelings, but I choke back the emotion in my throat. "Five. Can you sit with me?"

His smile is sad but there. We sit on the couch, and I pull him onto my lap. "Ready?" he asks.

When did my son become the parent? I nod, and he turns the cube to five. I hold him tight, and we're quiet as the time ticks away. The only sound is Simon's sniffles. Tears stream down my face, but I try to blink them away. I did this to myself and my son. I just wanted a bit of happiness. Was that too much to ask for? But I already know the answer. I was being selfish. Now, Simon will be the one to suffer.

When the timer goes off, Simon turns it over to stop the beeping. His head bows and he whispers, "Is Prince Adrian gone forever like Mommy?"

And then I need to feel my feelings again. I hug him against me and kiss the top of his head. "I hope not, bud."

After breakfast, we start cleaning the house, which Simon isn't happy about. He makes his opinion known by his glares and stomping through the house. I don't get on to him. I want to stomp too and shout it's not fair at least a thousand times until the universe hears me. It's not fucking fair. At my lack of reaction, he throws up his hands.

"I guess vacation is over. Worst day ever."

And I'm relieved he's back to being an almost six-year-old instead of an adult.

I can handle his anger better than his sadness. Not a good thing, but here we are.

The kitchen doesn't need to be scrubbed from top to bottom. It's not the most important thing right now. But cleaning helps me focus. And I need those feelings of accomplishment. It's dirty. Clean it. Simple. Correlation. Cause and effect. It relaxes me.

A noise startles me, and I jump. Simon is watching me, his mind calculating.

"Are we having a party?"

"What? No." I throw the scrubber in the sink and remove my rubber gloves to give my son my full attention. "Why would you ask that?"

"You're cleaning everything."

"Yes. Cleaning is important." I sigh. "And it helps me feel my feelings."

"Like Stella?"

"Yes." I smile. And this time, it feels genuine.

"Okay, but if we aren't having a party, why are all those people sitting in our yard?"

My smile slips off my face. Damn it. I stomp to the front room and peek out the window. Are there more than yesterday? I want to yell at them to go away, but would that do any good? And they'd get a picture or video of me ranting at them. Who knows how they'd spin it?

How much do I tell him?

"Those people are reporters." We sit on the couch. He tilts his head, and I know the next question before he even asks it. I try to head it off. "They want to know more about Prince Adrian."

He shakes his head. "Why don't they sit in his yard?"

This kid has all the good questions. "I don't know. But Uncle Zye and Miles are going to help us figure out how to get them to go away."

Zye and Miles arrive later with the whiteboard in hand. I leave to pick up the certified letter. Might as well get it over with. I don't want to take Simon out in this chaos, so I leave him with them. We might be stranded here for a while, so I also pick up a few groceries. The staples. Preparing for the long haul. Just like I did last winter when the forecast called for five feet of snow.

Once everything is put away, we have lunch. Zye huffs, but keeping Simon on schedule is important. And these people aren't going anywhere. Miles tells Simon corny jokes, and soon, he's laughing and telling his own. He doesn't quite get how to tell a joke, but the effort he puts into trying to get Miles to laugh has me chuckling and feeling a little better.

I clean up afterward and check on Simon. He's playing in his room with his castle and dragon, and it reminds me of Adrian. I rub the hurt in my chest, but it doesn't go away.

"The Queen is always right. You have to bow," he says to Spiderman, his voice sounding suspiciously like Reginald's.

I don't dwell because breaking down again will get us nowhere.

Zye is holding the whiteboard when I return to the kitchen. We're doing this as far from Simon's room as possible. "How do we minimize the damage?"

"What damage?" Miles asks.

I slump in a chair. "I'm not worried about the reporters. They'll go away." Especially since Adrian is no longer a part of our lives. I don't mention that part, but the sad eyes Zye gives me say he heard it.

"What are you worried about?" Miles isn't much better. The smile he gives me reeks of melancholy. Jesus.

"This letter." I twist it in my hand. I need to rip off the Band-Aid, which is a stupid saying. Just do it and get it over with. I glance at the doorway to make sure Simon hasn't snuck in. "And Jane's change of heart. She swore she wouldn't do this. I hoped she was being sincere."

"So," Zye says, biting his lip, his marker poised, "open the letter. Call Jane. Distract the press."

"Add call lawyers." I shake my head, swallowing the helplessness threatening to overwhelm me. "I owe them so much already."

"This is their job, Isaac?—"

I laugh harshly. "No. I mean, I literally owe them. Thousands of dollars."

"But…" Zye blinks. "That doesn't make sense. The divorce was years ago. The custody battle was years ago."

"The evil sorcerer is here to destroy you!" Simon's voice rises and ends with the shrieks of those living in his castle. "No! No! Go away!" Then, a new voice, and it sounds like Adrian's. "Prince Phillipe will get you."

I cover my face with my hands. No one sees me cry. Well, Zye a few times. Simon a few times. But I have to be the strong one. I can't fall apart. I take an exaggerated breath in and out. It helps. A little.

"Not just the custody battle. Serving her was a bitch, and we had to hire private servers. And when she wouldn't stay away and threatened to take Simon, I had to get a child order of protection. Renewing those and restraining orders over the years. Maybe I could have done it on my own. People do. But I wanted the best possible outcome for Simon, so I paid the price. Or, rather, let them bill me. Which they did, and I'm grateful. But I'd like to be out of debt. Not have to work two jobs." That reminds me one of my bosses is in the room. "Sorry."

"No worries. I know I'm your favorite boss."

I laugh again, this time sounding a bit hysterical. "What am I going to do?"

"Call Jane?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Miles," Zye says, tapping his lip. "What if it gives her more ammo?"

"It's on the board, sweetheart. You put it there."

"I don't care what the board says, okay?—"

Miles gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. Zye throws the marker at him.

"Fuck this. I am so tired of letting things happen to me." I grab the number from my wallet and call before I can change my mind. Or think about the fact that I should have used a different phone because now she has my number.

"Hello?" Her voice sounds clear, and that's something, at least.

"Jane?"

"Isaac." She sounds panicked. "Is Simon okay?"

I give her points for that. "Yes. For now. What the hell were you thinking?"

Miles's eyes widen, and he glances at the door. Shit. I'm yelling.

I take it down a notch. "I thought we had a deal."

"What are you talking about?"

"You went to the press."

"What? No, I didn't. But I did see the articles. And the pictures. You and Simon were at his palace? Is this serious?"

There are pictures of Simon and me at the palace? God. "No."

"Convincing."

"I can't subject Simon to this. We can't live with a spotlight on us."

"Even if he makes you happy?"

I choke back my reply and go with something nicer. "You don't get to give me relationship advice, Jane."

"Were you always this uptight? Let me talk to Zye."

"Hell no. You don't need to talk to Zye. I want to know?—"

But my phone is no longer in my hands. Zye walks away before I can take it back from him.

"Hello, Janie," he says, sounding fond. They used to be friends before she messed up her life and ours. "Okay. Yes. Hold on." He leaves the room.

Great. Should I go after him? I check on Simon. He's still fine. I check the reporters. Still there. Then, with a sigh, I return to the kitchen. Zye is back, still on my phone. "It's good to talk to you too. I'm glad you're doing better. Don't fuck this up, okay?" Then he laughs.

I want to scream, but that won't get my phone back. Or my life. But do I really want that life? The one without Adrian?

He ends the call and hands me the phone. I yank it out of his hand. "Thanks a lot."

"Open the letter, Isaac."

"Why should I?" God, how petulant can I be? I'm sounding more like Simon every minute.

"I don't think Jane did this."

"It has to be her, Zye?—"

"Open. The. Letter." He slides it across the countertop toward me.

My heart pounds as I pick it up. My stomach swirls uncomfortably. Why am I being so stupid? I'm not one to hide from my problems. I rip open the envelope and unfold the letter. There are two sheets. One is the cover letter with an explanation. The other is the bill. The total amount I now owe. I stare at the numbers, unable to make my brain work.

"What is it?"

"It's from the billing department."

"Well?"

I stare at him, still processing the words. "My account has been paid in full."