“We need to ice your back later.” He hoisted Blake on his hip. “And why can’t I call him Dad? He said it was okay.”
I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the chair. “Because that would make you like my brother.”
“No way. More like my in-law. He’s our child’s grandfather.”
“I know how the family tree works.” If I didn’t move, maybe the little demons squeezing my back muscles would go to sleep. “He’s not your in-law.”
“Close enough.”
The sound of his footsteps got farther away. They climbed the steps and then I could no longer hear him walking. What remained was him and Blake having some sort of conversation at Ella volume.
I dreaded to make the call, but Patrick was right.
“Daddy,” I said as soon as he answered.
“Hi, sweetheart. How’s the back?”
“Fine.”
“Don’t lie to your old man.”
“Hurts like hell. I want to rip all my muscles out and unknot them.” I pressed into the cushion in a feeble attempt to put pressure where the pain was.
“I know you didn’t call me to report in.”
“Do I have to have a reason to call?”
“No. But you always do.”
“She was here.”
“When?”
“Just a few minutes ago. We’d just gotten home—back to Patrick’s,” I quickly amended, hoping he didn’t notice the slip. When did I start thinking of Patrick’s as home?
“How’d she know you were there?”
“She says she’s been here all along. What does that mean?”
He made a strange noise in the back of his throat. “She used to say that to me when we got serious. I thought she meant we were soulmates. That we’d been together from the start, even if we didn’t know it.”
“I want her to go away.” I covered my face with my hand. “I’m sorry. So sorry I brought this on us.”
“This isn’t your fault. You can’t control her actions.”
“But I’m the one who brought her back into our lives.”
“If we can take what she says at face value, she never left.”
Patrick strode in with an ice pack, Blake toddling along beside him, hand-in-hand. A lump formed in my throat.
“You’re a good dad,” I blurted, staring at them.
“I appreciate that, sweetheart.”
“I was talking to Patrick, but you are too.”
He perched on the arm of my chair. Blake went straight for the window, adding to the smattering of handprints on the glass.
“Hey, Dad.” Patrick stretched his arm across the back of the cushion. “Your daughter says I can’t call you that, but I’m ignoring her.”
“Hey, son.”
See, he mouthed, a sexy grin spreading. “Is there any history of mental illness with your ex-wife?”
I looked at Patrick like he’d lost his own mind.
“Not that I know of.” Dad’s answer came out more like a question.
“Did you find her manipulative at any point in your relationship?”
“This isn’t a deposition,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about her anymore.
“I’m trying to understand why we’re at the point we are now. We have no idea what she wants, what her motivation is.”
“Not that I recall.” The stress came through loud and clear over the line.
I gave Patrick a warning look to cool it. My mother had been the one no-go topic most of my life. Time hadn’t made it any easier for my father to discuss.
“What do you know about the man she left you for?”
I smacked Patrick in the leg and hit mute. “What’s the matter with you?”
“We’re going to have to talk about this if we’re going to beat her at whatever sick game she’s playing.” I unmuted the phone.
“That he’s better looking, more successful, and more of a man than I’ll ever be.” Dad sounded resigned that those things were the truth.
“Did she say that to you?” My father was the kindest man on the planet. I wanted to strangle her for what she’d done to him.
“Word for word.”
“Don’t you believe it. Any of it.”
“Hard not to sometimes.”
I hated how dejected he was. My father was always so strong, hid his insecurities and troubles so well.
“Blake wouldn’t be the beautiful kid he is today without you. And I know I’m a pain in the ass, but anything good about me comes from you.”
Patrick squeezed my shoulder and gave me an approving nod.
“Sweetheart,” he said hoarsely.
“I’m the world’s worst about talking through things, but Patrick’s right. We need to fight this together.”
“Is it too much to hope she might just disappear again?” A chair scraped on the floor in the background.
“She insinuated I wasn’t a fit mother. That Patrick wasn’t a good father, either. We think she’s going after Blake.”
“I have to go.” Never in all my years had I heard such menace from my father.
Three tones beeped in my ear. “Daddy?”
Call ended.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Patrick
“Any word?’
I paced in front of the desk.
“Straight to voicemail every time.” Andrew leaned back in the chair behind it.
“Me and my big mouth,” Marlow said. “It’s been almost twenty-four hours. Where the hell is he?”
“Hell.”
We all looked at Blake, who grinned goofily, clueless he’d cursed. None of us corrected him.
“Mrs. Quinn can’t reach him either.” Trish held up her cell phone as she entered my study, disappointment etched her features.
“I can’t find him.” Holt was breathless as he barreled into the room, Baker on his trail. “We went to her place. It was dark. No one answered.”
“What’s her phone number?” My best friend pointed accusingly toward his sister.
She scrolled through her phone.
“I don’t think we should call her,” I said. All heads whipped to me. “Why tip her off? Besides, if she’s done something to him, she knows it’s only a matter of time before we come after her.”
My phone buzzed.
Tick.
I dropped it back in my pocket as if I hadn’t seen a thing. Too much other stuff was important for these games.
“How do we find her?” Holt took off his ballcap and yanked it back on his head. “We’ve tried everything we know.”
“I’ve got a guy on it, but he swears she’s like a ghost. No property in her name. No
