Hold On (Page 160)

And all of those people were silent as the angry knocks kept coming.

I also saw my son’s confused face turned to the door. Merry was struggling his way through bodies to get to it, but Colt was already there.

Colt opened it.

“Stop knocking,” he bit out when the knocking didn’t stop because whoever was doing it was doing it on the storm door.

“I demand to see Cheryl!”

Fuck.

Peggy.

I looked to Ethan, who no longer looked confused.

His face was pale and his eyes were on me.

“It’s cool. Everything’s cool,” I said to the room at large but turned to the closest adult, who happened to be Dave. “Do me a big favor, Dave. Can you get my son in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing, honey,” Dave muttered.

I pushed through bodies, eyes to the door where Merry now was with Colt.

But he was pushing through the storm.

And he was pissed.

Colt was following him.

And he was pissed too.

Shit, this was happening outside.

I looked back at Dave, who was halfway to my kid.

“And, uh…shut the blinds in the kitchen, would you?”

“Mom!” Ethan cried.

“Give me and Merry a second, baby,” I requested.

Bad choice of words, especially with all these folks around.

“I’m not a baby!” he snapped.

I made it to the door and focused on him. “I need a second, kid. Merry and me need a second. You know we’ll give it to you when we know what’s going down. Just let us see the lay of the land first. Okay?”

Dave had his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. Feb was close too. Vi was pushing their way.

Ethan was glaring at me.

Then he bit out, “Fine.”

“Go with Dave and Feb, you with me?” I asked.

“Whatever,” he muttered, getting up from his seat on the floor by the coffee table, which had been cleared for cake placement, candle blowing, and ice cream scooping, the edges of the table and the floor around it littered with presents.

All ready for the good stuff.

Fucking Peggy.

I set my teeth, gathered my wits, tamped down my fury as best I could, and stormed out of my house.

Merry and Colt had managed to get her halfway down the walk.

I didn’t know what was happening. I just saw through the two men’s bodies she had one arm gesticulating.

She also had her daughter in a stroller and her son on her hip.

And my son was right then being hustled into our kitchen just before he was supposed to get cake, ice cream, and spoiled rotten by people who loved him, all because Peggy was having whatever fit Peggy was currently having.

In other words, I might have succeeded a little bit in tamping down my fury.

But I didn’t hold tight enough to the reins.

I rounded Merry, did it with velocity, but got no further when his fingers caught the back waistband of my jeans and I came up short.

I didn’t need proximity. I wasn’t going to belt a bitch who was holding a baby.

I had the use of my mouth.

So I used it.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” I asked.

She turned to me, face contorted with what appeared to be more rage than I had.

“Where’s my husband?” she bit back.

“I don’t fucking know,” I answered.

“Refrain from cursing in front of my children,” she ordered.

“Get your kids outta my yard and I won’t have to,” I retorted.

“I want to talk to my husband,” she demanded.

“Then find him wherever he is and talk to him, something you’re not gonna be able to do here, seeing as he isn’t here,” I returned.

“He’s stopped going to meetings,” she declared on a toss of her hair.

“I don’t even know what you mean, but whatever you mean, I don’t care,” I replied.

She bent my way. “Meetings,” she hissed. “To keep out the devil.”

“My guess, NA,” Colt waded in to explain.

Oh crap.

“And he’s also stopped coming home,” Peggy went on.

Shit.

I took a small step back as what was happening here penetrated.

And what was happening here was not good.

“Is he here?” she asked.

“Like I said, Peggy, no,” I answered far more calmly. “I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He hasn’t been home in over a week,” she informed me, like this was my fault.

I said nothing.

She kept the information flowing. “He also hasn’t been to work.”

Oh man.

She was screwed.

“It’s his son’s birthday party. I was certain he’d be here,” she declared.

It was my turn to share some information.

“Then you don’t know Trent, Peg, because he doesn’t give a shit about his son.”

“He’s his father,” she snapped. “A father goes to his son’s birthday party.”

“He hasn’t been to one yet,” I reminded her.

“That’s because you,” she leaned toward me, “wouldn’t let him.”

I drew in breath.

I had to hold on and not get mad again. She was up shit’s creek. She knew it but was denying it and looking for someone to blame or take it out on.

But in the end, she’d go home to betrayal and abandonment.

When she was gone, I’d go into my house to watch my kid eat cake and open presents, my man at my side and everyone we loved who loved us back crammed in my little Janis Joplin living room.

So I could find it in me to be patient.