Reaper's Fall
“So what’s the plan?” Reese asked as they reached the picnic shelter.
“Cake!” Izzie shouted. “Cake cake cake cake! Izzy cake!”
“Sounds like we’re having cake,” I said dryly, shaking off my darker thoughts. “I’ll grab the matches.”
“Got it,” Reese said, pulling out a Zippo. He didn’t smoke, so I’d never quite understood why he carried it—guess the ability to set fires at any time is a useful one. He handed it over to Loni, who lit the candles as I pulled out my phone to record the moment. Painter swung Izzy down and plopped her in front of the sticky pyramid.
“Happy birthday to you . . .” we all sang, with Isabella singing the loudest. She clapped her hands, and when we finished she lunged for a cupcake, grabbing the one with the candles still flaming.
“Shit,” Painter said, jumping forward to catch it. Izzy turned on him in a rage, smacking his arm.
“Mine!”
“Isabella, that’s not okay,” I said firmly. She glared at me.
“Izzy cake.”
“You can have the cake when you say sorry,” I told her. Her glare turned dark and she looked even more like her daddy, only this was funny instead of scary. Jess snorted. “No inappropriate feedback, please.”
Painter shot me a look. “It’s her birthday, Mel. Don’t be a hard-ass.”
Oh no. No fucking way—he didn’t get to undermine me like that. Not to mention his language . . .
“Izzy can have the cake when she says sorry for hitting you,” I said. He set the cupcake down in front of her, deliberately. I cocked my head, glaring at him.
“Isabella, say sorry,” Jess said, catching her attention. “Say it with Auntie Jess?”
The little girl looked at Jessica and smiled. “Sowwy.”
I sighed in relief, realizing this could be a sign of things to come—Izzy was a smart kid. Too smart. If she realized she could play her parents against each other, we’d be screwed by the time she hit middle school.
I felt another wave of near panic hit—if I couldn’t control a two-year-old, how was I supposed to control a middle schooler?
“Okay, princess. Cupcake time,” Painter said, swinging a leg over to straddle the bench next to her. She beamed at him, shoving it into her mouth without paying the slightest attention to me. It was always like that . . . Izzy was daddy’s girl, through and through.
I hated it, and I sort of hated myself, too.
What kind of crazy woman is jealous of her own daughter?
• • •
“She’s gonna do fine,” Painter said, giving me a cool look. We stood next to each other under the picnic shelter, watching Izzy play chase with Jessica on the playground equipment. He’d lost all the smiles now that we were alone. Prison had impacted him even more deeply this time. He’d gone darker, more still. His art was darker, too. From what I’d seen in his studio, there was a new power to his painting, but also a new sense of danger.
No wonder his works were selling like crazy.
Seemed a little unfair, actually. Painter committed crimes and went to jail, and all it did was titillate potential buyers. I busted ass and worked hard, but I still couldn’t afford a new car. The fact that he’d offered to buy me one just made it sting more.
Asshole.
“You promise you’ll call if she gets scared?” I said, hating this entire situation.
“Sure,” he replied. “But she won’t. She loves my place, and it’s not like she’s never been away from home—she’s spent the night with London and Reese. She’ll do fine. You need to stop worrying.”
“Okay,” I whispered, defeated. “I’ll be out this evening, but I’d still really appreciate it if you let her call me at bedtime. I want to say good night.”
“Out where?” he asked casually. I shot him a look.
“With a friend.”
“Date?”
“None of your damned business,” I snapped. Shit. Why had I done that? Way too defensive, which was a dead giveaway.
“Anyone I know?” he asked, his jaw tight. I turned to him, raising a brow.
“You screw everything that walks,” I spat out. “How dare you question me?”
“Jealous?” he asked, eyes hard. Scowling, I flipped him off subtly. He raised a brow.
“You want me to stop screwing around, come over with Izzy tonight and I’ll be happy to limit my fucking to you, Mel. Anytime you want under me, the door’s open.”
The words sent a wave of heat through me, and I’m pretty sure my nipples went hard as rocks. He gave a mocking ghost of a smile.
“Still remember how you taste, baby—not to mention how that cunt of yours felt wrapped tight around my cock. Do not fuck with me, Mel. I’m not some little boy you can play games with.”
I stepped back, eyes wide.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” I managed to say. His smile turned nasty.
“Mel, I’ve done everything you’ve asked,” he said. “And there’s not a damned thing on earth I wouldn’t do for Isabella. But I’m sick of jumping through your hoops, only to have you go full bitch on me when I want to see my daughter. She’s my kid, too.”
“Do you lay awake nights trying to think up new ways to be an asshole?” I asked. “And I’ve never asked you to do anything for me. I’d be just as happy if you disappeared. Me and Izzy were doing great before you came back and decided to play daddy.”
Something flared in his eyes, and then he stepped into my space. I tried to back away, then felt the picnic table hit my butt, blocking me.