Soaring (Magdalene #2)(62)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I pinned a smile on my face and headed his way.

“Need something?” I asked.

“Closer,” he answered when I stopped at his side.

I crouched so he could look down and I was looking up, something he couldn’t do often considering he was stooped and further, had to walk with a Zimmer frame.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He studied me with his fading blue eyes.

“Mr. Dennison,” I called. “Can I get you something?”

Finally, he focused on me. “You ever need to talk, love, my ears are old, but they can still hear.”

Well, that answered that. I was not hiding the fact that I was still bleeding from that scene with Mickey last night even if I’d finally pulled myself together enough to call Robin back, tell her all about it through silent crying hiccups and listen to her ranting about how men were all jerks and I was better off knowing sooner rather than later, like I’d learned with Conrad.

She was not wrong.

But somehow, what happened with Mickey hurt more than Conrad’s betrayal, even when recent news could make it fresh.

I had no idea how this could be. Except for a shining twenty-four hours that held the promise of him, he and I never were.

It still destroyed me.

But this time, older, wiser, maybe stronger, but definitely tired of this crap, I thought I was letting it do it quietly.

Mr. Dennison didn’t agree.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe we’ll have a gab over a cup of tea when I’m back.”

“You bring some bourbon, you’re on,” he told me.

I didn’t need to bring bourbon. He had a stash his son augmented every week when he came to visit.

I smiled at him and gave his hand another squeeze. “See you later, honey.”

He squeezed me back. “Later, love.”

I walked to the security door, punched in the code, pushed on the bar, walked through but stopped in the vacant reception area to pull out my phone.

I activated it and scrolled through the notifications.

Bad news: another call from Boston Stone.

Good news: my attorney in California had called me back.

Unbelievably great news: Pippa had texted me.

Flowers are pretty. Thanks.

I was grinning like a fool (inside, outside, after the Mickey thing, I still couldn’t do it), as I poked at the screen and sent a text back to my daughter.

Glad you got them. Chin up, kiddo. Hope you know how much your mother loves you.

I sent that, poked the screen again and put the phone to my ear. I listened to it ring, got his secretary, and considering my last name, she put me right through to my attorney.

Only then did I again start walking.

“I got the message, Amelia,” Preston Middleton said in my ear. “Are you sure about this information?”

I pushed through the front door. “Not really but I’m sure enough I’d like to invest in being absolutely certain.”

I walked down the sidewalk to my car, eyes to my feet, as Preston replied, “I can set a private investigator on it.”

“Consider this the go-ahead to do that,” I told him, looking up.

My step faltered when I saw Mickey in his hot guy dusty construction outfit leaning against my driver’s side door.

Really?

What now?

What could he possibly have left to use to destroy me?

I kept my gaze on him as I made my way right to him and stopped just off the curb by my bumper.

“Is there something you’re thinking in having this information?” Preston asked in my ear.

“I want my children back,” I answered, gaze to Mickey, seeing his eyes in his impassive face flare at my words.

“Full custody?” Preston was sounding enthusiastic and I envisioned him rubbing his hands together and not only because of the billable hours but because he liked to get his teeth into a good fight.

“I’ll not be greedy,” I replied. “Every other week. My children love their father and I don’t want them to lose something they love. I need some time to see where the kids are, but when I’m ready, this time I don’t intend to lose. And I don’t care how much it costs. I want every woman he had sex with while he was married to me contacted, deposed and ready to testify should Conrad push this to ugly.”

Mickey’s body slightly straightened at my “had sex with” but mostly he stayed leaned against my car, his gaze on me.

“I’ll talk to my investigator,” Preston said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“You’re doing well?” he asked.

“I am, but I’m also on my way somewhere. I don’t want to be rude but I need to go.”

“Of course, I’ll call you with updates, Amelia.”

“Thank you, Preston.”

We disconnected and instantly I asked Mickey, “Can you step away from my car?”

“You’re fightin’ for your kids?” he asked back.

That was none of his business.

But after what he did to me last night, he thought he could ask?

I’d answer.

“My best friend in Cali just found out that my husband didn’t only fuck, and then fall in love with, and then put an engagement ring on the finger of a nurse in his hospital in San Diego, this all while still married to me,” I shared. “He fucked his way through his hospital in Boston, the one in Lexington, perhaps the one in San Diego too, and he’d had at least one sexual harassment claim against him. As this is new information and I’m tired of not seeing my children, should he not agree to a more equitable custody schedule, I’m afraid I’m going to have to fight dirty.”

“That’s not dirty, Amy, he’s dirty,” Mickey said quietly.

“Thank you for your opinion,” I returned tartly. “Now will you step away from my car?”

He straightened from it and turned to me.

But he didn’t step away.

“We gotta talk,” he told me, his voice gentle, his eyes not leaving me.

“No, you see, you’re wrong about that,” I replied. “We’ve done that and I’ve found it isn’t much fun for me.”

“I was outta line last night,” he stated.

“You were,” I agreed. “Is that your apology?”

“Yeah, Amy, that’s my apology.” His voice was still gentle.

It sounded amazing.

It didn’t work on me because just standing there looking at him, I was still bleeding.

“Apology accepted. Now will you step away from my car?”