The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,317

to family courtroom? Or do you want to do this the easy way?”

My heart hammers, blood whooshing in my ears.

Everything is red.

Then black.

Then crystal-fucking-clear.

The other night, when Errol was here begging for me to sign over custody, he skirted the Beth issue because this was his intention all along—to gain custody, only to waive his rights. With a bit of careful manipulation, he could do all of those things under her nose.

“You’re a wicked and vile excuse for a human being,” I spit the words I’ve been longing to say for as long as I can remember. “You disgust me.”

She sniffs. “I would say it takes one to know one, but that’d be giving you too much credit. You’re not wicked, Bennett. You’re weak.” Her gaze drips to my scar and back. “You were born weak. And you’ll die weak.” Strolling past me, she sighs. “Thank goodness your father didn’t live to see you like this. Defiant. Not a shred of loyalty. It’s pathetic, truly.”

I get the door. “Threaten me one more time, Mother, and see what happens. Attempt to use this child as a pawn one more time. Please. I dare you.”

She turns to respond, red lips twisted, but I slam the door in her face.

And then I make a phone call.

Thirty-One

Astaire

* * *

I break off a square of dark chocolate Saturday night and hand it over. Casablanca streams on the TV above his fireplace, which I’d always thought was a framed painting up until today. A shared blanket covers our laps and a bowl of half-eaten popcorn rests on the coffee table.

He’s glued to the movie—a good thing because most people either love or hate this one, and it happens to be one of my personal favorites. Linda and I used to watch Casablanca on snow days, sharing microwave popcorn and Twizzlers, quoting every line by heart.

I hold my breath when Bogie gives his famous line, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns, in all the world, she walked into mine …”

Strangely serendipitous, but I keep that to myself. Bennett is much too pragmatic to assign deeper meanings to anything. He’d look at me like I had two heads. Plus, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Things between us have shifted, leveled-up in a way, but it’s all so new, so fragile.

I’m taking it one day at a time.

So is he … in his own way.

The doctor has ordered him to take it easy the next few weeks. No work. No stress. It’s practically torture for him, but I’m doing my part to make sure he sticks with it and to make sure his time recuperating is as relaxing as possible.

“Astaire, I need to ask you something.” He leans forward, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie. “I have a favor of you. Well, not so much as a favor as it is a commitment. And I want you to know I don’t ask this lightly.”

Random.

“Okay...”

His mouth presses flat and his dark brows meet. “If anything happens to me, I need to make sure Honor has someone. Someone to take care of her. Someone worthy of taking care of her.”

“Of course. I told you I’ll help any way I can. You know that.”

“I mean legally,” he says. “She cannot—under any circumstances—go to my mother or brother.”

I swallow the melted chocolate on my tongue and nod. “Are you sure about this?”

I don’t point out the fact that we only just met last month, that he hardly knows me. What if he gets sick of me? What if he meets someone else and falls in love? Wants to start a family with them? What then?

“She’s going to need a mother figure in her life,” he says. “There are things I won’t be able to give to her.”

“There are plenty of single dads out there who do just fine.”

“I’m sure there are. But I know my limits, Astaire. I know my strengths. Nurturing and tenderness and all of that—it’s a foreign language to me. You … you have all of those things. You are all of those things.”

“You’ll learn as you go along,” I say, leaning in to kiss him. I love him like this—vulnerable and admitting for the first time that he’s scared of one thing in his life.

“I’m serious, Astaire. You’re the only person I trust, the only one who feels right for her.” He lifts a hand to my cheek, exhales, his forehead pressed against mine.

“You sure?”

“More than anything.”

I swallow the lump in my