Shock - Marie Johnston Page 0,64

thick hair. “Hey.” Her nose wrinkles and she looks around for the source of the stench. “How’s it going?”

“Not the best. Sorry for the vomit smell.”

Her brow crinkles and she looks beyond me, the corner of her lips pulling down.

I glance over my shoulder and my stomach sinks. Fuck.

Cass has emerged from the hall. She’s swamped in one of my old college T-shirts that brushes the tops of her knees. The baggie holding her dirty clothes—both her pants and top—hangs from her fingers.

The problem isn’t that she’s in my house, wearing only my shirt. The smell alone explains everything. Lia will understand why I didn’t send Cass away full of puke.

No, the problem is that Cass is staring into Jayden’s room. “When did you do this?”

“Oh.” I exchange an oh shit look with Lia. She steps into the house next to me. I’m going to need her support for what comes next. “Cass, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Lia

I don’t want to be here right now. This moment screams private, something a new girlfriend, hell, even a good friend, should sit out.

Ford’s been agonizing over how to approach Cass, whether or not to go to a lawyer first or test the waters and see if she’s receptive to the idea of compromising on arrangements.

Cass crosses her arms, the shirt hitching up on her thighs. Her haggard appearance isn’t just from Jayden’s mess. I don’t have time to ponder before her voice cuts through the moment.

“Okay.” Her voice is full of challenge.

“We can talk more later. This obviously isn’t the best time,” I try.

Her gaze jumps to me, then back to Jayden clinging to Ford. “What is it?”

“I’d like to discuss joint custody arrangements with you.”

Her expression frosts over and her gaze oscillates between me and Ford. “You two have been planning this?”

My gut clenches. The ice shards protruding from that question are more than ominous. Everything Ford feared is unfolding. Cass doesn’t want to lose control. It’s all she has over Ford.

I want to cling to his arm, to rub my hand on Jayden’s back. He has to sense the tension between his parents. But I remain still.

“What do you mean?” Ford asks.

Cass waves her hand between us. “This. I accused you of being a poor role model. So you’re making this perfect little family, with a perfect little room, and you’re right here in Sunnyville, happy forever.”

Ford holds a hand up. Cass falls quiet, but she blinks tears back. His brow is crinkled. Like him, I don’t understand the magnitude of Cass’s reaction. Does she feel like we’re teaming up against her?

“I don’t understand, Cass. I get what happened between us. I get what upset you so much, but I don’t get what you mean about planning this. I mean, you’re living here in Sunnyville too. You stayed and you got a good job. What have I done wrong now?”

She sighs and rubs her forehead, then grimaces and pulls the hem of her shirt down, suddenly self-conscious. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s just been a stressful week and now I have a sick kid. I should get him home and get him cleaned up.”

She marches over and holds her arms out for her son. Ford shifts Jayden to her hold and he curls into her like she’s holding the cure to his tummy issues in the borrowed shirt.

“I wanted a space for Jayden to be comfortable here. The portable crib is getting too small.”

“No, I get it. I overreacted.” Her smile is wan. “Like I said, hard week. Anyway, thanks for watching him.”

She scurries out the door and Ford helps her load Jayden and the diaper bag.

I stay out of sight, unwilling to add to Cass’s rough week so she can take it out on Ford.

He enters the house and lets the door shut behind him. “So that was weird.”

“I’m glad you sensed it.” I don’t know why Cass would find Jayden having his own room at his father’s house so personally insulting. It’s better for Jayden than camping out every time.

“I don’t think she’s going to voluntarily sign the declaration of parentage.”

I shake my head. “No, not if seeing a bedroom made her react that way. What’s next?”

“Court order to establish legal parentage. It could get ugly.”

“You do what you have to do.”

He nods, stress etched into his chiseled features. He scrubs his face. “You said you had to talk to me about something.”

I grimace, not wanting to heap more onto him. “How do you feel about