car.” His voice is just as light as before, and he motions between us. “This is off-the-record.”
I touch my chest. “I’m flattered you’d do that for me.”
He smiles. “Well, I love to flatter you.”
“Oh I know,” I say, trying not to sound sexually or romantically frustrated.
He keeps dunking his spoon in milk, silence extending before he tells me, “I’m just trying to get to know you better.”
Is that a good idea? Against better judgment, my defenses drop. Maybe because I want to get to know him better too. “Ripley is, in fact, sixth-months-old,” I answer his questions. “It’s still unbelievable to me what happened. You know, Donnelly was supposed to become the guardian, but he couldn’t do it. I’ve known him for over a decade, and the guy is responsible but he’s not ready to be a father.” It would’ve destroyed him.
“So Farrow stepped in,” Jack nods, knowing the history.
Of course he does. I don’t know why I forgot that he hears and sees a lot. Plus, the famous ones talk to him.
“Yeah, that’s how Farrow is. Everyone wants to be his friend because he looks like a cool motherfucker. He’d do anything for his friends, even if you haven’t talked to him in years. If you need him, he’d drop everything and help.” I shrug. “Donnelly and I are similar, but we’re easier to befriend. And I’m happy Farrow was there to take the baby. He has Maximoff to lean on.”
Unlike me.
I don’t have anyone else.
I can tell Jack sees the unspoken words in my face. So I drop my gaze and busy myself with wiping down the kitchen counter.
“I’d be a single father,” I continue on, “and I wouldn’t want that. Farrow genuinely wants Ripley in his life. He loves that kid.” I begin to grin. “I asked to babysit a few times, but Farrow and Maximoff are fucking attached. It takes a jack-hammer to pull them apart from him.”
It’s what that kid deserves. Unconditional, never-going-to-leave-you love. But my best friend is unfortunately staring at a legal battle in his future. Ripley is the biological son of Paul Donnelly’s thirty-year-old uncle. Who’s in prison. And this motherfucker won’t sign his parental rights away, probably hoping to extort Maximoff Hale.
It’s a fucked-up situation, and I hate that Farrow has to deal with it and that a child is going to be in a very public custody battle. Maximoff is famous. Farrow is now famous.
There’s no way this won’t be all over the news.
“I gather you like kids,” Jack says easily.
I nod. “I helped raise my baby sister and brother. I’m used to changing dirty diapers and being spit up on.”
“Me too.” He explains further, “My parents worked long hours, so I looked after my brother a lot before I left for college.”
I want to know more. Like what his parents do for a living. How did his brother take it when Jack left? But my phone buzzes.
Has your location changed? – Thatcher
Before I can answer, another text pings.
I don’t want to ask over comms and worry Farrow and Maximoff on their honeymoon. – Thatcher
“Everything okay?” Jack eyes me as I read the messages.
“I can’t tell,” I say honestly. “I know Farrow better than I even know my own brother.” It just came out, and fuck, I can’t believe I’m admitting that to anyone, let alone Jack. I swear the guy is made of truth serum. But I just keep talking. “It’d have to take a crater-sized issue for Farrow to interrupt his honeymoon with Maximoff, and if something is going down at the lake house…I wish I were there.”
Everyone in SFO is too far away to protect them.
I text Thatcher back: Still in New York
Copy that – Thatcher
My radio crackles in my fist. “Farrow to Thatcher, are you sure security isn’t coming here?”
I make an educated guess out loud. “He must see a security vehicle pulling into the lake house.” Why else would he single out security?
Thatcher replies on comms, “Unless someone is lying, no one should be at the lake house but your family.”
Jack stands off the barstool. “Who do you think it is?”
I watch him approach the sink near me. “Maybe Quinn.”
Jack frowns, and he’s about to wash out the cereal bowl, but I reach for it.
“You’re my guest—”
“You already fed me,” Jack interjects. “Really, I should’ve brought over breakfast for the meeting.” He runs the water. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Mention of why he’s here—for the show about my client—puts everything in tense perspective. The air strains. I