We stay close to the courthouse for lunch, and despite Brent’s most annoying efforts, Chelsea doesn’t touch her food. Two hours later, court is back in session. Chelsea holds my hand in a death grip under the table as the judge clears her throat to render her decision.
“As one of nine children, I feel particularly qualified to rule in this case.” She peers down through her glasses at us. “As Miss McQuaid stated, raising children is hard—particularly six children between the ages of six months and fourteen years. Whether there is one child or ten, however, it is still the court’s responsibility to ensure these children are raised in the custody of a guardian who will care for them and provide a safe environment that allows them to thrive. After reviewing all of the evidence presented, I believe Chelsea McQuaid is just such a guardian . . .”
Mentally I shout in victory and Chelsea starts to cry.
“And so I am ordering that physical and legal custody of the six minor children be returned to Miss McQuaid, effective immediately.” She turns her attention to the Children and Family Services side of the room. “CFSA is charged with not just the task of judging parental performance but assisting them as well. Our job is not to tear families apart and claim they are better for it, but to find a way for families to stay together. Children and Family Services will provide the court with monthly updates on this case, and rest assured, I will be looking for increased involvement by that agency when it comes to providing assistance in all areas.” She glances at Chelsea and smiles. “Good luck, Miss McQuaid. Court is adjourned.”
Chelsea throws herself into my arms, while Brent, Sofia, and Stanton are all smiles too. She looks up at me. “Can we go get them?”
“Yeah, we can.”
“Right now?” She bounces.
“Right now.” I laugh.
- • •
We pick up Chelsea’s brother’s truck, then, with the information Janet provided, we drive about an hour north of the city to get the monsters. Chelsea talks and smiles the whole way there, looking so damn overjoyed. Janet notified the foster family that we were on our way, so they’re not surprised when we show up at the front door. It’s a nice place—a big house, a quiet street. The pretty blonde who answers the door tells Chelsea the kids are in the back. We open the sliding glass doors and step into the backyard, and you’d think they haven’t seen Chelsea in two years instead of two days.
That’s how happy they are. How fast they run to her. How loud they scream when they see her. How long they hug her—like they never want to let go.
“You’re here!” Rosaleen yells while her aunt tries to hug them all at the same time. “I knew you’d come, I knew it!”
“Can we go home?” Rory asks Chelsea.
“Yes—we’re going home.”
When Regan loses her footing in the mass of hugging bodies and falls on her ass on the grass, I scoop her up. I hold her high for a minute, then settle her comfortably in my arms. She puts her little hands on my cheeks, looks me in the face, and squeaks her third word.
“Jake!”
And the whole world goes blurry.
“Damn, kiddo, you’ve got a way with words.”
- • •
It’s around four o’clock by the time we get back to the house and get the kids unpacked. They’re all so hyped up, so excited to be home again, they convince Chelsea to throw a party.
And she agrees.
There’s a distinct possibility she’s never going to be able to say fucking no to them again.
A few hours later, there’s boxes of pizza, soda, streamers, and balloons. Stanton, Sofia, and Brent come, Janet comes, the neighbors come, as well as a bunch of the kids’ friends, and their parents. I kind of hang in the background, leaning up against the wall, watching.
Distancing myself. From all of it. Drinking a cup of soda and really wishing I could mix it with that bottle of Southern Comfort that’s back to being buried in the freezer.
It’s dark by the time I step outside, onto the back patio. Bright purple and white hyacinths bloom all around, their heavy perfume making me feel like I’m gonna puke hard. The noises from inside echo out—shrill, delighted childish screeches, music, Stanton’s deep rumbling laugh, the steady drone of adult conversation.
Even though the weather is on the cool side, I start to sweat.
I remember the scripture from yesterday, when I went to church with Chelsea. It was about Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying for a pardon that would never come.
Let this cup pass from me . . .
Seems pretty ironic right about now.
“You’re gonna dump her, aren’t you?”
My head jerks toward the corner of the garden, hidden in shadow from the lights streaming out of the house, where Riley is standing.
And she sounds pissed.
“I see what you’re doing—the way you lean away from her. The way you’ve been avoiding her all night. You’re acting like one of the boys in my school, right before he dumps his girlfriend in front of the entire cafeteria.” Her anger gives way to confusion and hurt. “How can you do that? Aunt Chelsea is the best person ever. And she loves you.”
“Riley—”
“She does! It’s obvious. She’s so happy with you. Why would you take that away from her?”
I rub the back of my neck. I’ve argued in front of judges with a lifetime of accomplishments behind them. Truly great judiciaries—some of them I studied in goddamn law school. And I was cool as ice.
I can’t say the same as I try to explain myself to a fourteen-year-old.
“Riley . . . it’s . . . complicated. I’m trying . . . you can’t . . .” And I go with the old reliable. The ultimate cop-out. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”
Fucking pathetic.
She makes a disgusted sound, then slices me to pieces. “That’s the first time you’ve ever talked to me like I’m some dumb kid. And the truth is, you’re the stupid one!”
Riley shakes her head at my silence. “You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve any of us.” She stomps past me, a swirl of furious brown hair. “You’re an asshole!”
She wrenches open the door and disappears inside.
And I whisper to no one, “Yeah. I know.”
Before the door slams shut behind Riley, Chelsea steps out onto the patio.
“There you are. Riley doesn’t look happy.” She wraps her arms around my neck and leans against me. “Teenage drama already?” Her perfect lips drift closer. “I thought we’d get a few days’ reprieve.”
I lean back and grip her forearms, slowly sliding them off. My voice is a feeble whisper. “Chelsea . . . we can’t do this.”
At first she’s confused, still smiling. But then the smile fades, and she understands. Her arms fold around her. “I thought we already were. I thought we were doing really well.”
We were. But it’s too fucking much. Too fast, too intense, too . . . distracting. I meant what I said to her yesterday—I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t do for her. For them.
“I care about you, Chelsea.” I gesture toward the house. “I care about you all very much. But a family—that kind of responsibility was never part of the plan for me. My role models were a drunk whose favorite pastime was punching his wife, and a cranky womanizing workaholic who was married to his bench. I don’t know how to do this.”
I’ve taken plenty of risks in my career. The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward. But I can’t risk . . . them. They’re too important, too precious. The risk that I could screw up, harm them because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing—even the possibility terrifies me.
I lick my lips, not looking at her. “And now that I know the kids are safe, that you’re okay—I need to back this way up.”
It was always going to end. Today, or a month, or six months from now—and it was never going to end well for her. I should’ve pulled away a long time ago.
But she was so . . . her.
And I was a selfish fucking idiot.
She inhales a breath, then lets it out slowly, the way she does when she’s trying to calm her heart. I hate that I fucking know that. I hate that I can already imagine what she’s thinking, what she’ll say.
“Jake, I know it’s scary. I’m scared too. But some things are worth being scared for. And together, we could be . . .”
Do it right . . . or don’t bother.
So I force myself to look into those heartbreaking blue eyes. And lie through my teeth.
“I don’t want this, Chelsea.”
She gasps, like the wind’s been knocked out of her.
“I don’t want this life. I can be a friend to you—to them—but this thing between us, whatever it is . . . needs to end now.” I scrape a hand through my hair, tugging hard, the pain giving me focus. Resolve. “You’re the kind of woman who’s gonna want to get married someday. You should be out there looking for that guy. But I’m not him. Any time we spend together will just . . . be a waste.”
Her voice is dull. Barely there. “I see.”
And I can hear the tears. I won’t look—I fucking can’t. But I can practically feel them slowly streaking down her face.
She clears her throat. “The boys—they idolize you, Jake. They all do. Please don’t—”
“I won’t,” I promise. “I’m not going to abandon them or you. I still want to help.” My voice picks up and I start to talk faster.
“Anything you need. I’ll take them to practice, I’ll be there at games, babysitting or just being with them. I won’t leave you hanging, Chelsea.”
I finally get the balls to look at her face.
But I shouldn’t have.
She’s moonlight pale, her lashes dark with wetness. A tear leaks silently from one corner, leaving a silver trail down her porcelain cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
And I am—so goddamn sorry.
Chelsea raises her chin, and her shoulders straighten with that bravery—that quiet, ceaseless strength. Her fingers wipe away tears. “I understand, Jake. Thank you”—she swallows—“for your honesty.” Her voice goes even softer. “We care about you too—so much. If friendship is all you want, then we’ll make it work just as friends.”
Hearing the words from her lips makes me fucking cringe.
But I cover it with a silent nod.
Chelsea steps toward the door, and every cell in my body screams to stop her. Grab her—spin her around and kiss her until she smiles again. To drop to my knees and take it all back. To undo the last five minutes.
But I’m trying to do the right thing. Even though it’s harder than I ever could’ve imagined.
As Chelsea walks away, I squeeze my eyes shut, force my feet and my hands to stay still as stone . . . and let her go.
