Reaper's Fall
Page 82
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“What, like go sightseeing?”
“If you want.”
I considered the idea, but the thought of doing touristy things with Painter’s best friend and a newborn didn’t exactly strike me as fun. “No, let’s just go to the hotel. Izzy could use a nap and I’d like some space.”
“You got it.”
He turned on the radio and we settled in for the drive. The look on Painter’s face as we left haunted me. I wanted to hate him for what he’d done, but the pain he’d suffered when he handed Izzy back to me was real.
He loved her.
I wasn’t sure that he would—he didn’t want kids. He’d chosen prison over our daughter. Not that he’d sat down and checked a box marked “prison” instead of “fatherhood” on a test, but he’d known damned well that his parole officer was out for blood when he left the state.
But he truly loved Izzy. I’d seen it.
“I’m going to start sending him pictures,” I told Puck abruptly. He shot me a quick glance, then nodded.
“He’d probably like that.”
And that was it.
I liked Puck, I decided. He was big and scary, with a nasty scar across his face and all the social skills of an ax murderer, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
“Thanks. Thanks for bringing us down here.”
He glanced toward me again.
“Anytime, Mel. Anytime.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
COEUR D’ALENE
IZZY’S SECOND BIRTHDAY PARTY
MELANIE
“Cake?” Izzy asked, her voice hopeful. I looked at the pyramid of brightly frosted pink cupcakes with little princess cutouts on them and sighed.
London and Jessica seemed determined to bury me in a mountain of pink, something my daughter was all too happy to encourage. Not only were the cupcakes pink, the plastic tablecloth, the cups, the plates, the napkins, and the balloons were all pink, too. Specifically, the kind of neon pink that almost makes your eyes bleed, with princesses and unicorns, because God is cruel.
Even worse was the disturbingly poofy dress Painter had given her. Okay, so even I had to admit it was cute, a little tutu thing with a bright tulle skirt attached to a lightweight cotton one-piece. It even had “Princess” written across the front in silver sparkles. Would’ve been cuter if it hadn’t been so damned pink, though. Sometimes it felt like an Easter bunny had barfed all over my life, because everything was pastel and pretty.
Thus are the joys of having a daughter.
In the distance I heard the roar of Harley engines and looked up to see Painter and Reese Hayes pulling around the corner to the parking lot. The sound was enough to break through Izzy’s cupcake-induced trance, something I wouldn’t have bet was even possible.
“Daddy!” she shrieked, taking off across the lawn toward them. It was a gorgeous day for a birthday party in the park—would’ve been perfect if he weren’t coming. But I also knew how much he was looking forward to sharing a birthday with her.
Too bad it meant I couldn’t relax and enjoy the party like I wanted to. Asshole. Ever since he’d gotten back, he’d been nice. Too nice. It felt like a game, a show he was putting on to prove that he’d really changed and I should forgive him. This was fine and dandy, but ultimately it meant jack shit because Painter still danced on the wrong side of the law, and we both knew it. I couldn’t afford to get used to having him around, or depend on him. It’d destroy me if—no, when—the next crisis hit. Izzy couldn’t afford for me to be broken.
Just because he wasn’t in prison right now didn’t mean there wasn’t a cell in his future.
“You ready for this?” Jessica asked, coming up next to me. She knew exactly how I felt about the situation—I couldn’t exactly talk to Loni about the Reapers, but Jess was a different story.
“Yup,” I said, pasting a happy smile on my face. “It’s gonna be great. A blast. Too much fun.”
“You’re overdoing it,” she replied, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Just try to relax. It’ll be over in a few hours and then you’ll be back home again with Izzy.”
I closed my eyes, fighting off a wave of panic.
“No, I won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Painter is taking her for a sleepover tonight,” I said, feeling my smile solidify into something that couldn’t have been pretty. “He’s been wanting to for a couple months, so I set him a series of conditions. He met them. I never expected him to meet them.”
Her eyes widened. “Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”
I shrugged.
“Never thought he’d actually do it,” I admitted. “When he asked me to come over and check out his place, I was stunned. It’s totally childproofed. He’s even got a toddler bed for her, and he bought all her favorite foods. Loni’s scheduled to be on call if he needs help, and of course I’ll be watching my phone. Izzy’s all excited about it—we packed a whole suitcase full of stuffed animals to take to Daddy’s house.”
“Wow,” she said. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I watched as Painter pulled Isabella up onto the bike with him, letting her pretend to drive it. God, she looked more like him every day—that white-blonde hair of hers shined in the sun like a beacon, and if anything the blue of her eyes had gotten brighter. Not only that, she loved to finger-paint. Okay, all kids that age love to finger-paint, but even the preschool teacher at her daycare said she showed signs of talent. Wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“If you want.”
I considered the idea, but the thought of doing touristy things with Painter’s best friend and a newborn didn’t exactly strike me as fun. “No, let’s just go to the hotel. Izzy could use a nap and I’d like some space.”
“You got it.”
He turned on the radio and we settled in for the drive. The look on Painter’s face as we left haunted me. I wanted to hate him for what he’d done, but the pain he’d suffered when he handed Izzy back to me was real.
He loved her.
I wasn’t sure that he would—he didn’t want kids. He’d chosen prison over our daughter. Not that he’d sat down and checked a box marked “prison” instead of “fatherhood” on a test, but he’d known damned well that his parole officer was out for blood when he left the state.
But he truly loved Izzy. I’d seen it.
“I’m going to start sending him pictures,” I told Puck abruptly. He shot me a quick glance, then nodded.
“He’d probably like that.”
And that was it.
I liked Puck, I decided. He was big and scary, with a nasty scar across his face and all the social skills of an ax murderer, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
“Thanks. Thanks for bringing us down here.”
He glanced toward me again.
“Anytime, Mel. Anytime.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
COEUR D’ALENE
IZZY’S SECOND BIRTHDAY PARTY
MELANIE
“Cake?” Izzy asked, her voice hopeful. I looked at the pyramid of brightly frosted pink cupcakes with little princess cutouts on them and sighed.
London and Jessica seemed determined to bury me in a mountain of pink, something my daughter was all too happy to encourage. Not only were the cupcakes pink, the plastic tablecloth, the cups, the plates, the napkins, and the balloons were all pink, too. Specifically, the kind of neon pink that almost makes your eyes bleed, with princesses and unicorns, because God is cruel.
Even worse was the disturbingly poofy dress Painter had given her. Okay, so even I had to admit it was cute, a little tutu thing with a bright tulle skirt attached to a lightweight cotton one-piece. It even had “Princess” written across the front in silver sparkles. Would’ve been cuter if it hadn’t been so damned pink, though. Sometimes it felt like an Easter bunny had barfed all over my life, because everything was pastel and pretty.
Thus are the joys of having a daughter.
In the distance I heard the roar of Harley engines and looked up to see Painter and Reese Hayes pulling around the corner to the parking lot. The sound was enough to break through Izzy’s cupcake-induced trance, something I wouldn’t have bet was even possible.
“Daddy!” she shrieked, taking off across the lawn toward them. It was a gorgeous day for a birthday party in the park—would’ve been perfect if he weren’t coming. But I also knew how much he was looking forward to sharing a birthday with her.
Too bad it meant I couldn’t relax and enjoy the party like I wanted to. Asshole. Ever since he’d gotten back, he’d been nice. Too nice. It felt like a game, a show he was putting on to prove that he’d really changed and I should forgive him. This was fine and dandy, but ultimately it meant jack shit because Painter still danced on the wrong side of the law, and we both knew it. I couldn’t afford to get used to having him around, or depend on him. It’d destroy me if—no, when—the next crisis hit. Izzy couldn’t afford for me to be broken.
Just because he wasn’t in prison right now didn’t mean there wasn’t a cell in his future.
“You ready for this?” Jessica asked, coming up next to me. She knew exactly how I felt about the situation—I couldn’t exactly talk to Loni about the Reapers, but Jess was a different story.
“Yup,” I said, pasting a happy smile on my face. “It’s gonna be great. A blast. Too much fun.”
“You’re overdoing it,” she replied, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Just try to relax. It’ll be over in a few hours and then you’ll be back home again with Izzy.”
I closed my eyes, fighting off a wave of panic.
“No, I won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Painter is taking her for a sleepover tonight,” I said, feeling my smile solidify into something that couldn’t have been pretty. “He’s been wanting to for a couple months, so I set him a series of conditions. He met them. I never expected him to meet them.”
Her eyes widened. “Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”
I shrugged.
“Never thought he’d actually do it,” I admitted. “When he asked me to come over and check out his place, I was stunned. It’s totally childproofed. He’s even got a toddler bed for her, and he bought all her favorite foods. Loni’s scheduled to be on call if he needs help, and of course I’ll be watching my phone. Izzy’s all excited about it—we packed a whole suitcase full of stuffed animals to take to Daddy’s house.”
“Wow,” she said. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I watched as Painter pulled Isabella up onto the bike with him, letting her pretend to drive it. God, she looked more like him every day—that white-blonde hair of hers shined in the sun like a beacon, and if anything the blue of her eyes had gotten brighter. Not only that, she loved to finger-paint. Okay, all kids that age love to finger-paint, but even the preschool teacher at her daycare said she showed signs of talent. Wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
