Better (Stark Ink Book 2) (12 page)

If nothing else about the reunion with Zoey was going as he’d hoped, Mr. J.T. McCauley, Esquire was exactly the way Dalton had envisioned him on the drive over. An aging man in a cheap suit beckoned them into a tiny office located in a strip mall off Main Street— far off Main Street.

After crossing the thin carpet to reach the two threadbare chairs set out for them, Dalton was half-tempted to grab Zoey’s arm and wheel her right around and back out the front door. But if Zoey was put off by the yellowed wallpaper and large, brown, creeping stain on the ceiling tiles above their heads, she didn’t show it. For the first time since he’d seen her during this nasty business, Dalton thought she looked almost hopeful.

The lawyer looked less so. “Mrs… ah,” he said and reached to rifle through a stack of papers on his desk. Dalton didn’t think that boded well. How many clients could the guy possibly have?

“Grant,” Zoey replied through clenched teeth. It seemed obvious that she couldn’t be more impatient to shed the name.

“Yes, yes.” McCauley looked up at Dalton and frowned.

“This is my friend,” Zoey said by way of explanation.

Dalton noted that the frown on the older man’s face remained firmly in place.

McCauley flopped into a rickety chair and indicated they do the same. He sifted through more papers, but Zoey was clearly ready to charge ahead.

“Do you have the papers drawn up?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Well,” McCauley muttered. “I’ve started them.”

It was Zoey’s turn to frown. “Started? I’d prefer they were finished. In fact, I’d prefer this whole thing just be finished.”

The older man pressed his lips together. “Mrs-”

“Connor,” Zoey interrupted. “I prefer Connor, as well.”

McCauley’s gaze flicked to Dalton and then back to Zoey.

Dalton shifted in his seat, irritated.

“Anxious as I’m sure you are to… move on,” McCauley said cautiously.

Dalton bristled at the implication that Zoey was doing anything wrong by being with him. What else was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to be alone? At the one time she needed someone to lean on the most? Grant did this to their marriage, not Zoey. Grant had pushed his wife, literally, into someone else’s arms and Dalton would be damned if Zoey would get the blame for that.

“These things, generally speaking,” the older man said, “take time.”

“How much time?” Zoey asked.

“Well…” More sifting of papers. “Even if you and your, ah, estranged husband are in agreement to dissolve the marriage, there’s still division of property.” He plucked a sheet from the stack and laid it on top, adjusting his glasses on the end of his nose. “And, ah…” He glanced meaningfully at Zoey’s belly. “Custody arrangements.”

Zoey’s hand landed on her middle and she rubbed it. “He can have everything,” she declared. “The house, the furniture. I don’t care.”

McCauley cleared his throat. “That’ll grease the wheels. At least a bit. But custody-”

Zoey shook her head. “He won’t care.”

The lawyer stopped shuffling papers and looked up again. He seemed at a loss for a response.

“He doesn’t…” Zoey trailed off. “He doesn’t care,” she finished firmly.

A heavy silence hung in the room until McCauley said, not unkindly, “Be that as it may. Arrangements still have to be made Mrs., ah, Mrs. Connor. Custody, child support. And though you may not want to demand equitable division of the assets, there’s still an inventory to made of jointly owned property, assessments, paperwork.”

“Well, how long?” she repeated.

Dalton heard a slight strain in her voice. He reached out to put a hand on her arm.

McCauley’s brow furrowed at the gesture.

Dalton glared at the old man.

“Weeks might be optimistic,” McCauley replied. “Months might be more appropriate. After both parties have come to terms.”

Zoey’s shoulders sank. “Months? I thought it was 60 days!”

McCauley sighed, as though he was weary of having to explain the finer points of the law every single day to people who apparently thought all it would take was the flourish of a pen to end a marriage. “After the settlement agreement is reached. And if an agreement can’t be reached, the court will step in, assign a mediator, and move forward from there, albeit more slowly.”

Zoey worried her belly again and frowned.

“And,” McCauley said cautiously. “That’s in a No Fault arrangement. In cases of… desertion,” again he glanced at Dalton but quickly looked away. “Or… adultery.” The man cleared his throat loudly and ducked his head.

For Zoey’s sake, Dalton took his hand away and instead gripped the arm of the chair. He swallowed the fury rising in his chest.

“Or extreme cruelty,” McCauley continued. “The state-”

“Extreme cruelty,” Dalton ground out as he glared at the man. “I’m guessing spousal abuse falls under that.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at Zoey, whose cheeks pinked.

Zoey looked away from both of them.

Dalton decided to take the lead. “If she files over spousal abuse, what then?” he prompted. “Does
that
grease the wheels?”

For the first time since they’d stepped into the office, the man offered Zoey a sympathetic look, even though she didn’t notice. His face remained dour, though. “Unfortunately, no. And it won’t help with division of the assets.”

Zoey’s head snapped back. “I said I don’t want anything. I just want it be over. Quickly.”

McCauley offered her another somber smile. “Ms. Connor, dissolution of marriage is inevitable if a spouse pursues it. You
will
get a divorce,” he promised. “It
will
be over. But, quickly? There’s no guarantee of that, I’m afraid.”

Another long silence descended in a day that already seemed too full of them. This time, it was Zoey who broke it.

“If I paid him enough, he’d go away,” she said quietly.

McCauley shifted uncomfortably in his own chair. “Well, a financial settlement
could-”

“Except I’m broke,” she told him. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I can pay
you
. That’s about it. And I’m sure Patrick wouldn’t settle for such a piddly amount.” She slumped in her seat again and turned to look at Dalton. She wasn’t looking to him for support, not financial anyway, but he was overwhelmed by the fierce desire to do everything he could for her. His own heart sank to the floor, though, because there wasn’t anything he could do.

In the car, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Dalton wanted to say something, convince her that everything was going to be okay, but he wasn’t sure if even he believed it.

She finally opened her eyes and sat up. “They won’t pay.”

Dalton didn’t have to ask who she meant.

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s my mess and they shouldn’t have to.” She gave him a sideways glance. “I wouldn’t ask anyway,” she added quietly. “Not after the way they treated you.” She sighed heavily. “Doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I’ll fight. I’ll stick it out. However long it takes.”

The words were there but the feeling behind them was flagging. Zoey didn’t look ready to fight. She looked tired, fragile and exhausted and Dalton hated Grant all over again for putting her through this.

What kind of an asshole…

Asked and answered, though.

As he drove them home, Dalton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Zoey couldn’t take a long, drawn out legal battle no matter what she said. Not with a baby on the way and a life to rebuild. He thought again about how wrong this all seemed. Sometimes, not often though, he used to let himself think they’d meet, just by chance, maybe at a barbecue or something, some place, totally unexpected. And despite everything they’d been through, that spark would still be there, that
thing
between them that had been there from the start. It would ignite again and…

But it hadn’t happened that way.

He sighed quietly and pushed the thought away. No point in wallowing. He glanced at Zoey’s belly. Fairy tales were better left to the kid, for as long as he could keep them and believe in them. And the kid should have that,
deserved
that.

Dalton was determined to shield him for as long as he possibly could.

Back home, Zoey slunk into the kitchen and reached for her teabags. Dalton watched her go but didn’t join her. He needed time to think. There wasn’t much he could do about Grant, certainly not in this moment anyway, but there was one thing he
could
do.

He headed to the garage and shut the door firmly behind him. He turned on the heater and scanned the space until his eyes settled on what he was looking for. He walked to the wall, picked up a crowbar, and headed back to the middle of the floor. With the claw end, he pried up the top of the table until it was completely detached from the legs. He set the crowbar aside and took the large plank of newly liberated wood to the workbench against the far wall and prepared to, quietly, hack it to pieces.

As Dalton worked, the snarl in his brain began to untangle. The lathe shaped the pieces of wood as well as his thoughts. Grant was a more serious problem than Dalton had anticipated. Not only was he a bastard, but he was also an entitled bastard. Those were the worst kind because you’d never get rid of them without giving something away. The thought of giving that fucker a thin dime was infuriating.

Dalton felt money was the key though, somehow. Grant had a new car but was broke, had cash but didn’t give Zoey any. He took a swing at her whenever he saw dollar signs slipping away. That was a man on the edge. There might be a way to leverage that without having to pay the guy off. Zoey didn’t need the stress of a long, drawn out divorce. Grant had to know the marriage was over except for the ink on the paperwork. All he wanted was what he thought he was due. Take that away and Dalton felt certain they’d never hear from him again.

“Hey.”

Dalton looked up.

Adam was standing in the interior doorway to the apartment. “I called your name.”

Dalton frowned. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Adam moved down the steps and into the garage. His gaze swept the area and fell on the draped sheet. “What are you doing in here?”

Dalton shrugged, moving away from the workbench. He put himself between Adam and the sheet. “Working.”

“On what?”

Instead of answering, Dalton glanced down at his watch. He’d been in here longer than he’d realized. “What are you doing here?”

“Zoey called Calla. She’s worried about you. So, I thought I’d come over and see how you were. She said you’ve been in here all day. Tough time at the lawyer’s?”

Dalton grimaced. “Yeah. Grant wants money to walk away.”

Adam frowned. “You don’t have any money.”

Dalton’s jaw twitched. “I’m aware, thanks.”

“Why don’t you let Zoey and her parents handle this?”

Dalton grit his teeth so hard his head hurt. “Because they don’t
want
to handle it and Zoey shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.”

“Yeah, but it is her problem and really, if she cares about you and wants what’s best for you, she’d handle it herself. God knows you’ve got enough on your plate.”

Dalton took a step closer to Adam. “Look, I’m not interested in throwing any punches today. And I’m pretty sure Mom’s not looking down on me ashamed anymore.”

Adam paled. “You know why I said that.”

“I do and it was true then, but it’s not anymore. I’m not that man. I know who I am and I know what I owe you. I’ll pay you back. I
am
paying you back. You don’t have to keep reminding me of the mistakes I’ve made.”

Adam’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m worried about the money? I’m here because I love you. Mom asked me to look out for you.”

“Look out for me? I’m not a parrot or a record collection, Adam. You don’t will me to your next of kin to look after, okay? I get that she asked you, but I don’t need you to do that anymore.”

Adam crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was shorter than Dalton, but still formidable. “Clearly you do. You’re making bad choices, D. You’re on a slippery slope here and you’re too attached to—”

Dalton glared at him. “Too attached? Jesus, what’s
with
you? Zoey’s not a stray puppy. She’s my woman and I love her. I’m not too attached, Adam.
I. Love. Her.
And if you can’t deal with it, then just leave. I’m too busy for this shit.”

Instead of walking away, Adam grabbed a corner of the sheet.

Dalton dropped the sandpaper and lunged toward him. “Don’t mess with that!”

Adam pulled and the cover slipped to the cement floor.

Dalton froze and glared at his older brother.
Now
he was in the mood for throwing punches.

“Jesus Christ, D.”

It wasn’t finished, but the bones were there. Four legs, hand carved. He’d spent all autumn on them back when it was a coffee table. Now the surface was raised several inches higher. Spindles rose out of it like ribs. Those weren’t carved because they were smaller, making it an infinitely more difficult task. He was short on time. It still needed rail caps and a headboard. He thought it would be ready, though.

Before Adam could speak, they heard a gasp.

Dalton turned to see Zoey standing in the open interior doorway.

Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes were wide. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Dalton?”

He frowned and rubbed his hand over his face. “I didn’t want you to see it until it was done,” he told her. “Doesn’t look like much now.”

She shook her head slowly. “It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged. He didn’t agree. A year ago it could have been. Now it was adequate. “I downloaded the specs. I measured and re-measured everything. It’s completely safe. There’s no way to get his head caught between the bars. I’ll make sure you can lower the side to get him in and out easier.”

Adam blew out a harsh breath. “Yeah, it’s a nice crib, D. Where are you going to put it?”

Dalton turned on him. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ve about had enough of your shit! Why are you so—?”

“You know why,” Adam shot back. “You know damn well why.” He turned to Zoey. “I love you,” Adam told her. “I do. At one point you were like family. We thought you
were
going to be family. But you already left once. Now, no one is saying that you didn’t have good reasons. No one is saying that you made him the way he was, but losing you didn’t help. I honestly think he would’ve died. He was about wrap his truck around a tree or just take one drink too many, pass out on that couch, and never wake up. But I came this close to losing him after you left. Now you’re back, but I don’t know. Are you staying? Are you going to go back to your husband and try to work it out?”

“The hell she is!” Dalton snarled.

“Well, it’s not your choice, is it?” Adam countered. “She’s going to do whatever it is she’s going to do and if she walks out that door what will
you
do?” Adam didn’t wait for an answer, instead he turned back to Zoey. “You’ve got him all twisted up, Zoey. You’ve got him wishing for things that might never happen. And it’s not just you. That baby’s got Dalton wrapped around his little finger and he’s not even
here
yet. If you stay until he’s born, if Dalton ever actually looks into his eyes, that’s it. It’s all over. If it isn’t already.”

Dalton stepped between them and jabbed a finger at Adam. “Don’t put this on her! Don’t you do that! I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just… doing the only thing I’m good at.” He gestured to the crib. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Bullshit!” Adam replied. “You’re playing fucking house. You’re playing house with another’s man’s baby, another man’s
wife
.”

Dalton shook his head.

Adam’s face softened. It was the same look he’d worn when Dalton had been drinking, pity mixed with disappointment. “You’re building a house on quicksand, D, and you of all people should know what happens when you do that.”