“You had a girlfriend?” Trish piped up.
“He went out with the same woman more than once. That constitutes a relationship for Patrick.”
I punched him in the arm, though I was relieved they’d solved the mystery text. “She called the office four times today. And I did quit seeing her months ago.” And now she’d resorted to texting me from an unknown number
“Because of Marlow?” Trish prodded.
“No,” I said quickly. “An alligator wouldn’t go out with her.” She flashed me an if you say so bub look. “Monica ran her course.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know. Let’s meet up with her. See if you can stand an entire dinner with her.”
“Like she could stand one with you,” Andrew said.
“Marlow suggested the same thing earlier,” I returned dryly. “I had no idea I was so difficult to be around.”
“How’s the shift in focus?” Trish asked, attempting a smooth transition to another subject.
Guilt niggled in my chest. “Word hasn’t gotten around that I’m not defending just anyone now.”
“You weren’t before, either. Worst of the worst.”
I pointed at Andrew. “We can’t all stay on the safe side of the street in real estate law. You have one client you represent.”
“It was a joke, man. You didn’t used to take this so seriously.”
He’d dished out his fair share of jibes over the years, but things were different now. After what had happened with Trish, I began questioning my entire career.
“Now that I’m off the market, I’m getting more calls than ever. Just today, someone wanted me to defend a guy who allegedly killed his wife and mother-in-law.” I pushed a hand through my hair. “I can’t do it.”
Trish and Andrew exchanged a look.
“You had no idea you were defending—”
“I never wanted to take that case.”
She paused mid-stride. “I don’t blame you.”
“You should. I’m the one who got that sadistic bastard out on bond. He could’ve . . .” The end of that sentence choked off.
“I’m okay.”
“No thanks to me,” I shouted, instantly reeling it back. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“The women at Paths of Purpose appreciate all you’re doing. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to make anything up to me.”
She was wrong. She was so very wrong. Because of my egocentric trip, believing beating the jury was better than incarcerating the truly evil guy, Andrew nearly lost Trish. I didn’t think I’d ever forgive myself for that level of vainglory. So, Trish was wrong.
“Yeah, I do.”
Chapter Five
Marlow
Why was I listening to that ass?
For the second day in a row, I pulled on the old metal door to Holt’s garage. He paused mid-sentence when I pushed Blake’s stroller toward him.
“Let’s make sure the framing on the lift is sound.”
The man he spoke to took off toward the open area where cars would be worked on.
“I didn’t bring a mop, but this place looks like it could use a good cleaning.” I glanced around what I assumed would be the reception area.
“You’re in luck. I’ve got one. And the perfect spot to start.”
My lips parted slightly. After last night, that was it? No ass chewing?
“Lead the way.”
He didn’t move. “Should Blake be here? With the noise and dust?”
“I told you we were a package deal.” I lifted my chin.
“I was going to wait on this, but you can start in the office. We’re not going to remodel that right now and it could stand to be cleaned.”
I followed him behind the large desk and peered into the indicated space. Yuck. “How long has this place been vacant?” I dragged my finger through layer upon layer of dust along the windowsill.
“No idea. Long time from what I’ve found.” He pulled a chair out from behind the desk that looked like a family of rats had gotten the best of it. I shuddered. “Once the guys finish upstairs, I want to get Baker’s space up and running.”
“Shouldn’t you do the garage first? That’s what will pay the bills.”
Holt clenched his jaw. “She thinks the same thing. I want to surprise her.”
“Whatever. Show me the supplies.”
* * *
I hate you, Patrick Whitley. I hate you, Patrick Whitley.
I swiped a loose strand of hair from my face with my forearm. An hour into scrubbing the walls, I prayed that bastard would come by so I could rip him a new one. This was the worst idea ever. Holt wasn’t going to forgive me just because I cleaned his office.
I threw the soiled cloth on the floor. What was I doing here? I hadn’t seen my brother since he’d left me to it, let alone heard him say thanks.
“Thirsty?”
My father stood in the doorway, holding up a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” I swiped it from his hands and turned off “I Ain’t The Same” by Alabama Shakes I’d been listening to.
“Want me to take the little man for a while?”
“Did Holt call you?”
“You could have.”
“Let’s not pretend everything is normal.” I leaned against the wall I hadn’t cleaned yet, not caring how dirty it was.
“I wasn’t.” Ella screamed, and I cringed. Dad tickled her tummy before he continued. “I’m not pleased by your behavior, but I would never allow that to get in the way of my grandson.”
He picked Blake up from his carrier and kissed his forehead. My son wasn’t very old, only fourteen months, but he’d missed Dad too. I was so lucky my father was involved in Blake’s life. It was something I took for granted at times, but was always grateful for. Everyone didn’t have a dad like I did.
“If you want to keep him, fine. I’ll be here all day,” I said with an air of indifference.
“Want to go see Aunty Trish?” Dad asked in a baby voice.
“How!”
My father beamed. “I’m excited to see her too.”
Guilt assaulted me. I’d taken this away from both of them. They were best buddies, all three of them.
We were stuck in this cycle where he was upset with me for something I didn’t do. Which pissed me off. None of my family believed I hadn’t told my mother the details of Andrew’s wedding. I didn’t remember mentioning it was in Wyoming, but I couldn’t say for certain.
I knew how my brother felt about her. He’d never want her around for the most monumental event of his life. Sure, I was an insensitive bitch, but even I drew the line at that.
I glanced at the grime-coated window to the reception area. My father was the most decent person I knew. Yet I’d believed his feelings about my mother were tainted because of what had happened between them. He’d been right all along.
“Dad. You made it.” Holt slapped him on the shoulder.
“I’ve got my hands full, but we’re making progress on quotes for the signs.”