He set his teeth.

“And, just sayin’,” I kept on, “you don’t get to stand in my kitchen passin’ judgment on what I had to do to take care of my son after you got the news you planted a kid in me, fucked me all night as your good-bye, stole my money, and took off not to be seen again until your bitch yanks your chain and makes you be a good boy.”

“Leave Peggy outta this,” he ground out.

At that, I threw up both hands. “The woman’s not already in this?”

“This is about Ethan. Just Ethan.”

He was so full of shit.

This was all about Peggy. What she wanted. How she felt about me. It was all her.

But I decided Trent’s current shit was over.

“You fight me, Trent, I’ll take you down.”

He shook his head, his upper lip curling before he spoke.

“In your wildest dreams, you cannot imagine that a bartender who works nights, barely sees her kid, depends on her mom and friends to raise him, and puts his ass in a shitty house in a shitty ’hood is gonna convince a judge to let her keep her kid. You cannot imagine that same woman, who got paid to shove her tits in strangers’ faces and sucked a serial killer’s cock while she helped him stalk his prey, is gonna convince a judge to let her keep her kid. And you cannot imagine that a judge is not gonna look at what Peg and me can give him and not hand him right the fuck over.”

I didn’t hesitate with my reply.

“You push this, we get a stick-up-his-ass judge who wouldn’t see that for what it was and let me keep my son, I bet all I own that if Alexander Colton takes the stand and vouches for me, that judge’ll think again.”

Trent’s mouth got tight.

Direct shot.

I didn’t let up.

“Put Feb up there, her and Colt bein’ that prey Denny Lowe stalked, also bein’ my boss, also lettin’ me look after her kid when she needs me, that judge’ll think even more. And they’ll do that for me. They won’t blink. They’ll wanna bury you so bad for fucking with me, they’ll do anything they can. And they aren’t the only ones, Trent. My girl Violet Callahan and her husband, Cal. Jack and Jackie Owens. Morrie. Dee. Upstanding citizens. Pillars of the fucking community. I’ll have so many people’s asses tellin’ that judge what kind of mom I am, he’ll wonder what the fuck is wrong with you that you’d try to take my boy from me.”

“You seem convinced,” he scoffed.

“I’m not convinced. I’m goddamned right,” I shot back. “You’re all kinds of stupid, you don’t rethink this bullshit. I’ll stop at nothin’ to keep my boy with me. Do not doubt it. And I’m doin’ you a solid in advising you not to take that on. There’s been one constant in Ethan’s life.” I jerked my thumb to myself. “Me. No judge in his right mind will look at my history of givin’ it all that I got to give good to my kid and then take him away from me. You fight me, it’s a battle you’re gonna lose. But you fight me, you’re gonna lose Ethan, and that shit will not be about me takin’ you away from him. That shit’ll be about him knowin’ you’re fuckin’ with his mom and him not wanting one single thing to do with you.”

Indecision flared in his eyes right before he turned, took the step he needed to nab the envelope off the counter, and shoved it in his back pocket.

He turned back to me.

“Seems I’m gonna need this to hire an attorney,” he declared.

“Right, good call. Take it. Works for me. Ten years Ethan’s been breathin’ and you haven’t given me a dime to help. I’m down with that. A judge, though, he might not be.”

“Screw you, Cheryl,” he bit out.

“You already did that, Trent, in a lot of ways.”

He scorched a glare at me, then walked out of my kitchen.

I stood in it and listened to him slam the front door.

Then I dropped my head and stared at my boots, finding myself breathing heavily.

I was not wrong. Colt, Feb, Vi, Cal, Jack, Jackie, everyone would help me.

Again.

But it’d all come up.

Again.

The stripping.

Lowe.

All of it shoved down Ethan’s throat.

It didn’t matter his name was Ethan Rivers, his mom’s Cher Rivers—that was on our rental agreement; that was on my driver’s license. It wasn’t like your old identity was washed away when you changed your name. That shit was public record. Which meant, however infrequently these days, fuckwads and freaks still found me for whatever reason they needed to do that to be close to Denny.

If Trent and Peg took me to court, it’d all come out. It might even hit the news. And it would definitely make Ethan vulnerable.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…fuck.

I lifted my head and turned it, looking at the wall of open shelves over base cabinets, which was stuffed full of retro glasses, multi-patterned, mismatched bowls, wonky-shaped pitchers, old-fashioned canisters.

I studied my things—the bowls Ethan poured his cereal into, the pitchers I grabbed to make him Kool-Aid—and I felt that thorn dig deeper.

Because if I was a different woman, the kind of woman who could attract a man like Garrett Merrick, get him close, and make him want to stay that way, people would not fuck with me because he wouldn’t let them.

Not Trent.

Not Peg.

Not my neighbors who threw wild parties.

Not the occasional person at the bar who looked at me with fanatical eyes, asking me if I was Cheryl Sheckle, the Cheryl Sheckle, sidepiece to Denny Lowe.

Not the assholes who phoned me thinking about a movie, a book, a TV show, and wanting me to help them “get in the mind of Dennis Lowe.”

I didn’t mind asking my cop buddies to shut down parties.

It would suck, but I’d do anything for Ethan, so I would buck up and ask for all the help I could get to keep my son.

And at the bar, Darryl and Morrie dealt with the lunatics who sniffed out the Denny Lowe trail because they were fucked in the head, not only to protect me from that shit, but also to protect Feb and Colt. But that message had been sent frequently, and after all these years, those nutjobs were few and far between.

Like Trent being back in Ethan’s life, no one knew about the phone calls. They didn’t need to worry about Trent being a part of our lives. And they definitely didn’t need the Denny Lowe shit dredged up. And last, I didn’t need yet another way for people to feel they needed to take care of me.

I could take care of myself. I’d done it since I was eighteen, and I knew it was my lot in life to do it until I died. I might have forgotten this that morning for one crazy, stupid, hopeful moment, but then I’d been reminded.

That didn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate a man like Merry in my life.

I would.

And I would more than any normal woman because I knew how precious having someone to look after you, someone to share the load, someone who gave even a single solitary shit actually was.

Which was ironic, since I was one of those girls.

One of those girls who would appreciate it.

One of those girls who would take care of it.

One of those girls who would beg, borrow, and steal in order to keep hold of it.

And one of those girls who would never have it.

* * * * *

“Would it kill them to stock diet grape soda?” I bitched, staring at the soda shelves at Walmart.

Ethan busted out laughing.

I looked down at my kid.

I’d rearranged my activities that day. Instead of hitting the store, I did some laundry, paid my bills, and cleaned the house before he got home.

This was because he liked going to the grocery store and he wasn’t a big fan of cleaning.

I didn’t let him totally get away with that. He had chores. He took out the trash, helped me do the dishes when I was home at night, and he had to keep his room picked up.

He got an allowance because I thought it was best he learned that you had to earn what you got. I didn’t want to shelter him, then send him out in the world so he could get blindsided about how hard you had to work just to afford decent. I wanted him to know even as I was careful not to bog him down in that crap.