I’m seeing red right now. How dare he think Jayce is suffering because I’m not married!
And where is this coming from? It has to be from her. Josh has never even hinted at anything like this. It’s blindsiding, in so many ways.
“He does have a family. He has a father and a mother who love him, and aunts and uncles and grandparents. Maybe it’s not a traditional one, but that boy has never wanted for love or support.” I stand up, because my mind is racing and my need to dosomethingis overpowering.
“For years, our system has worked. You’veneverasked for anything more. I never knew you evenwantedmore. Now you’re just going to pop up to my house and say that you want to take my child from his home and his mother because you and the trophy want to play house? Got a little taste of it and now you think you’re Dad of the Year? Tell me, Josh. Because none of this makes any goddamn sense.”
He doesn’t answer any of my questions. He just stands up and looks me square in the eye. “This was just a courtesy conversation, Maeve. But we’re doing this. I’m filing papers with the court next week. Be ready.”
With that he exits my house, leaving me standing there terrified and panicked.
And feeling more out of control than I’ve ever been in my life.
I don’t know how long I’m standing there, but the only thing that breaks me from my mental spiral is Jayce sprinting back in the living room, an armful of souvenirs in hand, talking a mile a minute about his trip.
I try to listen. I really do. But I don’t hear one thing he says. All I can think about is that my entire life has just been turned upside down. This could be gone. All of it. All it would take is one judge to buy Josh’s stories, and Jayce could be nothing more than a visitor in my home.
And I can’t let that happen. No. I have to do whatever it takes to make sure my son stays with me.
Except I have no clue how to fix this.
19
logan
“Dammit!”
I realize it’s not my keyboard’s fault for not being able to come up with any sort of idea, but that doesn’t stop me from heaving it across the room. I hear a crack when it hits the hardwood floors, but I don’t give a shit right now.
I’ve sat here for four days trying to come up with an idea. A concept. The concept of an idea.
And I’ve got nothing. Zero. Diddily fucking squat. It’s like every time I think I’m onto something, I realize this is just a slightly tweaked SpaceCraft, which I don’t even think we could repackage into a spinoff, or an idea that has already been done by a competitor.
“Face the music, Matthews,” I whisper to myself. “You’re a one-hit wonder.”
“Whoa! What the hell?”
I don’t even look over to Kat as she lets herself into my office. She’s walking into a room with a broken keyboard on the floor, takeout containers covering my desk, and my hair more disheveled than usual. I somehow remembered to shower a few times, but that’s as much care as I’ve done for myself.
“I take four days off for Thanksgiving, and this is what happens? We revert back to dorm room Logan?”
I just shrug as I turn my chair to face her. I should feel bad that she immediately goes into cleanup mode, grabbing all of the empty food containers I’ve racked up since Thursday night.
“I lost track of time,” I say, which is partially true.
Kat eyes me, trying to detect how much I’m leaving out of that statement. The answer is a lot. “No. I’ve seen you go on no-sleep benders before, including the week-long marathon before SpaceCraft launched. This is different. Spill.”
I rub my eyes, trying to figure out how I want to put this to her. Luckily, I have time because she’s still cleaning up my mess.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I truly am. “I meant to have all of this tidied up before you got here this morning.”
And Maeve, but I don’t want to say that one out loud.
“It’s fine. You’re clearly going through something, and I obviously can’t ever take that much time off again.”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “You should take more time off, if anything.”
She eyes the desk, the keyboard, and then me. “Really? That’s the argument you’re going to try and make right now?”