Page 57 of Three Reckless Words

Sonofafuck.

Shit.

Rina? Rina here, right now?

Her timing couldn’t be worse.

Colt keeps looking at me, waiting for some answer, but the wires in my brain are too crossed to process this bullshit.

One second, I had Winnie in my arms, crying and begging for a favor and feeling too damn good. The next, my ex-wife shows up to hammer my coffin shut.

This day is cursed.

“Dad?” Colt asks when I don’t move.

“You guys are busy, that’s cool. I should be going,” Winnie says abruptly, taking another step away. “Enjoy the cake! We can talk later about anything else. I have your number, Archer.”

“Wait, hold up.” I massage my temples. “Colt, stay here. I need to speak with your mother for a minute. Winnie—”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry for taking up your time,” she says, still retreating away from me.

She looks like a frightened deer, ready to flee, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear and not meeting my eyes.

That’s also my fault.

I shouldn’t have tried to comfort her. But when she said her tyrant father cut her off from her inheritance, it set off a bomb under my ribs.

Watching her desperation, seeing her cry—or at least, trying valiantly not to break—just made it worse.

What choice did I have?

Her dad is a royal piece of shit, Attorney General or not.

I had to step in, to give this vulnerable young woman some breathing space. The only thing she truly asked me for.

I saw the whole universe looking at me through her, asking for a favor, and I answered.

Now, since no good deed goes unpunished, I’ve got Rina on my doorstep, waiting to fuck with my head.

There’s nothing else I can bark at Winnie to make her stay, especially with Colt standing there, so I stride through the house to where Rina waits outside the front door.

It’s been several years since I last saw her face-to-face. One glimpse reminds me time is passing.

She looks healthier than the last time I saw her, her cheeks less gaunt and some wiry muscle running along her thin arms.

She still looks like a walking paint splatter. Bright-red pants and a dark-blue and white shirt that’s a couple sizes too big. There’s a scarf over her chestnut hair and oddly colored contacts in her eyes. Indigo-violet.

The kids would call this look Boho, I think. To me, it’s just modern hippie shit.

For Colt’s sake, I’m glad she looks like she’s in a better place, even if I’d love to snap my fingers and make her instantly vanish.

Sighing, I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe, praying Winnie doesn’t choose this moment to run out of the house. If she just gives me a few seconds, I’ll have Rina out of here.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“Hello to you, too, Arch. You’re as pleasant as ever, I see.” There are even more tattoos up Rina’s arm than I remember, all mystical-looking faces and symbols. I notice them as she rubs a hand up it. “Can we stop the glaring? Can’t a girl drop in and see her son?”

“You mean the son you walked out on a long time ago? That son?” Barely two sentences and I’m already fuming. I don’t give her time to respond. “Drop-ins aren’t welcome here. We live a busy life.”

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