Page 88 of Takeover

“Sure. Let me take a quick shower, okay?” He hugs her one last time and runs out of the room. I’m sure in his mind, the whole thing is over.

Tara looks at me, reaches for a towel, and wipes her face. “Let me guess,” she says, “your ex-wife is behind this.”

I nod and tell her everything Vincent confessed to me. She doesn’t seem surprised. She nods as if I only confirmed what she already knew. She takes a deep breath and exhales.

“Wow. God, we should have seen this coming. Of course, she’d do this since she can’t manipulate you or me. Of course, she’d go for the four-year-old.” She throws her hands up as if disgusted and walks past me. “I need a shower.”

“I’m going to step out as soon as you’re done showering.” That stops her in her tracks. She stops and slowly turns to face me.

“No,” she says.

“Yes. If you think for a second I’m going to let her fuck with my son’s head, you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not saying to let it go, but you’re clearly too upset right now. Sleep on it and deal with her tomorrow. Please.” I kiss her sweaty forehead, but I don’t respond. She goes into the master bedroom, probably wrongly assuming I’m not going to see Lindsay today.

“You ready to make those lemon squares, kiddo?” Tara asks about fifteen minutes later. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a short-sleeved sweater. The sweater itself is short and reveals a sliver of her flat stomach. Vincent leaves the mess of Legos on the floor and runs to Tara. She scoops him up and they walk away, and all the anger I was keeping at bay in the presence of my son returns.

By the time I meet them in the kitchen, I’ve already put on my jacket. Her eyes widen when she sees me. She gives Vincent some instructions, grabs my hand and, pulls me out of the kitchen.

“You’re not doing this today, do you hear me, Ethan Bradford? Take off your damn jacket, make yourself a drink and join me and your son in the kitchen and watch him make a mess.”

“I won’t be long,” I tell her.

“Don’t do this, Ethan.”

I pull my hand from hers, but before I can speak, she says, “Have you stopped to think that this is exactly what she wants you to do? That she might want a confrontation?”

“Well, you know what they say. Be careful what you wish for.” I step around her, but she follows me to the elevator.

“You’re not going.” She slides in front of me, blocking the elevator. I sigh, put both hands on her hips, lift her, and put her out of the way.

“Ethan!” she yells.

“Tara, stay out of this,” I hiss. “This has nothing to do with you.” As if hit, she takes a step back from me, stumbling along the way. Her shoulders stoop for a second, but just like the first time I ever laid eyes on her, she stands straight and squares her shoulders, but I don’t miss the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Go to hell,” she says to me. “I see where I stand here.” When she starts to walk away, I grab her wrist, but she yanks it from me and goes to the kitchen.

I watch her walk away, her head held high and her back rigid. Rational Ethan would go after her and apologize. He’d tease her while making himself a drink. He’d refuse to help clean up the mess in the kitchen and would probably help Vincent make an even bigger mess, but rational Ethan has left the building. All that’s left is a protective father ready to rip the head off the person who fucked with his kid.

Instead of going back to my family like I know I should, I press the button and step inside the elevator. The ride down only feeds my rage, and each step I take closer to Lindsay’s building, I can feel the color of my face and neck redden, but it has nothing to do with the frigid May weather.

The walk to Lindsay’s place, or should I say my place, is a quick one, and by the time I reach her building, my vision has clouded. The only sound I hear is the loud pounding of the blood between my ears. The doorman opens the door to let me in, and he doesn’t try to stop me from going right into the waiting elevator.

“Lindsay,” I yell. Her name is barely out of my mouth before I start pounding on the door. “Open the fucking door!” I pound and kick the door until she finally yanks it open. I step inside, making sure not to touch her body with mine. I look at her, unable to leave the disgust off my face. It’s the middle of the damn day and she’s still in a black robe. She runs a hand through her hair and looks at me up and down.

“To what do I owe this honor, Ethan?”

“You’ve gone too fucking far this time, Lindsay,” I say. She tries to walk by me, seemingly bored with my declaration.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She walks to the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of wine. She pours a glass and offers me one, but I look at her as if she’s lost her mind.

But I surprise her when I take her glass and slam it against the wall. The sudden movement and noise surprise her so much, she jumps back and lays a hand to her chest.

“You want to come at me? Fine. You want to go after Tara, go ahead at your own risk. She can take you, and I promise, you won’t win. But what you won’t do is fuck with my son’s head. You will not manipulate him with your bullshit.” By the time I’ve finished my tirade, I’m standing in front of her and pointing my finger in her face.

She finally looks at me, her eyes wide and her body trembling, but whatever fear I thought I saw disappears, replaced by indignance.

“Aren’t you tired of telling me what a terrible mother I am yet, Ethan? I get it. I’m not the mother you wanted for Vincent, but I’m the only one he has. Do you hear me?” She comes closer and puts a finger in my face. “He’smine, so you can tell your girlfriend to stay the hell away frommyson!” she screams in my face. She said the word girlfriend with so much disdain that her face contorts.

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