Page 99 of Clear Shot

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“Aiden Barbeau?” the man asks.

I nod. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been served.” He hands me the envelope and turns away.

What fresh hell is this? If that fucker from the Elbo Room is suing me he’s got another think coming. I’ll fuck him over just because I can afford to fight him in court. At this point, I don’t care about my reputation or anything else.

I just want the world and everyone in it to leave me the hell alone.

I tear open the envelope and freeze, skimming the words.

Divorce.

Paternity.

Termination of rights?

What the hell is this?

I try to focus but it’s hard to understand the legalese.

Hana has filed for divorce, that much I know.

I don’t understand this paternity stuff.

What is she talking about? Of course it’s not my kid.

I had a vasectomy.

Itcan’tbe my kid.

Is this some kind of ruse for more money?

But from what I’m reading, despite the fuzziness in my brain, it doesn’t appear that she wants anything other than her wedding ring. She’s returning the engagement ring but not the wedding ring. What the fuck?

I’m still staring at the papers in front of me when my liquor store order arrives.

I sign the bill and give the guy a nice tip, then lug it into the kitchen.

I’ve just pulled out the first bottle when I hear banging on the door.

What the hell is this, Grand Central Station?

I throw the papers on the counter and stalk back out to the front, wondering if the delivery guy forgot something.

Nope.

Shit.

It’s Jordan.

And Anders.

And Decker.

Andfucking Johan.

This isn’t good.

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