Page 23 of All the Forbidden Things
She stares down into her lap and continues to cry.
“I need somewhere to go while I recover. The doctors have said it could be months before I regain the full use of my legs, and for the foreseeable future, I won’t be able to fly.”
“Where’d you need to fly to, Whit? Where’d you think you’re gonna go?”
Her lips are dry and cracked, she still has a split that’s not entirely healed on the top one, and I watch her tongue flick out in an attempt to wet them. There was a time that action would’ve made my dick hard. That time has passed. Right now, it doesn’t even twitch. The fact I’ve been sticking it in her while she was fucking that dirty junky makes me want to throw up.
Aaron had suggested I get myself and Layla tested last week. I’d had to submit blood and urine, Layla just blood, listening to her screams when her heel was pricked is yet another reason Whitney is at the top of my shit list. Hearing my child cry in pain because of her is not something I willeverforgive her for.
“Once I recover, or I’m at least well enough to fly, I want to go back to the States, back to California.”
“You’renotleaving the country with my daughter. I don’t give a fuck whereyougo, but you’re not taking Layla.”
“You can’t do that, you don’t even know if—”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do know. She’s mine, Whit. I paid a ridiculous amount of money to have a paternity test carried out as soon as you told me there was a possibility she might not be. She’s mine.” I stand and begin to pace around the large room, which, considering what I’m paying per night, should be three times the size.
“I suggest you find yourself a brief, one who knows family law, because I’m filing for divorce as soon as we hit the one-year mark, and I’m petitioning for full custody of Layla.”
Whit presses herself back into her pillows, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open as she stares at me in disbelief for a few moments.
Why the fuck she’d be shocked at this news, is beyond me. What exactly did she expect me to do, hand her my daughter and wish them a happy life?
Well, fuck that!
“No. No, Max, you can’t do that.” She leans forward in her bed, her arms spread wide, palms up, begging.
“Why can’t I?”
“What about me?” She pats both her hands against her chest and asks. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here; I need to go home.”
“You can have access to Layla, but you won’t be leaving the country with her.”
“But I can’t stay here!” she screams at me.
“Why?” My voice sounding unnaturally quiet and calm after her outburst.
“I don’t have any money. I can’t afford to stay here!”
The door opens, and the nurse from earlier comes through it.
“Get out,” I order. “She’s fine, I’m not touching her. My wife just tends to get a little melodramatic.”
“You okay, Ms Federov?”
“Yes, go,” Whitney tells her without looking up.
“Where’s all your money gone, Whit? Your assets were listed as more than five-million sterling in the prenup, where’s it all gone?”
I know where it’s all gone. Up Gardener’s nose.
“I loaned it to Alix. Jerry says he can pay some of it back, but not all of it. If I go back to LA, my parents can help me out, and I’ve more chance of getting work over there. Plus, the press will never leave me alone here.”
“So go, fuck off. I don’t care what you do, but you’re not taking Layla.”
“The press will crucify me if I abandon my daughter.”
She’s right, they will, and something that hadn’t even occurred to me until this moment is that they’ll also crucify me if I divorce my wife while she’s still paralysed after a fatal car accident.
