Page 36 of Wreckage of My Life
“That’s why you’re here then? To get your son?” She is watching me critically. I would not put up with this sort of an attitude if Wyatt didn’t have the hots for her as much as he does.
“Yeah,” I grumble. “And to figure out what to do with him once I have him.”
There’s some more chatter between the two of them about how bad the boy must be feeling knowing his mother just gave him away. That’s when Ali asks for clarification on the name, and she is ready to strangle me for some not so obvious reason.
“Are you telling me,” she puts her hands on her hips, staring me down with disgust in her eyes. “That sweet little Ethan Smith came out ofyou?”
“Well, only for the first part of the process,” I can’t help the smirk forming on my face.
“Don’t laugh, asshole!” She looks like a little lap dog barking at the beast she doesn’t know she’s stirring with her annoying little yap.
Wyatt finally calms her down enough so she can tell us what her connection to Ethan is. As it turns out, she’s a preschool teacher, and the boy was in her class until recently.
“He was so sad the last time I saw him,” she sniffles. “He got some ice cream on his clothes, and he was worried that she’d yell at him over it.”
My mind is a chaos of rolling thunder as I remember that time when I spoke with Mia on the phone. I heard the kid crying in the background, then her motherfucking him for getting his clothes dirty. He wasn’t even four yet at that time. I try to play it cool though and not let it show how much her comment bothers me.
“That’s something that any kid would be worried about.”
Ali doesn’t agree with me. “Not like Ethan did,” she emphasizes. “He is so sweet, so kind. But scared to death of his mother.” She takes a deep breath before dropping another bombshell in my lap. “He told me that his mom is like that because his dad left them both.”
“What the fuck! I just learned he existed!”
I am so angry right now, I don’t even know what else she mumbles. At this point, I don’t even care. That fucking bitch is gonna pay. Also, God help her if the kid has a mark on him when I finally get him. And fuck it all to hell, what am I gonna do with him while I take care of his mother?
“Can you call Mia and move it to three o’clock?” Wyatt interrupts my internal freak-out session. Without thought, I grab my cell phone and look the bitch’s number up while he and Ali make plans to go get him. I am taken by surprise when she marches right up to me, stopping in front the recliner.
“Can I help you…?” I shake my head in confusion when I see she’s not going away.
“I am going to go with Wyatt to pick up your son.” Her hands are on her hips and she’s tapping a foot on the floor. Her judgmental gaze is never leaving my face. I stare her right back, my eyes never wavering. “I better see you be nice to that little boy, or you’ll have to deal with me.” Her finger is in my face now.
I lean back in the chair as far away from her as I can without causing myself more pain, and attempt to find my brother’s eyes. I am torn between wanting to laugh at her and possibly wanting to snap her neck on the spot.
Wyatt gets the message loud and clear. He hurries to move her out of my way and also out of the house. I take the time to finally call the mother of my son.
“Just making sure my kid is ready to go,” I growl into the phone when she answers, and I want to kick myself for not remembering to call from a different number than the burner I shared with Becca.
“W-wrecker?” To say she’s surprised I’m calling would be an understatement.
“The one and only,” I keep my voice even. I don’t want her to know that I am suspecting her of anything. “I can’t make it today, something came up.”
“Oh, are you okay?” Her tone implies that she’s hoping I’m not okay, but I let it slide. Her time will come.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I question her in surprise.
“Uh, I-I don’t know,” she mumbles in distress. Fuck, I can’t believe I am tied to this bitch somehow for the rest of my life regardless of her giving up her parental rights. Her blood is mixed with mine, running through our son’s veins. It feels like a bucket of ice water to the face.
“My brother is going to pick up the boy. Behave,” I growl. “He’ll be there at three. Have everything ready. And I better not hear you gave him any shit.”
Not ever being one for small talk, I just hang up. I told her what I needed to tell her, and now I’m done.
Another thought hits me out of the left field. Becca is the only person I ever not only enjoyed but looked forward to having small talk with.
Fuck my life.
16
Wrecker
