His Custody Page 4

  “Okay. Who do you want to be?”

  “Don’t laugh.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  She’d taken a deep breath, willing him to keep his word.

  “Keyne.”

  “Cain? As in Cain and Abel?”

  “No, dummy. Like Keyne my middle name. Isn’t college supposed to make you smart? Who are those other guys anyway?”

  “No one you need to worry about.” He’d stuck out his lower lip and stroked his chin like the villains in cartoons, except it had looked like he was thinking in a less mean way. “I think Keyne could work.”

  “Will you tell them? They’ll listen if you tell them.”

  People took Jasper seriously. Not like Tallulah Tinker Bell. “You’re going to tell them. But I’ll punch anyone who laughs.”

  They hadn’t laughed. She must have looked ridiculous, her scrawny arms crossed over her chest and her hair crazy from tossing around on the bed, but no one had laughed and she’d been Keyne ever since.

  It had occurred to her later—much later, during one of her many, many readings of Peter Pan—they’d called her Tinker Bell because of her tantrums. After all, Keyne, like Tinker Bell, had been so small she only had room for one feeling at a time. She was bigger now and wished she could shrink, squeeze everything except one feeling out of her head because the riot of emotions crashing over her was overwhelming and she was as close to drowning as she had been out in the open ocean.

  Suddenly Jasper was getting dragged away from her and the judge was yelling while she banged her gavel. “Mr. Andersson, take your seat or I will hold you in contempt of court.”

  She looked up and Jasper mouthed, “Promise.” She nodded.

  ***

  The judge had been gone for almost an hour. What the fuck was taking so long? What was there to think about? Keyne wanted to be with him and he wanted her with him, what else was there to know? But when the judge came back from chambers, he wasn’t convinced she saw it that way.

  She took her seat behind the bench and when everyone else was seated, she put a pair of half-moon reading glasses on her nose and peered down at a piece of paper. Jasper’s heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist, and he started running his contingency plans in his head. He didn’t make promises lightly, and Keyne trusted him to keep his word. Never had he been under so much pressure, never had the stakes been so high. Not when he was throwing around billion dollar business deals, not when he was bombing down the highway in his Aston Martin at a hundred miles per hour, not even when he was doing an intense scene at the club.

  The responsibility was so heavy it might suffocate him, and he wished the judge would get on with it so he’d know how deep the shit pile he was standing in was. Judge Pollard looked up from her notes and shifted her gaze between the O’Connells and Jasper.

  She’s mine. He willed her to hear him, and to take the well of loyalty he had for Keyne O’Connell into account when she spoke her next words. If he lost her, there’d be nothing to hold back the flood of grief, nothing to keep him from throwing it all away.

  “Given the information gathered by the court, I am awarding custody of the minor Tallulah Keyne O’Connell to Mr. Jasper Andersson.”

  There was more legal mumbo jumbo, but Deja would deal with all that. He couldn’t concentrate. His heart had started beating again and he felt faint with relief. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Keyne he’d do whatever it took. He’d already started making arrangements in case they had to flee the country. Forged documents, transferring funds to offshore accounts through a maze, things that would facilitate their escape and make their hideaway bearable. But now it wasn’t necessary. Keyne was his. Legally. And she was as happy as he’d seen her since . . . Well, it didn’t matter. She’d reached over and grabbed his hand, so he squeezed her hand and she squeezed him back, so hard it hurt. For a skinny little thing, she was so strong. He didn’t miss the judge’s eyes landing on his fingers tangled with Keyne’s.

  “Mr. Andersson, please approach the bench.”

  He stood, entrusting Keyne to the mother hen clucking of Deja, and approached, not missing the dark look Sean shot him as he made his way to the bench. He knew Sean liked to win—who didn’t?—but his level of discontent seemed out of proportion. He’d never known Sean to be attached to Keyne, and he couldn’t think Jasper would be that horrible of a guardian. Maybe he was upset about disappointing Deborah? But more likely this was about the money.

  Sean’s feelings shouldn’t be at the forefront of his mind. Getting out of this courtroom without the judge changing her mind was the most important thing. “Your Honor?”

  Judge Pollard made a point to hold his gaze as she turned off the microphone in between them. “I awarded you custody, Mr. Andersson, but don’t you think for a second it can’t be taken away again. She’s a pretty young thing—”

  Jasper’s hackles rose and he practically spat at her. “She’s like my little sister.”

  “Good. It had best stay that way. If there is a single whiff of impropriety between you and that child, social services will be breaking down your door and taking her away faster than you can call your fancy lawyers. I know you have a lot of money, but I have the full weight and power of the state of Connecticut behind me. If I hear a peep about you laying an inappropriate finger on that girl I will not hesitate to bring its wrath down upon your head. I would strongly suggest you pretend I’m watching a live video feed of every interaction you have with that young woman. Your relationship with Miss O’Connell needs to be beyond reproach. Are we clear?”

  He wanted to be insulted, but his affront was dampened by the idea of what this must look like from the outside. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge’s features softened. “Good luck, Mr. Andersson. She’s going to need all the help she can get. Now go ahead and take her home. I’ll be watching you.”

  The back of his neck crawled but he was also grateful. Judge Pollard hadn’t rubber-stamped this. She clearly cared about the kids who passed through her courtroom. And for some reason, he found himself not wanting to disappoint her. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  He strode back to where Keyne was standing dazed, green eyes glazed and round. It was one of those times when she looked fragile, like a stiff breeze might blow her over and she’d shatter. This had been a long frigging day for everyone, but it was over now. Over.

  Ninety-eight percent of his focus was on his new ward, but he didn’t miss the furious red of Sean’s face as Jasper tucked a Keyne who looked like she might pass out any second under his arm. “Come on, Keyne. We’re going home.”

  Chapter Four

  July

  Keyne had been living with him for about six weeks when things went off the rails with Sarah.

  They’d gone to the movies tonight at Sarah’s insistence. Jasper would’ve rather stayed home and he knew Keyne would’ve as well, but Saturday nights were supposed to be date night with Sarah, no matter what else was going on with either of them. After letting it slide the first few weekends after the accident, Sarah had demanded the practice be reinstated. Saturday nights were sacred. And though he didn’t particularly feel up for it, he gave in. He’d made a promise and he’d keep it.

  They’d sat through some summer blockbuster with too many special effects and not enough plot. He didn’t think any of them had enjoyed it, although he’d grant it was nice to get out of the house for a reason other than work or one of the myriad appointments Keyne had during the week.

  All he had to do was make sure he showed up with her on time. She was the one who was doing the real work. Sometimes she was snappish with him afterward, and others she was distraught, but she was always tired. The therapist had hinted maybe he should make an appointment to come in himself, but he didn’t have the time for that right now, nor could he afford to dig into his own feelings. Anytime they tried to sneak up on him, he stuffed
them away with no small amount of effort. How could he take care of another person if he was busy wallowing in his own grief?

  After doling out Keyne’s sleeping pill, he came back to the den where Sarah was waiting for him, scrolling away on her phone. As soon as he dropped onto the couch, she straddled him and started to kiss him. Her mouth was hungry, ravenous, but he had nothing for her.

  “Sarah,” he managed to get out around her attacks, “Could we not tonight?”

  It had been a long day. A long week. A long month. It had been a month and a half since they’d been gone. It was hard to believe. In some ways it felt like it had happened yesterday. He still woke up some mornings thinking he would meet up with his parents, his brother, and the O’Connells for brunch or maybe to go out on the boat. Then reality would set in and anguish would twist his heart, wringing it out.

  They’d never come back. His mother would never scold him again for not having settled down yet, his father would never offer him unsolicited advice about his finances, his brother would never beg him to let him drive his Aston Martin. He wished he’d let him. At least once.

  He’d give it all up, every penny he had, all the toys he’d accumulated. He’d stop drinking, stop using, wouldn’t touch a drop or a joint or a line ever again if he could get them back. But that’s not how things worked. They were gone and the remnants of their family were all under one roof. His roof, and he was doing his utmost to make it the best place possible for Keyne to be, but hell was that exhausting.

  Jasper packed all of his feelings away, folded them and placed them with care at the bottom of a chest that he locked and set flame to, burying the ashes under everything that mattered now. His grief would have to wait. He couldn’t afford it right now. What mattered right now was Keyne getting everything she needed, and if that took everything he had, so be it. He didn’t have the capital to spend on Sarah.

  She stopped kissing him, her hands ceased clawing at his shirt and she leaned back, her expression cold.

  “You used to be a lot more fun, you know that?”

  “Yeah, well, my family used to be alive and I wasn’t responsible for a grieving teenager. It was a lot easier to be fun then.”

  Sarah reached into her shirt then, snaked a finger into a cup of a lacy bra that showed over the low neckline, and drew out a small tube. “I’ve got some fun in powder form right here.”

  Jasper stared at the vial of coke she held between her fingers, a tiny tower of euphoria. Fuck was that tempting. He yearned for the pleasure it would bring, the brief experience of invincibility, the soaring high. He wanted to push her onto the coffee table, shake out the contents of the tiny bottle onto her chest, score some uneven lines with a knife from the bar and dig out a bill from his wallet, roll it tight, and then snort the bliss right off her tits.

  Instead he made his face hard. “I told you not to bring that into the house anymore.”

  It’s not that he didn’t want it—he did. Badly. So badly it was almost embarrassing. But what he wanted more was to not fuck up and have Keyne taken away. So no getting high for him. Not now, not until she was gone and then he could get as fucked-up as he wanted, as often as he wanted, and Christ would that be phenomenal. Not yet.

  “God, Jasper. You’re so fucking boring. Are you going to start eating casseroles and coaching soccer? I guess it was only a matter of time before suburbia started rubbing off on you.”

  “It has nothing to do with suburbia. I’ve always lived out here.” In his dark, solid house that was now covered with teenage girl detritus—how many hair elastics could a single person need? “It’s about the obligations—”

  “The obligations you saddled yourself with, that you could have passed off on someone else. Someone a lot more capable than you. You’re going to be a shitty dad.”

  Jasper could feel his nostrils flare as he blew a breath out through his nose. “I’m not trying to be Keyne’s father. She had a father and he’s dead. I’m just trying to keep her in one piece until she’s old enough and well enough to look after herself.”

  “What if that never happens? She’s a fucking mess. She can’t get through the day without you.” Sarah narrowed her eyes and her head turned like a snake about to strike. “Is that what this is about? Are you getting off on this, Jasper? Being someone’s hero? It’s not going to last. She’s going to grow up and realize what kind of man you really are. You’re no one’s hero. You’re a spoiled playboy who likes his toys, his drugs, and playing at the dodgy end of the sandbox. You like living on the edge and respectability is going to bore you to tears. You’re going to resent that girl so hard and so fast she’s not going to know what hit her.”

  Jasper ground his back teeth together. “She needs me.”

  Sarah closed her hand around the tube and pounded the fist against her chest. “I need you.”

  “No, you want me. Keyne needs me.”

  An emotion he couldn’t quite read flashed in Sarah’s eyes. She’d always been jealous and he’d tried to soothe her, done his best to make her believe she was the one he wanted. She had been. Since they’d been together, he hadn’t slept with anyone else or even played with anyone at the club. Hadn’t wanted to. She’d been enough for him.

  But for her to be jealous of Keyne? This wasn’t going to work. Keyne was a priority and Sarah was an option. A sexy as hell, intelligent, and sexually compatible option, but an option nonetheless.

  “Look. I understand this has been frustrating for you and I’m sorry. There’s going to be a steep learning curve and a period of adjustment. I’d like to get through it with you. But if you’re giving me an ultimatum, I can promise you’re going to lose.”

  She pushed off his lap and started to pace, muttering under her breath. For the first time since he met her, Jasper didn’t have the urge to conquer her, bring her to her knees. She was spoiled and self-centered, and she’d be better served by a top who liked brats. Or maybe just someone who wasn’t him and had patience to spare.

  Before he could stop her, Sarah had uncorked the vial, dumped the powder into a small pyramid in her hand and blew, sending white dust all over the room. As it settled, his emotions rioted, panic and fury pulsing through him in equal measure.

  “What the fuck, Sarah? Jesus Christ. You know the social worker can come pounding on the door at any time and if I don’t let him in, she’s as good as gone.”

  He could picture it now, nebbish Dan McCarthy showing up with his goddamn clipboard on Jasper’s front steps coming to take away the only person Jasper had left. He’d had nightmares about that very scenario and every time, he’d woken up in a cold sweat. No matter what other sketchy-ass rule-breaking or law-bending he’d done, never had he woken up feeling as sick and agitated as he did on those nights. This culpability for another person’s well-being was excruciating.

  “He will be knocking, Jasper. I’m going to call DCF on your ass right now. I’m going to tell them everything. All about the drinking. And the drugs. And the kink. Keyne is going to be gone so fast your head will spin.”

  His head was already spinning, but he slammed on the brakes as fast and hard as he could. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d never wanted to do this but now he was glad he’d been paranoid enough to plan for the eventuality. As a kid, he’d been a piss poor Boy Scout, but he’d learned one thing: be prepared. And now it was time to press the red button.

  “Go right ahead. If you don’t mind me making some phone calls of my own.”

  Sarah stopped in her tracks, the first time he’d ever seen her less than confident. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about a certain senator who’ll be interested to know you were fucking her husband for six months behind her back while she paid you through the nose to redo their beach house in the Hamptons. I’m talking about a certain society maven whose Park Avenue penthouse you were hired to design. You promised to
choose every detail yourself but your intern handled ninety percent of the project.

  “When those women find out how badly you’ve fucked them, they’ll make sure you never work again. Maybe you’ll find a gig at a split level in Hoboken, but that whole ‘I won’t show up for less than a million dollar job’ thing is going to be right out the window. And I’ve seen your books, Sarah. They aren’t clean.”

  She blanched, and he could’ve left off there, but now he was feeling vindictive. She wanted to threaten him? She wanted to take out her anger and insecurity on a kid? One he was responsible for and who was hurting already? No fucking way. She could’ve walked away, but no. And now he was going to burn the whole thing down.

  “When I say I’ve seen your books, I mean I’ve seen them all. You’ve been living like a queen for the past ten years, trying to rub elbows with the right people and fit in with your clients, but you’ve only been getting paid that way for the past three. That leaves some big debts. What happens when those start getting called in because some people owe me some favors? I can destroy you, and if you come after Keyne I won’t hesitate. And the thing is? In the end, I’ll get her back and you know it. Some way, somehow. I will be fucking ruthless about it.

  “So put your phone away and get the fuck out of my house. We’re done here. I don’t want to see your face or hear your voice ever again. If social services shows up I’ll know who called them and I will set those dominoes in motion. Try me.”

  The blood had rushed out of Sarah’s face, leaving her as pale as if she’d dusted herself with the coke instead of blowing it all over his den. She hadn’t known. Maybe she’d thought the descriptions of him as a wolf had been exaggerations. That he was some housebroken lapdog who liked to growl occasionally. Notion, disabused.

  “Jasper . . .” Sarah’s wide-open, unblinking eyes made her look wounded and disbelieving but he was unmoved. Her crass self-absorption had turned him to stone.