His Custody Read online

  A waffle and a half later, they walked out to the garage and slipped into the Audi.

  “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

  Jasper shook his head as he put the car in drive and headed down the tree-lined drive.

  When they pulled up to Alice’s gym, Keyne had to keep from trying to punch Jasper again. “Why didn’t you tell me we were coming to see Alice again? I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time.”

  He smiled, one side of his mouth curling up. “And what fun would that be?”

  This time she did try to punch him, but he grabbed her forearm and twisted easily out of the way of her fist. “Besides, I thought a good surprise might be a nice change.”

  Well, he was right about that. She practically skipped to the door, and when she opened it, the odor that assaulted her seemed a little less gross than it had the last time. Plus, she’d be smelling just as ripe in no time if Alice put her through her paces as she had before. Excitement thrummed through her veins that she’d get to pound away at something, and that her body would be exhausted by good old-fashioned physical exertion instead of that low-level soreness she was pretty sure was grief trying to stay in the fibers of her muscles.

  ***

  Two hours later, Jasper and Alice leaned against a cinder block wall, eyes on Keyne’s small frame in front of them, her hands encased in boxing gloves and pounding the living hell out of a bag that was almost as big as she was, strung up between floor and ceiling.

  “She’s damn good for a beginner.”

  “Yeah she is.”

  Jasper hadn’t been sure how Keyne would feel about coming back to Alice’s gym. She’d enjoyed their first trip, but she hadn’t mentioned wanting to come back. She threw a few more punches, keeping her guard up by her face as Alice had taught her. Alice was right, she was damn good. And she seemed to be enjoying herself, pink cheeked and not quitting even though her movements were slowing down, the hits coming not quite as hard. He’d let her beat the crap out of that bag all day if he could, but she was going to be sore tomorrow as it was.

  When she finally backed off, he expected her to drag herself over to where he and Alice were perched, but instead, she pointed to a speed bag mounted on the wall. He shook his head though and her face fell as she wrenched her gloves off.

  “Please?”

  “Not today. We’ll come back next week.”

  She scowled at him but her heart wasn’t in it. “I guess I’m getting hungry anyway.”

  “Good.” Every time she said she was hungry it made him happy. Made him feel like she was committed to being alive. To not abandoning him, and leaving him a reason to carry on. “Good” was an understatement. More like a potent form of relief. It was a bright spot in his otherwise empty heart. “There’s a diner around the corner. Best roast beef and Swiss I’ve ever had. Don’t tell Ada.”

  Half an hour later found them scarfing down their sandwiches, hot and savory.

  “So you liked the boxing gym?”

  Keyne washed her last mouthful of sandwich down with another pull on her chocolate milkshake. She’d left half the fries on her plate, but she’d still eaten a good meal. “It was awesome. I had no idea it would be that much fun to beat the hell out of something.”

  “It is fun. Next time maybe we’ll get you a sparring partner.”

  Her eyes lit up and he laughed. “You’ll have to do more training with Alice, though. And more general working out. Build up some muscle and improve your endurance.”

  He’d try to make this fun for her, but it wasn’t just a means to distract her. It was also a way for her to defend herself against any schoolyard nonsense, or a drunk dudebro getting handsy at a frat party next year. Because the fact was that Keyne was small. He’d give her an upper hand by any means necessary.

  There hadn’t been another peep out of Sean, and the Coast Guard still couldn’t tell him whether it had been an accident or malice that had landed Keyne in his house in the first place, but he couldn’t help but feel uneasy about her safety. His own he only cared about because he couldn’t stand the idea of Keyne losing anyone else, but hers . . . He’d wrap that girl in bubble wrap if he could. On the other hand, he also wanted to give her as normal a life as possible, so that wasn’t going to fly. But he’d do anything he could to have it both ways.

  Chapter Eight

  September

  She’d always liked the first day of school. Liked seeing her friends after summers away, liked the shiny new school supplies weighing down her bag, even liked wearing her uniform again. It was comforting, slipping the same blue and green plaid around her waist, the same navy sweater over her head, day after day, year after year. She’d been wearing the same thing in one size or another since she was six.

  But nothing felt right. Her clothes fit, reminding her of all the times Jasper made her eat when she’d wanted to refuse. If he’d let her, they’d be falling off. But she felt queasy, nervous. She was over being stared at, pointed at, poor-babied. No one would know what to say to her and she half hoped they wouldn’t say anything at all. Let her drift through her day in peace and save her energy for paying attention in class.

  Jasper came with her to school, held her hand on the way, their entwined fingers resting between them on the leather seats while Edwin drove. It was nice to have something, someone, to hold onto. Even nicer that he offered his support silently, without the chatter her mother used to assail her with on her first day. Her eyes watered at the memories, but she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Her mascara was waterproof, but she didn’t want her eyes to be red or her nose to run.

  Instead, she concentrated on Jasper’s hand in hers, and the way he sat next to her, solid and silent as a rock. Knowing if she wanted to talk, he would, but things being as they were, he didn’t say anything until Edwin offered her a hand out of the car.

  “It’s going to be fine, Tinker Bell. And if it’s not, you call me.”

  She nodded, her heart not in it. It didn’t feel like it was going to be fine. But she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d be brave and get on with her life.

  Walking up the big marble steps was as bad as she’d imagined it would be. Most people stared and the ones who didn’t looked away so purposefully she wanted to cause a scene so they’d have to look away harder. They’d break their fucking necks.

  She closed her eyes before swinging open the heavy wooden door.

  ***

  A blur of plaid and wild red hair tumbled into the car. He’d been worried about her all day, checking his phone obsessively, looking at any messages that came in no matter what he was doing. But she hadn’t called, texted or emailed. He knew it was from sheer strength of will on her part, not because it’d been a cake walk. Even though he’d imagined how she’d fared, he was still unprepared for how ragged she looked. As if her soul had been worn threadbare.

  She sat rigid next to him, knees and ankles together, hugging her overstuffed tote bag to her chest, looking straight ahead. How long was she going to last holding herself together? But as soon as they pulled away from the curb, she started to sob.

  He took her bag from her lap, placed it on the floor and pulled her under his arm, grateful Edwin had been free to drive today, and that he’d had the foresight to ask. It had been a while since Keyne had cried this hard, since her whole body shook with the strength of her emotions.

  There was no way he was going to let on how much it hurt him to see her this way, because that was his problem and not hers. So he didn’t hush her but held her close, aching for her. He wished more than anything there was something he could do. He’d take this anguish away from her, suffer it himself if he could but the best he could offer was to bury his own pain deep so she wouldn’t have to bear that burden, too. When they pulled up to the house, she was still crying so they sat in the driveway until she stopped. Thank goodness for Edw
in and his ability to render himself essentially invisible. A useful skill for a driver to have.

  Keyne was sniffling now, so he offered her a handkerchief. His mother used to get them for him year after year. Prissy monogrammed things he’d never had much use for until Keyne came to stay with him. Since then, they’d been constant companions in his pockets.

  Not saying anything, he waited for her, because that’s usually how he got her to talk. After she’d scrubbed her eyes and blown her nose, sounding like a wounded goose, she crumpled the linen in her hand. “It was awful.”

  He waited, wondering if there was more, if she’d give him details now or later. She sighed and shuddered and he thought she might start crying again, but she didn’t.

  “I missed him so much.”

  Gavin. With all the worry he’d done about how people would behave toward her, he’d forgotten how alone she’d feel. She and Gavin had been in every class together since they started nursery school.

  “They wouldn’t sit in his seat. No one would sit in his seat.”

  She was getting worked up, and he felt like a moron. Gavin’s seat? Was this information he should have? He didn’t get it and meanwhile she was vibrating with frustration. Figure it out, Andersson. Don’t make this any harder on her.

  “All day I felt like I was missing the left side of my body. He was supposed to be there and he wasn’t. And no one would sit there. Maybe they thought it was like some goddamn memorial or something, but all fucking day there’s been an empty desk to my left. He was always there, Jas, always.”

  The thought that he ought to chastise her for her language crossed his mind, but who was he kidding? He’d regularly sworn in front of her before the yacht had sunk, and he hadn’t managed to clean up his act much since becoming her guardian. Eh, she was old enough to know when it was okay and when it wasn’t, and that’s all that mattered.

  Her hands were in her lap and she was rubbing the star between her fingers, worrying the metal so hard he wondered if she’d eventually wear the inscription down. If she did he’d get her another one. And then another and another until she didn’t hurt so goddamn much.

  “And now he’s not.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t sit next to her all day, although it was tempting. Though to be honest, with how little work he’d managed to do today while he’d been thinking about her, he may as well. At least he’d know she was safe.

  “Can I stay home tomorrow?”

  “You can, but I doubt Wednesday’s going to be easier than Tuesday.”

  “How about never?” Her light eyebrows twitched up in a gesture of not-terribly-optimistic hope. With good reason.

  “You have to go to school. But if you can’t stand it, I’m sure we could get you transferred somewhere else. They wouldn’t leave an empty desk, but I’m sure there’d be a lot of questions. Up to you if you think that’d be easier.”

  For the rest of her life, she was going to be the poor little rich girl who lost everything. It was different for him. He was a grown man. People offered him short condolences if that. She sniffed again, her small shoulders hitching. “Can I have a snack?”

  “Of course. Ada must’ve been making you something special. Whole house smelled good when I left. Let’s go see what she cooked up for you. Think you can spare some of whatever it is for me?”

  She sent him a narrow-eyed glare and it made the corner of his mouth curl up. There she was. If she felt up to putting on a brave face, he’d let her. Especially because he was pretty sure she was doing it for him, which was heartbreaking in its dogged and determined sweetness. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but if she felt up to trying to do something for him, then he was there for that.

  And if she fell apart again later, he’d be there for that too. But in the meantime, she opened the car door and bolted out, shouting over her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter Nine

  September

  “Mr. Andersson?”

  “Yes, Ada?” He scanned the figures on the screen. Not good. This investment was not going well. Not for him or anyone else. And what was he going to do about it? The answers weren’t any prettier and he drummed his fingers on the desk as Ada approached. She drew up next to his desk and waited for him to acknowledge her. God love that woman, she knew how to deal with him and over the years she’d worked for him, they’d come to an understanding.

  He read to the end of the section, determined anything he could do was going to take more than the couple of minutes he was willing to keep Ada waiting. This shitshow would still be here when she was done.

  “You needed something?” Jasper turned, giving her his full attention. If she was willing to interrupt him during these hours—especially when Keyne had started seeming more settled at school so he could get some goddamn work done—it wasn’t to check if meatloaf was okay for dinner. Her round face pinched, and he was suddenly more interested. “What is it, Ada?”

  Ada wasn’t intimidated by him, couldn’t be and do her job so well, but he regretted the sharpness that had crept into his voice. The terse tone wasn’t a manifestation of anger, but of anxiety. His first thought was what it always was these days: Keyne.

  Her sleep had regressed when she first started school, which was to be expected with all the reminders of Gavin, or really, reminders of his permanent absence, but several weeks in and it had gotten better. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t crying quite so much, but on the other hand, she also seemed . . . flatter. It was hard to tell if this was getting back to a more normal state of being for her without quite so much drama and tears and panic.

  Keyne had always been volatile, though. Less so since she’d grown up some, but now . . . it was like the troughs of her sadness had gotten shallower, but the crests of happiness hadn’t gotten any higher. If he could even find them at all. Sometimes he had to stop and think when the last time she smiled was, and he didn’t like it.

  It was, of course, possible Ada was here about something else. Maybe she’d blown up the stove or the washer had flooded the basement. But if that were true, he couldn’t imagine her wringing her hands when she had to tell him. The microwave had broken beyond repair last year, and she’d informed him and was happy to pick out another one without his input. This was not an appliance issue.

  “I went to replace Miss O’Connell’s linens, and her door was closed. I knocked and she told me to come in. She happened to be getting out of the shower, but told me to do whatever I needed to do. I was hanging up some towels when she dropped her comb and when I picked it up . . .” The woman took a deep breath and set her jaw. What the hell? “When I picked it up, I noticed a cut on Miss O’Connell’s leg.”

  The gears in Jasper’s mind were turning, but not quick enough, they weren’t up to speed. He did his best to come up with a reasonable explanation. “She had just showered, right? She could have cut herself while she was shaving.”

  The image of Keyne soaking wet, gliding a razor up her calf and then to her thigh while one foot was propped up on the bench in the shower was enough to derail his mind again. Jesus, Andersson, shut that shit down. Where the hell was this even coming from? It made him want to dig his own brain out of his skull and send it through the garbage disposal. Knock it the fuck off, you sick bastard.

  It had been hard enough watching her at Alice’s gym trying to think of her as a girl and not a woman. Normally her slight curves were hidden underneath her clothes, but in those black pants that had clung to her subtly rounded hips, and the sports bra that covered up her small breasts—when she was punching and kicking for all she was worth, the sweat beading and then pooling in the arches of her body . . .

  He would’ve murdered anyone else in that place for the thoughts he’d been having himself. Ada saved him from any more improper fantasies and subsequent self-recriminations. Fo
r the moment.

  “It looked too long to be from shaving and it wasn’t the only one. There were half a dozen of them, stacked, spaced evenly. The ones farther down looked newer.” Ada made small chopping motions in the air in a vertical row, like lines on composition paper.

  The picture in his head turned from sensual to sinister as he imagined Keyne taking a blade to her own flesh and violating her body, cutting herself open. If he had to guess, it would be that she was trying to feel something, anything. The idea that she’d resorted to cutting made the acid in his stomach roil. He’d thought she was doing better. Turned out she was just doing better at hiding from him.

  The thing was, it wasn’t so much the act of cutting that bothered him. It was the motivation. He’d been with a few women who liked blood play and one of his girlfriends had been really into it. It wasn’t his favorite, but she loved it, so he’d indulge her on special occasions. Happy birthday, kitten. I’m going to cut you.

  He understood what she liked about it; the rush she got from him holding her life in his hands while he teased her by running the flat of the blade all over her body before selecting his sites: the underside of her collarbone, below her breasts, along the peak of her bottom ribs so the rivulets of blood would run down the slope of her solar plexus and pool in the hollow of her belly. She’d liked her inner thighs, too, and the memory made him acutely ill.

  Ada might have still been talking, but he couldn’t hear her. His vision was clouded by red like someone had poured blood down the insides of his eyelids, and his own thudding heartbeat was sending blood pumping through his ears.

  Shit. This was what happened when you had no business being responsible for a teenager. One who deserved the best, but had ended up with him as the lesser evil. And what the hell did that say about the world he lived in? If something happened to her, if he let her destroy herself, whether it was inch by inch with a blade or maybe with drugs . . . God, was she into drugs and he hadn’t noticed that either? How long had she been cutting? And what the fuck was he going to do about it?