Her heart melts. I can see it in the softening of her eyes, in the way her smile turns to something … sweeter. More loving and less playful.
"I love you so much," she whispers, a catch in her voice.
"No more than I love you. I guarantee it."
When she leans forward to press her lips to mine, I realize pretty quickly just how much better she's feeling.
φφφφφφφφ
The next morning, I make sure Olivia is sleeping comfortably before I creep out of the bedroom and take my shower in the guest bath. Although she didn't get sick anymore yesterday, she was still a little more lethargic than usual, all the way up until bed time. But she made it through the night just fine, so I'm heading to Dual to catch up on all the shit I missed yesterday.
I'm just turning into the parking lot when I get a call from an unknown, blocked number. I'm just about to hit the decline button when I remember Gavin's contact. Maybe it's him and he's just cautious, which would make sense if he knows Gavin very well.
"Cash," I answer simply.
"Yeah, uh, this is Mr. Jones," says a hushed masculine voice. It's him, Gavin's contact at the lab.
I have no doubt that Mr. Jones is not his real name. That might bother me under different circumstances, but honestly, I don't care what his real name is; I only care about the information he has for me. Gavin trusts him, therefore I trust him.
At least to the extent of providing me with reliable test results, that is.
"Happy to hear from you, Mr. Jones. Do you have something for me?"
"I do," he says abruptly. He's every bit as straightforward and to-the-point as I am, which I appreciate. "The paternity test was negative. The hair sample was positive for opiates. Likely a fairly long-term usage according to the traces found in the eight inches of hair you sent. Every half-inch of hair represents thirty days and I-"
"No need to explain, Mr. Jones. That's all I needed. Thank you."
"I sent a copy of the results to your email. Tell Gavin we're square now. Tell him-"
"I'll tell him," I interrupt, so angry that I'm having a difficult time not just hanging up on the poor guy and going in to strangle Sophie. "Thank you again. I've got something I need to tend to. I'll tell Gavin what you said."
"That's all then. Thanks," he replies in an equally clipped manner just before the line goes dead.
I don't give the guy a second thought after that. My only thoughts are of Isabella, who isn't my little girl, and Sophie, who is, as of this moment, dead to me.
As much as I want to rush into the apartment behind the club, take Sophie by the scruff of her shirt and throw her out the door, I'm still calm enough to realize I have to be smart about this. I have no rights to Isabella. Unless Sophie gives them to me. Or, in what I imagine will be the case, sells them to me. But I can't be making plans like that without talking to Olivia first. I think she'll be okay with it, especially once she finds out about the test results, but I need to make sure. She's priority number one in my life. She's been through enough because of Sophie Marks. I don't intend to let Olivia be hurt for one more second.
That's why I start my car up and steer right back onto the road. This is something we need to discuss in person.
CHAPTER NINE
Olivia
I woke up feeling just fine this morning. As I suspected, my body just didn't agree with the herb that Sophie gave me. If that's even what she gave me. Knowing her, she probably gave me something to make me sick.
Bitch! I think venomously as I make my way to the kitchen.
The first thing I see is the note that Cash left for me.
I didn't want to wake you when I saw that you were sleeping well. Going to Dual. You take it easy today. I'll bring lunch.
Love, Cash.
My sweet husband.
I leave the note where I found it and head for the fridge after hitting the power button on the coffee maker. As soon as I open the door, the smell of leftover Chinese food-food that's been in there for longer than I care to admit-hits my nostrils and my stomach flips over on a wave of nausea. I clamp a hand over my mouth and run for the half bath, barely making it to the toilet before bile and what's left of last night's popcorn-popcorn is a must on movie night-gains its freedom from my insides.
After heaving until my ribs hurt, I get up and make my way back to the kitchen for something to drink, the least offensive thing I can think of, but the instant it hits my tongue, up it comes. I try once more to leave the bathroom, but it ends in a race back to the toilet, so I just curl up on the cool floor beside the commode and wait.