The Client(36)

Once this mess was dealt with, I’d tell security that nobody was allowed up unless I specifically cleared them. I could already picture the meltdown Brinke would have, but I was done with her shit.

Finally, somebody noticed us and the music abruptly went silent.

Putting Carter down, I patted her on the rump and said, “Why don’t you take your bag on up and put your stuff away? Take your time, okay? I need to talk to Mom and her friends.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Carter shot a quick look at her mother, half hopeful, half in dread.

Brinke was too busy staring into her glass to notice.

Closing a hand into a fist, I watched Carter’s thin shoulders slump at her mother’s obvious lack of interest. It broke my heart that after all the shit Brinke had put Carter through, she still wanted her mom's love. She turned toward the stairs and trudged up them, pulling a pair of ear buds out of her pocket.

Smart move, baby doll, I thought. Smart move.

“Heya, Pax!”

The overly cheerful greeting came from the man who’d been sitting way too close to Brinke when I came in. He moved away as soon as he'd seen me, and now he practically sat on the opposite end of the couch.

When I looked at him, he got up, coming toward me with a hand outstretched. “How ya doin’, man?”

I stared at his hand for a long moment. Was he fucking kidding me?

Slowly, he lowered it, a nervous laugh escaping him.

As he backed away, I looked from him to everybody else in the room. “All of you…get out,” I said grimly. “Do it now and do yourself a favor. Don’t try to come back.”

“You can’t do that,” Brinke snapped. “This is my home too.”

“My name is on the paperwork,” I reminded her. “Remind yourself why that is.”

Her face flushed, but she didn’t say anything. As people began to trail out, she emptied the rest of her glass and rose from the couch to storm into the kitchen, grumbling under her breath.

Once she came back into the living room, I looked around. “Is everybody gone?”

“I don’t see anybody else.” She looked around obnoxiously. “Do you?”

“Your friends don’t always respect boundaries, Brinke.” Without giving her a chance to ask what I meant, I said, “You didn't say hi to your daughter.”

Brinke’s eyes slid toward the stairs. Jerking her shoulders in a shrug, she said, “I'm going to. I'm getting ready to go right on up there and talk to her. Where in the hell have you two been all weekend anyway?”

“Funny that you should ask that. The question you really need to be asking is where did I find her Saturday night.” Renewed rage began to beat inside me and I folded my arms, reminded myself that losing it now wasn’t going to do anybody any good. “Kind of funny you’re waiting until now to ask where we had taken off to – and you haven’t even asked why. Care to explain that?”

“Please.” She drained her drink – again.

This time, when she went into the kitchen, her steps more than a little unsteady, I followed.

“I already know why you took off,” Brinke said. “You came home and found out that I was having a party and you got all uptight about it. I swear, ever since we had her, you forgot what it’s like to have any fun.”

Her hand shook as she splashed a liberal amount of vodka into her glass, then added some cranberry juice. There was more alcohol than juice, and I tried to recall if that bottle had been full the last time I’d seen it. Or was it a new bottle altogether?

I had no idea.

She turned back to face me, glaring at me with a mix of rage and misery and I found myself trying to find the woman I’d fallen in love with in the face of the one staring back at me.

I couldn’t. It was like no sign of her existed.

If she ever had at all.

She lifted the glass to her lips and drained half of it. She might have emptied it if I hadn’t crossed to her and caught her wrist, forcing the glass down.

“Fuck, Brinke. Cut back already,” I said, aggravated. “I don’t want to have to take you to the hospital again.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she shouted.

“I’m…shit, is it that hard for you to let somebody be worried about you?” I wrestled the glass away and dumped it. Then, before she could stop me, I upended the vodka bottle too.

Brinke came at me, slamming her fists into my chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She hit me again and I caught both wrists. “If I want a fucking drink, I can have one!”

“And if you want to get so strung out, you lose consciousness while our little girl is hiding in a closet and strangers are fucking on her bed, you going to do that again too?” I demanded, forcing myself to keep my voice low. Carter might be listening to music, but I refused to let her hear me shout at her mother.