Page 72 of Worth the Fall
I fucking hated it.
I stepped back from where I stood behind him and leaned against the desk, facing him instead.
“I’ve already talked to the chief. He says you’ll be fine if this asshole wants to try to press charges. They won’t stick,” he informed me with a proud grin.
I wasn’t sure how or why not. The video clearly showed me shoving Eli and then hitting him and then standing over him in a threatening way. This thing could get really bad, really quick. I’d have no defense other than defending Brooklyn, and I wasn’t sure that was enough.
“I don’t think he will, but you never know,” I said, not sure I quite believed what I was saying. I didn’t know this guy any better than I knew a stranger on the street. “Thanks for making that call to the chief though,” I said, appreciative that my dad had taken the reins on that one. It had been tossed to the back of my mind since the second Brooklyn had left my house.
“See you tonight for candy?” He acted like he was reminding me, but I nodded with a grin.
“Yep. I’ll text you when we’re heading over.” I pushed off the desk and started to head out.
“Brooklyn coming?” he asked, and I stopped short.
“Why would she?”
He just shrugged and pointed at the computer screen. “Figured if you were punching her ex-husband, there had to be a reason for it.”
“There was. He was being a dick.”
“That’s the only reason?” His bushy silver eyebrows rose, and I knew he was pushing for more, but there wasn’t anything to tell him.
“It was reason enough.”
“If you say so, son.” He sat there, grinning like he held all the world’s secrets and couldn’t wait for me to figure them out.
It was annoying.
Ileft work a littleearly so I could get ready for the evening with Clara. She needed to eat actual food before we filled her belly with sugar. When I walked through the garage door and into the house, I smelled something I couldn’t put my finger on.
“Dad! You’re home early!” I heard Clara shout as she ran to greet me in the hall.
Her little hands wrapped around my legs, and I bent down to scoop her up.
She was getting so big.
“Glo-Glo the Pumpkin Queen made us bread!”
That was what I’d smelled.
“It smells delicious,” I said as I put my squirming eight-year-old on the ground.
“Thomas, I made fresh sourdough and some chicken noodle soup, but Clara refuses to eat it,” Mrs. Green informed me.
“But I’m not sick.” Clara whipped her head to look at me.
“Who said you were sick?” I asked through my confusion.
Clarabel was typically a pretty good eater and tried at least everything I put in front of her. That didn’t mean she liked it all, but she wasn’t the kind of kid who refused to eat something for no reason.
“That’s what I’m saying. I’m not sick. We don’t eat chicken noodle soup unless we’re sick. Right, Daddy? That’s sick-people food.” She was dead serious.
I laughed. “I mean, it’s not sick-people food. It’s comfort food,” I said before realizing that she most likely only ate it whenever she had a fever or in the days after Pukegate. I wasn’t a big soup guy. “But you’re right. You’ve probably only eaten it when you weren’t feeling great.”
“See, Glo-Glo,” Clara said with a soft shrug.
“I understand now.” Mrs. Green gave her a pat on the head. “That’s why I also prepped everything for grilled cheeses.”