Page 23 of Forbidden Dreams
He smiles at him. “Sounds like a good mom to me.” He looks over at me, and Wyatt doesn’t agree with him but looks down at his book.
"Do you want some sweet tea, or would you like water or something else?” I ask Brady when he steps into the kitchen. My hand is on the handle of the fridge as I watch him look at me.
“I’m fine,” he assures me, and I have to wonder if he’s trying to get the fuck out of here as fast as he can.
My hand goes off the handle of the fridge. “I got the number,” he informs me and holds out his hand with a white paper. “She’s waiting for your call.”
My feet move to him until I’m standing in front of him. The smell of him makes my knees weak, and my stomach flutter. My hand comes up and grabs the paper from him. “She’s not from around here.”
My heart speeds up, and I’m almost afraid to ask any questions. Even if I wanted to ask him something, it feels like there is a baseball stuck in the middle of my throat. “But she’s willing to take your call.”
My eyes look at the white paper. “Brady,” I whisper, “I don’t know.”
“Just call her,” he urges me.
“Um.” I open the paper to see the phone number written on it. “Do you think maybe you could take Wyatt out of the house?” My voice goes low. “I don’t want him to hear what is going on.”
He doesn’t answer me. He just nods, and I watch him walk to the living room. “Hey,” he says, “Mom said I can take you out to play catch.” Wyatt gasps. “That is, if you want to.”
I try to take in the goodness that is my son. “Are you almost done?”
“I have one more,” he replies. Brady looks over at me and tries not to smile but fails. It takes Wyatt a couple of seconds to jump up. “Done.” He comes running to the front door, putting on the sneakers he kicked off once we got home, and grabbing his glove that is on the floor beside said sneakers. “Ready.” He looks up at Brady, who looks at me one more time before following my son out of the house.
I watch them walk to the side, Wyatt’s mouth moving while he says something, and Brady just listens to him. I turn back, pull my phone from my pocket, and sit down at the table, dialing the number on the paper. My chest rises and falls as I feel like I’m going to throw up. The woman answers after one ring, “Ryleigh Richards.”
“Hi,” I say softly and then clear my throat. “My name is Harmony. I got your number from Brady.”
“Harmony,” she sings my name as if we are long-lost friends, and I’m calling to catch up, and not because I’m calling to hire her to be my lawyer, “I have been waiting for your call.”
“Um, I want to thank you for taking my call.” I look out the window at Wyatt running for the ball, a huge smile on his face.
“I spoke to Brady,” she begins, “but how about you fill me in a bit more?”
“Sure,” I start to say and fill her in, not skipping over anything.
“So for the past six months has the divorce been finalized?”
“No,” I huff. “I’ve been trying and trying; he refuses to sign the papers, and my last lawyer wasn’t in a rush.”
“Well, it’s a good thing,” she says, “because now I’m here, and I’m going to make him wish he’d signed those papers six months ago.”
My eyes go wide. “He owes you back child support, plus alimony, plus I want to go after him for emotional damage and distress.”
“Um,” I say nervously, “I don’t think you understand who we are talking about.”
“No, I don’t think they understand who they are talking about,” she snaps. “They have no idea who they’re up against. I will tie them up in so much fucking litigation that they will be begging me to give in.” She laughs. “God, this is going to be fun.” And I swear I can see her smile over the phone. “I think I have everything I need from you. If there is anything else, my secretary will call you, and if not, I will.”
“Um, Ryleigh,” I hesitate, “we haven’t spoken about how much this will cost me.”
“That’s the fun part of this,” she chirps, “I’m also suing them for lawyer fees.”
“But what if you lose?”
“Oh, I’m not going to lose,” she declares confidently. “There is no way in hell I am going to lose to them.” She exhales. “And if I do, then we’ll talk about it.”
“Okay, should I send you a retainer?”
“Done already.” She shocks me, and my eyes fly to the window. “I’ll speak to you soon. Expect an email in a couple of days.” She quickly hangs up the phone, and I just sit here with it to my ear. Her words echo in my ears. Done already. What does that even mean?