Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Mark hated every word of Isaiah’s speech. Because it was true. He had no backup plan for the kids if Isaiah bailed. He had to be at the base tomorrow. He did need Isaiah. The kids needed Isaiah. And what was so awful about trying to protect that? He couldn’t risk his uncle destroying everything Isaiah brought to their lives.
Chapter Twenty
Isaiah’s lawyer was a pleasant woman in her forties who was active in the San Diego LGBTQ community and represented many same-sex couples for adoptions and the like. She’d cleared her schedule for the emergency meeting with him and was doing her best to talk him off the ledge.
“The fact that you’re out isn’t going to tank your case with the court. But the finances and living arrangement remain problematic.” She sighed, drumming her magenta nails against the conference table. It was a cheery office, lots of bright prints on the office for Liam to look at from his perch on Isaiah’s lap, but Isaiah couldn’t help the feeling of dread descending over him.
“So you’re saying I need a place for us prior to the court investigator meeting.”
“Ideally, yes. Can you get on that, update me later in the week what your status is? And in the meantime, let’s work on getting you a stack of references—that’ll help too. Get the relatives on your side of the family to write in support of you. But friends and past employers could count too. Anything that shows your maturity, stability, and suitability.”
I’m not sure I have maturity and stability. But he was determined to try, so he just nodded. “What about Cal’s will? Shouldn’t that count?”
“The court will look at it, of course. But the fact that his wife had a different one will also be in play here. Ultimately, it’s going to come down to what the court believes is in the best interests of the kids. And I’m going to argue passionately that that’s you, but you’ve got to be prepared for the fact that they’ll probably refer this to mediation, try to come up with a compromise. Do you think Chief Whitley will be amenable to that?”
Who the fuck knows?
“I’m not sure I’m interested in compromise.” Not after that morning at least. The last thing he wanted to do was give Mark any ground.
“And I’m not sure we’re going to have a choice,” she said, gentle but firm. “Prepare yourself for that, okay?”
That was the last thing Isaiah wanted to do. And preparation was not his strong suit, which was part of what had landed him here. It had been too easy to just put off making plans, living in the moment with Mark and the kids, delaying all the hard choices and uncomfortable realities. As usual. His dad was right. He sucked at adulthood.
But he paid the lawyer by the hour for legal advice, not to be his therapist, so he saved her all his angst and just nodded again, let her give him a list of action items for the week, things she thought would help the case. Then he had to hurry to make it to the school for pickup. He’d texted Mark that he’d do it, half expecting Mark to put up a protest, but all he’d gotten was an “okay” in response. And honestly, that hurt more than he’d thought—part of him wanted Mark to beg him to come back, keep up his pleas that they talk. But maybe Mark was just as done as he was.
Maybe it had all been an act on Mark’s part, biding his time until he could win custody, until he wouldn’t need Isaiah anymore.
And on that pleasant thought, he switched gears to focus on the girls. He didn’t want to go back to the house. Not yet. Not till he had a better plan. Not till he’d cooled down some. He was still too mad, and the kids didn’t need to witness him lighting into Mark again. They’d had enough upheaval in their lives. Instead, he took them out for lunch, a rare fast food treat, then took a page from Aunt Cecily’s book and drove for nap time.
And man, the car was quiet once they all drifted off. He missed Mark, missed the drives they’d taken together, missed his conversation and even his commentary on Isaiah’s choice of music.
You’re not getting Mark. Not ever again. And he doesn’t want you anyway. Yesterday—had it really just been yesterday—had proven that. Mark wasn’t going to come out, in any sense of the word, wasn’t going to want a public relationship with him. And even if he did, he clearly didn’t view Isaiah as a functional adult, didn’t trust him. Thought he needed protecting. Fuck that noise.
Isaiah drove up the coast, heading to his happy place, but purposefully not going to the same beach he’d been to with Mark the day of the funeral. He needed to move on from sentimentality, quit wallowing in his grief and his feels about Mark and move on to what needed to be done. To that end, he parked at a favorite overlook, let the kids keep snoozing, and made difficult phone call after difficult phone call. The one to Dylan netted him a dinner invite though, as his friend seemed to sense that he was in need of more than simply a letter of recommendation.