“It was.”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Does that mean you won’t come to the assembly?” I want to reach through the phone and hug away her sadness.

“Of course I’ll come.”

“Maybe you can try to tell him you’re sorry again. I could tell him for you if you want?”

Her sweetness chokes me up, and I have to clear my throat before I answer. “It’s probably better if it comes directly from me.”

“Yeah. Probably. Okay. I’ll text you the date and stuff. I can’t wait to see you. I’m gonna give you a huge hug.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” I end the call and exhale a steadying breath, willing myself not to get my hopes up, but the heart doesn’t always listen to the head.

chapter twenty-four

THE PIECES

Kailyn

I leave work early on the night of the assembly and change into a nice pair of normal black dress pants and a family-friendly blouse that’s still a little sexy. Dax is going to be there, after all. I check my voicemail on the way into the school—I’m half an hour early, obviously hoping to run into Dax before the performance begins, and if the universe is on my side, possibly snag the seat beside him before one of the vulture-like single moms does. That’s provided he’ll speak to me.

I have a voicemail from Holly, but I can’t hear it with the noise in the foyer, parents chattering excitedly as they wait for the auditorium doors to open.

I can’t see Dax anywhere in the throng of waiting families, but I’m short, so my ability to see over all the heads is compromised. I navigate my way through the crowd, looking for a quiet room. I push through the first door that opens and step inside. I’ve found the library, and it appears to be empty.

I’m about to listen to the voicemail when someone else speaks. For a moment, I consider making my presence known, until I realize the voice is familiar.

Setting my phone to silent, I creep a little farther into the room. I can’t see Linda, but I can certainly hear her.

“As soon as this custody business is wrapped up, we’ll head to Vegas for the weekend, my treat this time.”

There’s silence for a moment, and I move toward the sound of her voice. How can Linda be planning a trip to Vegas when she’s battling for custody of a thirteen-year old? I hit the Record button on my phone, hoping to catch what I’m overhearing on the off chance it’s somehow incriminating.

I peek around a shelving unit and find her sitting in a chair, behind a desk on the other side of the room, the space made up to look like an office. She holds her phone in one hand, the other curved around a mouse, her attention divided between the call and whatever’s on the laptop screen. She stops clicking and throws her head back as she laughs. “I’m not worried about that. Once I have custody I’ll have lots of money to play with. We’ll hit the blackjack table and double what we lost last time. By the time we get back, no one will even know it was missing.”

She looks over her shoulder. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. She can stay with her brother on weekends. It’ll make me look like I’m being accommodating and it’ll get her out of my hair. Two birds, one stone, right?” She laughs again. “It shouldn’t be long before I get what should’ve been mine in the first place.”

Before I can make my presence known or make a move to confront her, a buzz fills the room. “Linda, are you available? I need your assistance in the office, please.”

“I have to go. I’ll call you next week, but I figure it shouldn’t be long before Emme’s in my custody. That bottle of vodka was a genius idea, so thanks for that. Anyway, once I have access to that money, we’ll plan a trip.” She ends the call and closes the laptop, pushing out of her chair. I wait until a door closes on the other side of the room before I check to make sure she’s gone.

Coast clear, I rush over to the laptop, flipping it open, crossing my fingers as the screen comes alive again. An online game of poker flashes across the screen. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m still alone as I click on the next tab, smiling when I find her email open. That’s what you get for not logging out.

The conversation I recorded is damning enough, but I’ll take any additional hard evidence that will nail her coffin closed. I scan the list of emails and note a starred one regarding a private school in San Francisco. I hope she’s not thinking about moving. Clicking on it, I skim the email between Linda and an administrator inquiring about on-campus placement. Apparently she plans to send Emme to a boarding school should she get custody. I snap pictures and print out the email so I have a hard copy before I perform a search for any others that match the email address. I find a few more and print them as well.

I close the browser at the sound of voices drawing closer, flip the laptop shut, and leave the room the way I came in, hoping what I’ve gathered is going to be helpful in keeping Emme with Dax.

The hallway is empty but for a few parents straggling in. The assembly begins shortly, so I give the person at the box office my name and she passes me over the reserved ticket. Apparently it’s assigned seating.

I’m surprised to find it’s an actual theater, although I suppose this school has a fairly hefty tuition, and it’s arts based, so it makes sense that they would have a real auditorium.

The usher shows me to my row, and of course I’m right in the middle, so everyone has to stand so I can get to my seat. The lights are already dimmed, making it difficult to see, but based on the profile, I’m beside Dax.

He shifts his attention from the person to his right to lift his jacket from the armrest—he’s still dressed in a suit, presumably because he came directly from work. His eyes flare when they meet mine, brow furrowing as his mouth turns down and then lifts slightly in a wry, unimpressed grin. He might be angry with me, but it doesn’t seem to affect the chemistry that pings between us as his eyes rove over me in a familiar, hot way.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and take the seat next to him.

He leans in close, warm minty breath caressing my cheek. “Emme invited you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He huffs humorlessly and shifts in his seat, dropping his elbow so it’s no longer on the armrest, touching mine.

I hate the horrible churning in my stomach and the burn behind my eyes at his quick dismissal. “I know you’re still upset with me, but I need to speak with you after the assembly.”

“I’m not interested in a conversation.”

I put a hand on his arm and he turns his head slowly, his glare directed at where I’m making physical contact. I want to erase his anger, make him understand that I didn’t mean to hurt him. I move my hand to my lap. “It’s not about us.”

“Well, that’s good since there is no us.”

My heart feels like it’s been punctured. Before I can say anything else, the lights go down and the curtains open. The stage is filled with students, all dressed in white shirts and black pants. Emme is front and center, scanning the audience.

Dax lifts his hand in a half wave when she finally spots him, and she smiles, her gaze shifting to me, and it widens even more. There’s no way I’m going to make it through this without crying.

And then they start to sing. I’ve always known Emme has a beautiful voice. She sings in the car whenever she likes the song. She belts out the lyrics when we play Just Dance, and she hums a lot. But this is something completely different; this is the kind of music that reaches inside and touches your soul.

I can’t hold back the tears when Emme steps forward for her solo. I recognize the song, vaguely. Her voice is hauntingly beautiful as she climbs the notes and dips down, taking us with her on an emotional journey. This is how she’s dealing with this loss, I realize. She’s found something to soothe the ache inside, maybe just a little.

I glance over at Dax, whose expression borders on tragic. I want to offer him some comfort, but I don’t think it will be received well. Instead I root around in my purse for another tissue since the one I have is already soaked with tears. Thank God for waterproof mascara.

Dax leans over, lips at my ear. “Here.” He hands me a fresh tissue.

I sniff and meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

For a moment he holds my gaze and I see the same thing I’m feeling reflected in his eyes, deep sadness, regret, and longing.