Page 13 of Nine Week Nanny

I wasn't.

It didn’t take long for her to realize the Carrigan connection was toxic. My father left her and Lennon soon after. I’m sure it hurt, but I know from experience it was a blessing.

Chris Carrigan makes deadbeat fathers look good. He’s a monster, and an even worse parent.

"What about him?" My fingers clench around the phone.

"He's seven now. He has no other family that can take him." Camila's voice wavers for the first time. "And your father is about to be notified as next of kin."

I can hear a subtle sniffle through the phone, although she remains stoic.

Why is she telling me this?

"I'm sorry to hear. My condolences."

"This isn't a courtesy call, Mr. Carrigan. It's about Lennon, and what's going to happen to him now."

“I’m very sorry to hear, but I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”

"Your father is going to want custody when he finds out about the estate Maria left for him. It's modest, but it's all Lennon has to set him up," Camila continues, her voice hardening.

"He is his father. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about that.” The words scrape out harsher than I mean them. “We both got dealt a shitty hand. He’ll survive. I did.”

The lie sours in my mouth. I didn’tsurvive— I clawed my way out. And I know damn well I was the exception.

Images press in before I can shove them away: my mother’s face, pale and silent the morning after one of his rages. She used makeup to hide the bruises, but I could still see them. His hand raised, his voice shaking the walls. The emptiness he left when he finally walked.

"If he’s lucky. But you know better than anyone that the odds are against him if that man raises him. Without his mother to buffer Chris’s worst instincts…” Her voice catches. “You know what that looks like better than anyone.”

She’s right. And I hate that she’s right.

"Lennon is with me in Jacksonville right now, but I can’t keep him long-term, at least now. I have my own life struggles.I think I can adopt him, I just need some time so that Chris doesn’t get him.”

"And that concerns me how exactly?" I press my fingertips against my temple, trying to stave off the headache building there.

"I'm out of options." The professional veneer cracks slightly. "I'm in the middle of a divorce. My ex cleaned out our savings. I've got two kids of my own in a small rental with inconsistent custody arrangements."

I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. This isn't my problem. Lennon isn't my responsibility. I've never even had a real conversation with the kid.

But the words dig under my skin anyway.

"The court would never approve me as his guardian right now," Camila adds. "Not with my situation."

"Ms. Reyes?—"

"Please, Mr. Carrigan. Please help this child have a chance in life. You're the only hope he has right now."

My jaw locks. Yeah, I know. I lived it.

I close my eyes and see a flash of memory—my father's hand raised, his voice booming through our small apartment. My mother's face the morning after, makeup carefully applied to hide the bruising.

"Chris doesn't want Lennon," Camila says, cutting through my thoughts. "He wants Maria's estate. The life insurance, the house she inherited from our abuela, the money she saved for Lennon's college fund."

My stomach twists. Of course he does. Chris Carrigan has always viewed people as resources to exploit. I've spent most of my life trying not to be anything like him.

"Listen, I sympathize with your situation, but?—"

"No, you listen." Her voice drops lower. "Maria was a second-grade teacher. She worked summers at camps. She built this lifefor her and Lennon by herself. Every dollar she saved was for that boy's future. And your father will burn through it in a year."