Page 79 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Forrest

The town car’s leather seat creaks beneath me as I shift positions for the tenth time in two minutes. Through the tinted windows, the mediator’s office building looms—six stories of gray concrete that will determine the course of my daughter’s life. My life.

“Stop fidgeting,” Rina says, not unkindly. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.” I force my hands to be still in my lap. “It’s been twenty days.” The words catch in my throat. “What if Hannah’s poisoned her against me already?”

Rina’s expression softens, the hard lines of her usually formidable demeanor gentling. “Dakota adores you, Forrest. Children are resilient, but they’re not easily swayed when it comes to genuine love. And that little girl knows you love her.”

I nod, though the knot in my stomach only tightens.

These weeks without Dakota have been the longest of my life filled with sickening nerves—worse than any finals period in law school, worse than the terrifying early days of fatherhood when I was alone with a newborn and no idea what I was doing.

It’s not just how the brownstone feels hollow without her laughter, her endless questions, her small shoes by the door; it’s that I can’t believe some stranger gets to decide the relationship I have with my kid. It’s maddening.

I haven’t been myself the last few weeks—broody, distracted.

I pretend to study at all hours of the night, just to stave off conversation.

Sora knows I’m going through hell. She’s officially seen me at my worst, and yet, she’s stuck by me.

Lately, where I’ve lacked, she excels. She even made me cowboy chili one night—better than my dad’s, but we promised we’d never tell him that.

“Remember what we discussed,” Rina says, drawing me back to the present. “Today’s goal is to keep this out of court. Mediation will be far more pleasant for everyone if we can resolve this now.”

“And if Hannah’s unreasonable?” The question haunts me. “If we have to go to court?”

A cold smile spreads across Rina’s face. “Then we go to court and aim for the jugular.” She straightens the lapels of her impeccable suit. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The town car pulls to a stop at the curb. Through the window, I can see the revolving doors of the building, each turn bringing us closer to the moment of truth.

“Forrest.” Rina waits until I meet her eyes. “I’m with you, every step of the way. Hold your head high. You have nothing to be ashamed of if Hannah brings up your past employment.”

“Easier said than done.” Three weeks of Hannah’s threats have worn deep grooves of shame into my psyche.

“You connected with people, Forrest. You made lonely women feel treasured, wanted, even if just briefly.” She holds my gaze, unflinching. “At least you were adding something to these women’s lives. All Hannah does is take from people.”

Her words settle over me, a small balm to my raw nerves. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course.” She glances at her watch. “We should head in. Punctuality makes a good impression.”

“Sora wanted to come for support,” I say as we exit the car. “I told her not to. I didn’t want to put this stress on her shoulders. And after how cruel Hannah was to her…”

Rina gives me a knowing look but says nothing as we approach the revolving doors. Her silence speaks volumes.

The lobby of the building is all polished marble and echoing spaces. Our footsteps ring out as we cross to the elevator banks, the sound oddly ominous. I’m so focused on the brass elevator doors ahead that I nearly miss the small gathering of people to our right.

“Forrest!”

I turn, and my heart catches. The lobby isn’t empty as I’d expected.

It’s filled with familiar faces—Taio and Saylor, dutifully standing with military precision in suits that would make James Bond envious.

Beside them is Celeste, dressed to the nines, looking graceful as ever.

Her dark hair fancily coiffed. Daphne, wearing her waitressing uniform, but no matter, she’s here, fist bunched in the universal get ’em, tiger gesture.

And then, stepping forward from the group—Sora. Not alone, but flanked by her parents.

“Surprise,” Sora says, her smile wavering slightly as if uncertain of my reaction.

I stand frozen, floored by the show of support. Rina gives me a gentle nudge forward.

“Did you know about this?” I ask.

“I might have made a few calls,” she admits. “Your girl did the rest.”

Sora reaches me first, her hands finding mine.

“Don’t be mad. I know you said not to come, but I couldn’t let you face this alone.

We won’t be in your way,” she continues quickly.

“We’ll stay down here in the lobby, but I wanted you to walk into that room knowing how much love and support you have behind you. ”

I look past her to the others—Taio giving me an encouraging thumbs-up, Saylor with his nod of solidarity, Celeste holding her hand over her heart, beaming at me. Even Sora’s parents, hand in hand, stand firmly behind me.

“Boone wanted to be here too,” Sora adds. “He’s planning to call right after. He’s here in spirit.”

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I’ve spent so much of my life standing alone—against my mother’s abandonment, against the crushing debt, against Hannah’s rejection. The sight of these people gathered for me is almost too much.

“Thank you,” I manage, my voice a mere croak. “All of you.”

Sora rises on her tiptoes to press her forehead against mine. “You’ve got this,” she whispers. “No matter what happens in there, we’ll figure it out together.”

I kiss her forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo—vanilla and something floral—that has become synonymous with home. “I love you,” I tell her. “Thank you for being here, for everything.”

Her answering smile is like sunrise after the longest night. “I love you too. Now go get your daughter back.”

With one last look at the unlikely assembly—escorts and clients, colleagues and friends, all united for me—I turn and follow Rina to the elevators.

As the doors close, separating me from Sora and the others, I straighten my shoulders. For the first time in three weeks, I feel something other than despair.

I feel hope.

Sora

The lobby of the mediator’s office feels both too large and too small—vast in its hollow marble expanse, but confining in the way all waiting rooms are. There’s nothing to do except exist, trapped in the shallow tank of my anxiety and nerves.

I pace in front of the seating area where my parents wait, taking five steps in one direction before pivoting and retracing my path.

Mom watches with the patient-ish resignation of someone who’s witnessed this particular habit for twenty-seven years.

My father’s attention is divided between the legal pad on his lap, where he’s been scribbling notes about God knows what.

Maybe story ideas before they leave his head and dissipate into the abyss of reality.

“Sora, you’re going to wear a track in the floor,” Mom finally says, patting the empty seat beside her. “Come sit. Your pacing won’t make time move faster.”

“I can’t help it,” I reply, but I do stop, turning instead to stare at the elevator bank as if I could will the doors to open and reveal Forrest with good news. “It’s been over an hour.”

“These things take time,” Dad says without looking up from his notepad. “Legal proceedings are notoriously slow.”

“It’s not a legal proceeding per se,” I explain. “It’s a mediation.” It’s more of a hope-and-pray-Hannah’s-pulled-her-head-out-of-her-ass type deal. But that’s obviously a mouthful, so “mediation” it is.

I resume pacing, ignoring my mother’s grievous sigh.

Taio and Saylor left to find lunch, promising they’d return before everything was over.

Celeste departed shortly after Forrest’s arrival to a meeting she couldn’t miss, but not before pressing a business card into my hand with instructions to call her if we needed anything—“anything at all, darling”—delivered with a wink that suggested her resources were both substantial and discretionary. Daphne had to get back to work.

Now, it’s just my parents and me, waiting.

“I still don’t understand why Hannah would use Forrest’s past against him like this,” my dad says, finally setting his notepad aside. “What exactly did he do that’s so terrible?”

I gnaw the inside of my cheek, searching for words that will explain without revealing too much.

“It’s complicated. Forrest had to take a job that some people might consider…

morally gray. But it was legal,” I add quickly.

Well, mostly. “Just not the kind of thing that looks good in custody proceedings.”

His eyebrows rise. “He wasn’t running drugs or something, was he?”

“No. Of course not.” I cross my arms defensively. “He was helping people. In his own way.”

“Hmm.” Dad taps his pen against his knee. “And now he’s looking for more conventional employment? That’s the issue?”

“That, and his financial situation.” I sigh, pulling at the ends of my hair. “He has a lot of debt from school, and without a steady income right now…”

“It makes him look unstable,” my father finishes for me. “At least in the eyes of a family court.”

“Exactly.” I sink into the chair beside my mom, suddenly exhausted. “It’s been nearly three weeks since he’s seen Dakota, Dad. It’s killing him. She’s everything to him.”

Mom squeezes my hand. “He sounds like a good father.”

“The best,” I confirm. “He’s always put her first, even when it meant making sacrifices. Even when it meant…” He’d resented it, but stayed in the profession to provide for his daughter . But my mouth clamps over the words. How can I say anything that won’t beg more questions?

A thoughtful expression crosses my dad’s face. He stands abruptly, gathering his notepad and pen.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Upstairs,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “To the mediation.”