Page 49

49

Piper

Jake and I pick the most un-Ice location imaginable for this meeting: a quiet, neutral attorney’s conference room in Cedar Creek—four beige walls, wobbly watercooler, zero horse decor. The space smells like copier toner and old coffee.

Marnie arrives first—punctual to the second, navy-blue blazer crisp, hair smoothed into a glossy auburn wave. She offers a short nod when we enter. No hug, no handshake. But also no lawyer flanking her this time, and that’s something.

Jake squeezes my hand under the table. His shoulders look broader than usual, tension wired through every muscle. He’s prepped a whole folder of visitation schedules and school-drop charts, but the second we sit, Marnie slides an envelope across to him.

“I filed the withdrawal,” she says, voice even. “The petition is off the docket. No custody fight.”

Jake exhales a breath I don’t think he realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

She keeps her gaze trained on him. “I needed to hear you say you understood why I considered it.”

Jake nods. “I do. You thought Violet was replacing you.”

All of a sudden there was a new woman in her life, one that might… Yeah, replace me.” Her glance flicks briefly to me. “I panicked.”

I swallow. “I get that. You’re her mother. No one can replace you.”

Marnie’s lacquered nails tap once on the folder. “Seeing you with her this week helped. At the party you made sure she ran to me first, not you. That mattered.”

Jake turns to me, surprise softening the hard line of his mouth. I shrug. “Kid needed her mom.”

Marnie’s expression shifts— something between gratitude and reluctant respect. “I’m never giving up my role,” she says. “But I can see you’re not trying to erase me.”

“Not a chance,” I answer, steady. “Violet doesn’t need fewer people loving her. She needs more.”

That lands. Marnie sits back, exhales slowly, as if setting down a weight. “All right then. Let’s draw the map.”

We spend an hour hashing out details. Jake wants Violet’s school weeks stable at the ranch—there’s daycare on-site, the junior hockey program, Annie’s constant presence. Marnie wants two weekends a month plus alternating holidays. She also asks for flexibility during her gallery season in Milwaukee: sometimes a Wednesday-Thursday fling instead of a straight Friday-Sunday.

Jake agrees, provided Violet’s bedtime remains 8 p.m. and they FaceTime anytime she asks. I write notes like a stenographer, making columns labeled Non-negotiable and We-can-wiggle .

Money comes up. Jake offers to cover preschool tuition entirely; Marnie counters that she’ll handle new skates, ballet classes, and any art supplies Violet demolishes. I propose a shared Google calendar to avoid double-booking. No one objects. Progress.

Finally Marnie closes her planner. “One last point: I need to know what to call you in front of Violet.” Her eyes meet mine—direct, not hostile. “You’re not her mother. But you’re… clearly something.”

My throat tightens. Jake opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. “How about ‘Piper’? Titles complicate things. Let her choose in time.”

Marnie considers, then nods. “Fair.” She hesitates, voice softening. “Whatever you are, you matter to her. I can see that.”

Something warm blooms in my chest. “Thanks.”

Jake’s hand finds my knee under the table, squeezes once.

We all stand. Marnie smooths invisible wrinkles from her blazer. “Violet’s with Annie now?”

Jake nods.

“I’d like to say goodbye before I drive back.”

“Of course.” He offers a half-smile that’s more tired than angry. “You’re welcome anytime—as long as you text Annie first so she hides the goat feed. Violet’s determined to teach that goat to fetch.”

For the first time, Marnie laughs. It’s quiet, but real. “Text first. Got it.”

We walk out together. No attorney, no bailiff, no judge. Three adults deciding to grow up for a kid who deserves the moon.

And weirdly? It feels like winning.

Outside, we trail Marnie to her Tesla. She buckles in, taps the steering wheel, then surprises us by rolling the window back down.

“Jake?” She licks her lips, hesitating. “You were right about the ranch being her anchor. I should have seen that sooner.”

Jake nods, jaw working. “We’re all learning.”

Marnie shifts to me. “Don’t break her heart.”

“I won’t,” I promise. She nods once, satisfied, then pulls away in a silent whisper of electric wheels.

Jake blows out a shaky breath. “That went… not terrible.”

“I’ll take not terrible.” I bump his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Getting there.” He rests both palms on the truck roof, head bowed. “I kept picturing a judge banging a gavel, taking her away. Hearing Marnie drop the petition felt like my lungs started working again.”

I lean against the door, watching him. “She saw how good you are with Violet. She also saw we’re not a threat.”

Jake’s eyes flick to mine. There’s gratitude, but also something darker—remorse or lingering hurt. Rome isn’t forgiven in a day. Still, he cups my cheek, brushing his thumb under my eye. “Thanks for how you handled that.”

“Happy to help keep goats from learning fetch,” I joke, and he finally lets out a full laugh.

***

Back at the ranch house, Annie corrals Violet into a post-nap snack while Jake fields a call from his lawyer—just confirming paperwork. I wander to the barn for air and stumble upon Sadie and Nash by the tack wall. Sadie’s wiping down a bridle; Nash is leaning on a stall gate, casual but attentive.

“…Mom thinks Piper’s trash,” Sadie mutters, not seeing me yet. “Said it again this morning—‘Soak up that girl’s bad choices and see where it gets you.’”

I freeze, half-hidden behind a support beam.

Nash rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s rough, Sadie. You gonna let her talk about your friend that way?”

Sadie snorts. “Friend’s a stretch. But… she’s trying. And she owns her crap, which is more than I can say for Evelyn Ice-Grant.” Her voice trembles on the name.

Nash’s stance shifts—protective. “You’re not your mom. Remember that.”

Sadie wipes her eye with the back of a leather-gloved hand. “I pushed this mess, you know. The dare, the lies. Piper still forgave me. Mom doesn’t forgive anybody.”

“Then maybe mom’s the one who’s wrong.” Nash’s voice is quiet thunder. He reaches out, squeezes Sadie’s shoulder. She doesn’t shrug him off. Their eyes lock just a beat too long.

I step forward, pretending I just arrived. “Hey, need help with those reins?”

Nash is Jake’s old college teammate—a handsome right wing with a crooked grin and a wrist shot like a rocket. They both played for the Badgers back at UW–Madison, which is maybe an hour from Cedar Creek.

It’s a top-tier program, big exposure for NHL and AHL scouts. Last I heard, Nash is eyeing the Milwaukee Admirals. He’s stayed close—both in proximity and in loyalty.

Sadie startles, blushes, but manages a small smile. “All good. Just, uh, swapping bits.”

Nash winks—a silent I’ve got her —and heads toward the hay loft. Sadie clears her throat. “Everything okay with Marnie?”

“Better than expected,” I say. “Thanks for… whatever pep talk you gave her at the party.”

Sadie’s cheeks redden deeper. “I just told her Violet looks happier than I’ve ever seen. Truth sells itself.”

“Still, it mattered.” I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “And so do you.”

Her eyes go glassy, but she nods. “Don’t tell anyone I have feelings. Ruins my brand.”

I mime zipping my lips.

*

The sun dips low, washing the ranch in gold. I find Jake on the porch swing, fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the armrest. I slide beside him. The wood creaks; the air smells of hay and distant mesquite smoke.

He hands me a lemonade bottle, condensation cool against my palms. “Lawyer’s happy,” he says. “No more court dates.”

Relief warms me. “Good. Violet stays grounded.”

“And her mom can visit without a court clerk supervising.” He smiles crookedly. “Feels like breathing after a long dive.”

We sip in companionable silence. Crickets start their evening chorus. Somewhere a calf bawls for its dam.

Jake sets his bottle down. “I keep replaying how you stepped back today. Let Marnie take the lead. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t hard,” I admit. “Because I knew I’d still be in Violet’s life. I don’t need center stage to love her.”

He studies me, eyes softening. “That’s… huge, Pipes.”

I shrug, cheeks warm. “I’m learning to pick my moments.”

Jake reaches across, laces our fingers. “You’re something important,” he echoes Marnie’s earlier words, but with a rough sincerity that makes my chest squeeze. “To her, and to me.”

I tighten my grip. “Right back at you, cowboy.”

He leans over, brushing his lips to my knuckles. “So we keep showing up. Every day. No lies, no spin.”

“Deal.” I grin. “And maybe less goat-fetch training.”

“No promises.” He chuckles, then sobers. “I’m still working through everything. But today? Today felt like a next step.”

“Then let’s take it together.”

He pulls me closer, the porch swing swaying gently beneath us, and for the first time since the storm hit, the horizon looks clear.