Page 132 of Velvet Chains

I pulled on a sweatshirt and padded barefoot downstairs. The floor was cold against my skin. My hair was still damp from last night’s shower, and my mouth tasted like fear. Julian stood in my kitchen like he still owned the place, setting a paper cup on the counter and helping Rosie take off her shoes.

“We tried to knock,” Julian said. “You weren’t waking up so I used my code.”

“That’s fine. This is your house.”

“Good thing we installed that keypad lock. I was worried you’d forget to lock the door.”

It was a dig, but I didn’t have the energy for it. And he was right. I’d probably forget to lock the door. Fuck, I’d probably forget to turn off the fucking faucet with the way things were going in my life.

I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it because Rosie ran at me full speed, arms outstretched. “Mami!”

I scooped her up and held her tight, tighter than I probably should have. She smelled like apples and toothpaste and the faintest trace of whatever overpriced shampoo Julian’s girlfriend insisted on using in her hair.

“Hi, mi amor. Did you have fun?”

She nodded against my shoulder, then leaned back to look at me. “We made cookies. I made a star one for you but Daddy ate it.”

“Did not,” he said from the counter, but he was smiling. “She bit off one of the arms and decided it was haunted.”

“So you did eat it?” I asked.

“Yes, but it was a public service,” Julian said.

“It was,” Rosie said solemnly. “You have to eat haunted cookies or they’ll eat you first.”

I laughed, and it felt like a miracle.

Julian handed me the coffee. “Valerie said you’d need it.”

Goddammit. I really liked Valerie. If I told her to stay away from my soon-to-be-ex, would it sound to her like I was jealous? I wasn’t. I just wanted to protect her. Julian was a good dad, but he was a bad partner—always would be.

“Take it,” he said.

I did as I was told. “Thanks.”

He nodded, and for a minute, there was silence. Rosie flopped onto the couch and began pulling stuffed animals out of her overnight bag, lining them up for roll call.

Julian watched me over the rim of his cup. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer.

He tried again. “You looked pale when I pulled up. And you're wearing that old sweater you always wear when you're freaked out.”

“It’s warm,” I said.

“Ruby,” he said gently.

“I had the interview yesterday. With the DOJ.”

Julian went still. “And?”

“And it was awful.”

He didn’t ask what they’d said. I don’t know if that was kindness or cowardice.

“Do I need to be worried?” he asked, low. “About custody?”

“Not yet,” I said.