Brock returned some time later. I straightened my back from the headboard where I was resting while contemplating vacation spots, which graduated to me contemplating getaway options when I took Brock, Joel, and Rex on the run, and I watched him close the door. Then I watched him walk in the room, stop, flip the phone he still held open, and hit some buttons.

He put it to his ear and waited while I bit my lip and braced.

This was a good idea.

Olivia obviously picked up, for Brock growled low, “Even for you, that was low. FYI for future, the bullshit with the phones is done. They can have ’em during the day but the minute they enter this house, they’re turned off and confiscated. You do not enter this house. Ever. Any fuckin’ way you can do it. And warning, Olivia, you can kiss your sons good-bye, which means you can kiss any support you think you can drain outta me good-bye. You don’t get them and you don’t get a dime. You just declared war and mark this, woman, I’ll stop at nothin’ to win. You… are… fucked.”

He closed his phone but stood there staring at it and I knew he did this because he was struggling with the urge to throw it.

“Baby,” I called softly and his head came up.

“Just got finished explainin’ to my twelve-year-old boy that it is highly unlikely that his mother has lived in that house with Dade for over two years and doesn’t realize they have top-notch security. Then I told him, should she be worried about intruders anyway, she should call nine-one-one, as everyone knows to call nine-one-one. They even got dogs trained to dial nine fuckin’ one fuckin one.”

Oh man.

Brock kept talking.

“Then I told him, if she’s freaked, she should go to her husband. If they’re not gettin’ along and she’s freaked and forgets what to do, she should call me direct. What she should not do, under any circumstances, is call a twelve-year-old kid in the middle of the fuckin’ night and scare the shit outta him. And then I had to explain why she called him, which was, essentially, so she could scare the shit outta him and yank my chain. Then my kid started cryin’.”

Yep, totally hated her.

“Honey, come here,” I whispered.

He held my eyes. I watched with despair as his eyes grew conflicted, then he dropped his head and looked at his feet as he lifted a hand and curled his fingers around the back of his neck.

Okay, I was wrong.

Before, I just disliked her intensely.

Now, I totally fucking hated her.

“Brock, baby, come here,” I urged.

His hand dropped and his head came up.

“I did not want this for them,” he whispered and I felt my throat clog.

“Come here,” I repeated huskily.