“I got a surprise visitor at the shop today,” I told him and didn’t make him wait. “Dade came by.”

“Shit,” he clipped.

“No,” I said quickly, turned over some papers, and went mute at seeing a photo of Olivia doing it doggie style with a very muscled young man at least twenty years her junior. I also noted that repeated commentary from Brock was proved irrevocably correct through photo evidence. She was beautiful but she was bony.

Ick.

“Tess?” Brock called, his voice terse.

I slapped the folder closed and grunted, “Ugh.”

“Babe, what the fuck?”

“Um… wait a sec while my retinas recover from being seared.”

“Tess,” he growled.

Crap. Time to pull it together.

“Honey, Dade just gave me copies of his private investigator’s reports and photos as well as a sworn affidavit as to Olivia’s behavior after their marriage as it pertains to the boys. He’s going to be contacting your attorneys to tell them he will stand as a witness to her unsuitability to parent. And, if what I just saw does not set her attorneys scrambling to give you everything you want, he’s going to talk to some of his buds who ‘wear robes and command gavels,’ his words, to see that this nightmare is sorted out sooner not later.”

Brock was silent.

Then he asked, “What did you just see?”

“Let’s just say what I saw means you aren’t getting one of your favorite positions for a long time because it might take eternity for the image of her getting boinked, by what appeared to be her boy toy, to heal, considering it’s burned like acid on my brain.”

More silence then, “No shit?”

“Would I shit about that?” I asked and then I answered before he could. “No.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, sounding shocked but also pleased.

I sucked in a breath.

Then I told him softly, “He cares a great deal about Joey and Rex.”

A pause, and then, “Yeah. The boys think he’s the shit too.”

This was good.

“Do you want me to bring these to you at the station or do you want me to drop them by your attorney’s office?” I offered.

“You got the time, take them to Smith. If you don’t, I’ll try to get away and take them myself.”

“I’ll carve out the time.”

Another pause, then, “Thanks, sweetness.”

“My pleasure,” I said with feeling, then asked, “Do you drink champagne?”

“If I have to,” he answered and I started laughing.

Through my laughter I told him, “Well, tonight, you have to. We have things to celebrate, baby.”

“Fuckin’ finally.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Then he commenced in rocking my world.