The Other Woman |Charlie Barber x Reader|

~Old & New Wounds~

TW--blood, potential TW, descriptions of wounds

"Sweetheart! Want to help me set the table?"

"Do I have to?"

"Just come in here and grab a plate."

"I'm playing."

Charlie yanks down the towel slung over his shoulder, trying his best not to let his irritation show today. Of course Henry was being extra difficult; why wouldn't he be, with all of this pressure on the line? Today of all days. Refusing to set the table, being picky about dinner, saying all the wrong things to the woman.

Nancy, her name was. A shy, odd little thing who spoke so softly that it was hard to hear sometimes. She liked to contradict him a lot, Charlie had learned, always using the same argument he had gotten tired of listening to. 'The space' in LA was better, bigger. Fuck the space. He couldn't walk anywhere, couldn't help but sweat from every crevice, and couldn't find somewhere closer than this crappy apartment.

The courts had sent her to watch over them. Something about helping to decide custody. Legal reasons Charlie could barely understand. He had driven all over the place with Henry before he'd even told you about the divorce. You, the one person he craved to see most of all. But despite you, he'd found his lawyers. His own ruthless sharks to prey and tear and kill for him. It started with an asshole who overcharged for everything and only spoke in legal jargon. Then he found Bert. Bert was a breath of fresh air--as fresh as lawyers could be anyways--but he lacked initiative sometimes.

Of course Nicole had already swooped up the most vicious lawyer she could find. Nora was her lawyer's name. A flirty woman that hid her audacity well. She had that conniving blood-lust and startling intellect. A dedication to ruining people's lives, Charlie liked to think. At least Nancy fucking Katz wasn't that infuriating.

Heat billows out of the oven as Charlie reaches for his homemade casserole-type creation called 'Special Meal'. Surely Nancy would be impressed with his cooking skills. His dedication to Henry and the time he put into being a supportive father.

"Henry?" He calls out, hiding his frustration with a warning tone.

"Okay," the young boy mumbles, huffing as he drags himself from his messy room. "Fine."

Charlie glances up from the hot dish as Henry approaches the counter. "Why are you being like this?"

Henry squints. "What?"

"If I ask you to help out, help out." He reaches for the bread, sliding it into the heated oven to warm it back up. Displeasure blooms in his chest when he sees Henry making a face at the food sitting in the ceramic white and blue platter.

"What is this?" He speaks with something in his tone that isn't quite disgust, but he isn't pleased by it either.

"Special Meal." Charlie replies pointedly. His son should have known this by now and he was in no mood for an ingredients lecture.

Henry peers at the food, frowning slightly. "What are the green things? There aren't green things in Special Meal."

"It's just a garnish."

"Ugh." His nose wrinkles.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Charlie counters, "I'll take it off."

"I don't wanna eat anything it touched." Henry says flatly as he carries a small stack of plates to the table.

Charlie cuts into the dish with a knife, brows furrowing together. "It doesn't change the taste of anything."