Squeak

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Erik

The look of pure shock on Jezebel's face was beyond comical. Her full mouth parted, and a tiny squeak eeked out, reminding me of the good ole days.

"I'm sorry...can you run that by me one more time?" I did, and it didn't seem like hearing it a second time made her any more of a believer. "So...let me get this straight. You nor Helen are entitled to any of Jacob's money?"

"Nope."

"Damn...Helen can't even get her pain and suffering money," she whispered. "Wait. You got this information from Adrian, correct?" I nodded. She smacked her lips and threw her hands up in frustration. "How do you know he is telling the truth? I'd tell you anything to spare my life."

I pulled out a folded paper from my back pocket and gave it to her. Her eyes scanned the email several times before she folded it up and tucked it in the pocket of her robe.

I smirked.

She's already made up her mind to help.

"This smells like a setup. Jacob would never be this sloppy."

"That was my initial thought, but despite his evilness, he's human like the rest of us. He made an error before when he underestimated you."

A contemplative look flashed across Jezebel's face until her features translated to anger and then melancholy. For a moment, she reminded me of the Jezebel I remembered the first day of school—somber, hopeless brown eyes and lips turned down in sorrow. But witnessing her sadness didn't excite me the way it did back then. I never wanted her to feel pain or discomfort, especially at my hands.

But that's what I've been doing since I imploded into her life again...

I gripped the back of her neck with one hand and massaged. "Tell me."

She shrugged me off and left the closet. I followed her, and we paused at Izabel's room where Fake Papa, as Izabel so eloquently called him, was animatedly reading her a bedtime story. We watched in silence, not wanting to interrupt, when I felt a peculiar pang in my chest. It didn't take long for me to discover the source of it. It was jealousy.

I was jealous that everyone in my circle seemed to have a deeper connection with Izabel than I did.

I'd been so hellbent on revenge that I neglected crucial bonding time with my daughter. It should be me reading her a bedtime story, not Elliot. And I feared if Izabel was asked to rank her father figures that I'd end up in third place.

"Can you read another story?" Izabel asked, kicking her feet beneath the blanket. Jezebel cleared her throat.

"Your seven minutes is up. It's time for bed," she said.

Izabel grumbled and whined through her yawn. "Who is taking me to school in the morning?"

"I am," I proclaimed, beating Elliot from volunteering.

"May I tag along? I can play that blubbering fool for a few minutes. I can even add you to the parent list," Elliot said, shooting me a playful wink.

"It's not the worst idea. Remove you-know-who from the list while you're there," Jezebel said before kissing Izabel goodnight and leaving the room.

"I'm excited!" Izabel exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah? Why are you excited?" I asked, sitting beside her.

"Because I can show everyone my daddy! They'll be so scared of you that they won't bully me anymore."

"I'm not scary."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"Are too," she argued back.