Egomaniac

It had been the longest three weeks of my life.

The bailiff called the court into session. Judge Walliford took his sweet-ass time—I’m sure he’d call it proper southern time—to walk to the bench. Then he sat and rifled through a bunch of papers. Roman sat in the first row of the gallery right behind me, and he leaned forward to squeeze my shoulder for reassurance as I waited to find out how much my visitation was going to take a hit. I knew it was coming. I just had no idea how bad it would be.

The last time I was this nervous, this on edge about what was going to happen to the rest of my life, was the day I married Alexa. And we know how that fucking turned out. I looked over at my for-once-conservatively-dressed ex-wife. She, of course, stared straight ahead, not returning my stare. That woman was a piece of work.

Finally, Walliford finished shuffling papers around and cleared his throat before diving into a bunch of formalities for the record. “Docket numb-ah 179920-16. Jagger vs. Jagger. Petition for reduction in custody. Cross motion to compel relocation and enforce the previous signed custody agreement.”

Then he finally looked up. “Be-fo-wah I git started with my decisions, I’d like to take a moment to say that this was not an easy case. I had to consider the rights of both parties present in this courtroom, the rights of a biological father who was robbed of years of bonding with his son, as well as what is in the best interest of the boy.”

He looked straight at Alexa. “Ms. Jagger, I hold you largely accountable for the mess we have here today. If you had one inkling of a doubt that your husband might not be the boy’s father, you had a duty to get to the truth when that blessed child was born.”

For the first time, I felt a sudden pang of hope. Walliford had never shown his hand, and I’d assumed he’d fallen for the southern charm Alexa had been laying on thick since day one. What came out of his mouth next shocked the shit out of me even more.

“Mr. Jagger, I’d like to commend you on your devotion to young Beckett. It’s clear that you love and care for the child no differently than if things had turned out differently with the results of the paternity test some years ago.”

Inwardly, I jumped into the air and fist pumped, but somehow I managed to feign humility.

“Thank you, your honor. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Right. Well, that being said, let’s get to the business at hand today. On Ms. Jagger’s petition for a change in custody, I find no circumstances that warrant a modification. The order setting the visitation of Andrew M. Jagger is hereby affirmed without change.”

He looked at Alexa. “Ms. Jagger, the fact that your petition to increase custody was in order to allow Mr. Bodine to start to have visitation with your son is a step in the right direction. However, it has not gone unnoticed that Mr. Bodine has not once made an appearance during these proceedings. To be quite frank, his lack of interest and participation makes me question his priorities and interest in his son’s life. Regardless, he is the boy’s father, and I’m going to grant Mr. Bodine some visitation. However, this time will come out of your time with your son, not Mr. Jagger’s time. This court hereby grants Levi Bodine’s petition for custody in the amount of eight hours per week. After a relationship is established, and Mr. Bodine has proven to this court his desire to be involved in his son’s life, I’ll consider additional visitation. However, this likely will also come from your time, Ms. Jagger.”

I stood before the court utterly dumbfounded. Mentally, I was busting through the yellow tape at the finish line with my hands held high as I finished the almost-four-week-long marathon I’d been running. I just couldn’t believe I’d won.

Behind me, Roman let out a triumphant yes, and I stood there stunned, feeling like it was a dream and any second I was going to wake up to have the nightmare of reality hit me.

Then Judge Walliford finished. “Lastly, on Mr. Jagger’s cross motion to compel Alexa and Beckett Jagger’s relocation to their home in New York City, that motion is denied.”

Wait. What? “Your honor, if I am retaining my visitation, how can you deny my motion for my son’s return home?”

“Isn’t that obvious, Mr. Jagger? Your son is going to be here in the great state of Georgia. You might want to think about relocating.” He banged his gavel and stood to leave the courtroom.

“This is bullshit! I have a practice in New York. Alexa doesn’t even have a job here.”

Walliford froze mid-step. “That’ll be one thousand dollars for using that language and tone in my courtroom. You don’t like my decision, take it up with the court of appeals.”

I held the bathroom wall to keep myself upright long enough to take a piss, then stumbled from the bathroom back to my barstool. Tie and jacket God knows where, zipper still open, shirt half tucked in and half hanging out—I looked as trashed as I felt.

“I’ll have another on the rocks.” I slid my highball glass toward the bartender. He looked at Roman, then at me. “You gotta ask my father’s permission or something? Just give me the damn drink.”

Did I mention I’m an even bigger dick than usual when I’m drunk?

My cell phone jumped around on top of the bar. Emerie. It was the third time she’d called. Also the third time I didn’t answer.

“Not gonna answer that again?” Roman asked.

I slurred, “Whassssthepoint?”

“How about to let the lady have a good night’s sleep tonight? God knows you’re gonna have one when you pass out by five p.m, you selfish prick.” Roman drew on his beer and set it down on the bar. “She loves you. You’ll work it out.”

“Work what out? It’s over.”

“What are you talking about? Don’t be an asshole. It’s the first woman I’ve ever really seen you fall for. How long we been friends?”

“Too long apparently, if you’re going to start lecturing me.”

“What did I tell you in the back of the church right before you married Alexa?”

In the condition I was in, most of my life was blurry, but that morning was always crystal clear. I’d thought about Roman offering me his keys to split on more than one occasion since. “Car is in the back if you want to bail,” he’d said. When I’d reminded him Alexa was carrying my baby, and I was doing the right thing, he’d said, “Fuck the right thing.”

The bartender brought my drink, and since I was still able to remember a portion of my life I had no desire to recollect, I promptly sucked back half the glass.

Then I turned to look at Roman—well, two Romans. “You never did say I told you so.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Won’t say it if you don’t take my advice and figure shit out with Emerie either. Not much on rubbing bad choices in people’s faces.”

“Sometimes the choice is made for you by circumstance.”

Roman chuckled. “That’s crap, and you know it.” He paused. “Remember Nancy Irvine?”

It took me a minute to reach back into the depths of my alcohol-marinated brain. “Chicken pox girl?”

He tilted his beer in my direction. “That’s the one.”

“What about her?”

“Remember the pact we made never to go for the same girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, after you move to Atlanta and leave Emerie heartbroken because you’re too stupid to try to figure out how to make it work, I’ll be there to comfort her—among other things. Payback’s a bitch.”

“Fuck you.”

“What do you care? She’s just pussy to keep you busy. Not worth your trouble.”

As if on cue, my phone lit up with Emerie’s name, indicating a text had arrived. I grabbed it and my drink from the bar and stood.

Wobbling on my feet, I leaned in to my friend. “Fuck you.”

Then I stormed off to find the hotel elevator.