I clear my throat. “Yes, Bryce. I’m listening,” I say with a sigh, keeping it simple, as I refuse to engage any further with this man. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” he roars.
In the background, I can hear his girlfriend, Misty, or Missy, or … who the fuck knows, winding him up. She’s really not helping the situation at all, almost like she knows exactly what to say to make matters worse. Bitch. I can’t believe my babies have to spend time with her.
“Calm down. It was an accident. She was playing out front while I was making lunch, and she got her head stuck. I only called the Fire Department because I had nobody else to help me, and I wasn’t strong enough to pull the bars apart.” I don’t bother mentioning that they had to use a grinder to cut her out of there. There’s no use in throwing fuel on the fire.
But Ryan wouldn’t be Ryan if she didn’t feel the need to share all her truths on the events of her day. I love her, I love her, I love her, I love her. I remind myself over and over again.
“It’s okay, Dadda. They cut me out. It was okay. I wasn’t hurt. They said I was so brave.” She’s clearly trying to make the situation better by explaining to the idiot what happened, but she doesn’t even get to finish what she’s saying before he’s blowing up again.
“You’re so full of shit, Amelia. Don’t you dare lie to me.” I can’t believe how irate he’s being right now. There’s no talking sense into him. “You do not deserve those children.”
Those children? He’s a fucking asshole.
“That’s it. I’m taking those damn kids from you. You can’t fucking take care of them anyway. Do you wanna know what I think, Amelia?” I hate the way he says my name. I don’t even answer him, there’s no use, especially when Bryce is on a roll. “Missy is a better mother to those kids than you'll ever be. This has never happened while I’m watching those brats. They know better than to behave like that when they’re with me because they wouldn’t sit down for a week. They behave like little shits when they’re with you because you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
That fucking bastard. How dare he? Bryce has the girls for twenty-four hours every second Saturday. He’s got no fucking idea what it means to parent two children.
Ryan’s tears stream down her face, and Zoey gets up to take her to her room or at least far enough away so that she doesn’t hear the vile words her father is screaming down the line.
“Listen, Bryce,” I try to channel my inner zen, but I’m not going to lie, there may be a little bitch in my tone. “I don’t need to sit here and listen to this. Ryan wanted to call you to tell you about her day. I won’t even touch on the fact that not once in that conversation did you ask her if she was okay. But no matter, I didn’t have to let her call you right now, but she wanted to speak to you, so here we are. What you don’t get to do is talk to me like this,” I continue, “And you most certainly don’t get to threaten to take my children away from me. You lost your right to our children the day you walked away. You’re damn lucky I allow you to get the time with them that you do.
“So, on that note,” I say, not allowing him a chance to cut me off. “I’m hanging up, seeing as though you’d rather tear me to pieces than check on the well-being of your daughter since you still haven’t asked if she is okay. We won’t be discussing this again, Bryce. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
I go to end the call when I think better of it. “Oh, and you know what, Bryce?” I continue on, not letting him get a word in. “If you can’t be there when I drop off the girls from now on, you need to let me know beforehand because I will not be leaving them with trash like Misty.”
I hear the screeching sound of a wild beast in the background and almost burst out laughing. “It’s Missy, bitch. Are you really that dense, you fat, ugly slut? You only wished you had all of this.” Gag. She’s got to be kidding me right now. She follows up her tantrum with a winner. “Bryce, don’t you let her talk to me like that. What are you going to do about it?”
Zoey walks back into the room, and I use my thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun to indicate shooting myself in the head as a rundown of what’s happened since she left. She smiles at my reaction.