Page 79 of The Pact
“I’ll be heading back to New Jersey with the kids in a few days. I’d like to get them into school and back into a normal routine, as much as that’s possible,” he says.
“Right, I understand,” she says, opening the file. “I do need to inform you that the Harts have decided to contest the guardianship.”
“What?” Saint snaps.
“Honestly, I was a bit surprised myself.” She folds her hands on top of the file. “So, that will change the timeline in whichthe guardianship will be processed. In a non-contested case, we could get this done likely in thirty to ninety days. But with this development, we’re looking at four to six months. Possibly longer.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, coldly.
She nods. “They have concerns,” the lawyer continues, “regarding your lifestyle, availability, and reliability due to your career as a professional athlete.”
Saint goes rigid beside me and releases my hand.
“Concerns?” he repeats.
“I’m sorry,” she starts.
“I don’t give a shit what they believe,” he cuts in, voice rising. “Savannah and Chris named me as guardian. Surely, they would want to honor their wishes.”
“Yes,” the lawyer says calmly. “And that carries a lot of weight, including your financial ability to care for the children.”
“Theyknowwhat Savannah and Chris wanted,” he snaps, and his hand clench into fists.
The lawyer doesn’t answer right away. I’m sure she’s been through this many times before, so she knows when to react.
“I just don’t understand why they would do this. They know how much I love the kids,” he says, quieter but no less intense.
“Well,” she begins.
“Fine,” he says abruptly. “Then I’ll just retire. I’m not putting the kids through this uncertainty.”
My head whips so hard I hear a crack in my neck.
“Saint,” I start.
He doesn’t look at me. “I’ll retire, then the problem is solved.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say gently.
He looks at me—frustration, anger, desperation, all right there on his face.
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t just about your job,” I say. “It’s about stability and long-term planning. And retiring doesn’t automatically fix that.”
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Pres, the last thing on my mind right now is football,” he glares at me.
“I know, but the court will still have to hear their concerns,” I say softly.
He just stares at me because he knows I’m right. And in any other normal circumstance, he would see that clearly, but this isn’t normal. Emotions are way too high.
Saint leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“File the paperwork with the court,” he tells her.
The decision lands hard.
