Page 17 of Under Water

“Gross,” Elio says, pushing himself up a bit. His eyes narrow in a glare. “Can you shut up?”

“Oh, listen here, little man,” Neal begins.

That’s all I really need to snap out of it. Rising from my chair, I grip the railing on Elio’s bed and take a single step forward. In my periphery, I see Easton’s taken a kind of defensive stance, and while it might have been laughable anywhere else, I appreciate it right now.

He’s bigger than me, and in spite of his overly pleasant face, I know he can be a vicious dickhead when he needs to be.

“You need to leave,” I tell him.

Neal throws his head back and laughs. “You have got to be kidding me⁠—”

“I will have you thrown out.”

Any mirth left in Neal’s face drains, and he curls his hands into fists. I know that stance. It’s the one that tells me he’s going to find a way to make my life miserable until he’s satisfied I’ve been punished enough.

And that will take weeks.

“I dare you. You don’t have the fucking balls⁠—”

“He does,” Easton says, his voice slow and threatening, “and so do I. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are⁠—”

“His husband,” Neal says, pointing a finger at me.

My entire soul slips to my feet as Easton’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Sorry, let me rephrase. I don’t care who you are. You’re not going to come in here and cause a scene and throw around language like that in a pediatric emergency department. Do you understand me?”

When Neal says nothing, Easton takes three steps closer, and it does something to me to see Neal take three steps back.

If I had it in me, I would laugh in his face.

Each of us takes a few breaths, and then Neal’s arms relax at his sides, and he shrugs, turning his attention back to me. “You and I are not done.”

“Fuck off,” Elio says from his bed.

Neal’s eyes whip over to Elio, but Easton takes another step toward him and breaks his gaze. Clearing his throat, Neal puts up both hands and backs all the way out into the corridor. “See you later.”

And like some kind of chaos demon, he served his purpose and disturbed the quiet, fragile peace that had settled over the room, and then he’s gone.

Easton sucks in a breath, but I shake my head and move past the curtain, and I hear the squeak of a chair as he takes a seat. I fix the sad little fabric shield between my son and the rest of the ER, then make my way over to the nurses’ station, where a tired-looking woman is sipping on a very large coffee.

“Oh. Mr. Taylor. Did you need something?” she asks.

“There was a man who was just let in here,” I tell her. “Neal Beckett?”

“Yes. Elio’s father⁠—”

“He’s not,” I snap, my voice cracking. I hold up a hand in apology as I clear my throat. “Sorry. But he’s not Elio’s other dad. He’s my soon-to-be ex-husband, and he’s not related to my child at all.”

She looks like she wants to argue with me. It’s happened before. Some bullshit about stepparent rights or something. But Neal has never interacted with Elio long enough for him to claim jack shit over my son.

“I would prefer if we could make sure he doesn’t get access to Elio. He doesn’t have any rights, and we’re in the middle of a divorce.”

The nurse gives me a flat look, then nods. “I’ll make a note.”

I don’t believe her, but it is what it is. I’m still waiting on Elio’s lung scans so we can find out if they want to put him on IV antibiotics to head off what will inevitably be pneumonia.

He gets it all the time. The last time was from inhaling too much water at the pool, so a near drowning, well…

“Dad? Can we go home?”