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“Yep, that’s partially true, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get some kind of severance for time served with that control freak. You raised a good boy, virtually on your own, while Fin swung from every female’s chandelier in the tri-state. Connor knows how you’ve suffered. And I’m not talking about suffering because you can’t slip on a fancy-schmancy designer dress or sit in the back of a chauffeur-driven car. I’m talking about the essentials here, kiddo. Food, shelter, a Goddamn cell phone. I’m seventy, and even I have a cell phone. Connor’s making a stand, and I’m proud of him. He’s sticking by his mama. Makes for a fine man.”
    “Yeah,” Connor agreed, pushing his way through the door and dropping his binder on the chipped Formica table. “I’m a fine man.”
    Mona whacked him playfully with her crocheting book. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, buster. You’re no man yet,” she teased, smiling when Connor leaned in to give her a quick pinch on her wrinkled cheek.
    “So how’s Geezer Village, er, I mean, Leisure Village treating you today, Grams?” Connor chuckled.
    Mona’s smile was warm, her pride in Connor evident. She didn’t let just anyone call the retirement village she lived in “geezer.” “Just fine, buddy. Got somebody back there right now, fixing my leaky pipes. And he ain’t no geezer.”
    Max decided to broach the subject of Fin with kid gloves. “Your dad called, honey.”
    Connor shrugged his broad, ever-widening shoulders deep in the door of her mother’s aging avocado refrigerator. “So? He can dial a phone.”
    Despite what Fin had done to her personally, Maxine made the effort to do the right thing where their son was concerned. Do what all the school psychologists and Divorce for Dummies books preached were healthy for children of marital woe. Keep the slander about the kind of bottom-feeding fuck Finley was to herself. But if Connor had inherited anything from the Henderson lineage, it was stubborn pride. “Don’t be that way, Connor. He’s still your dad, and he loves you.”
    Popping a grape into his mouth, Connor snorted. “Not as much as he loves his money. If he really loved me, he’d stop trying to force me to choose him over you by taking all my stuff away from me. He thinks if he pushes hard enough, I’ll go crying back to him because I miss having a big-screen TV and surround sound in my bedroom. I bet he’ll want my car back soon, too. I’d sell it for the money and use it for us if he didn’t hold the title to it. At the last visitation hearing, the judge said I was old enough to make my own decisions, and I decided I don’t want to see Dad.”
    Such jaded words from such a young kid. Maxine’s heart clenched. Her mother was right. Fin was using his money and all of Connor’s “things” to woo him back home. That Connor hadn’t caved in eight months was a testament to how hard he’d dug his heels in.
    But if she knew how to do anything at all, she knew how to play nice. Christ knew she’d done that for a very long time. “Maybe you could just try, Connor. For your poor, tired, jobless mother. Your dad off my back about visitation would be huge. I get what you’re trying to prove, and it’s noble. I’m about as honored as if I’d been crowned Miss USA, but you have college to think of. Somehow, I get the feeling the pay at the Cluck-Cluck Palace isn’t going to make your collegiate dreams come true.”
    Her biggest fear at this point was that Fin would find some way to weasel out of paying for Connor’s education if their son didn’t bend to his will. The bastard had found every loophole known to man so far to keep her from getting anything he deemed his. He’d also managed to duck paying her much in child support, and the near future wasn’t going to require shades, from what her lawyer told her today. Fin had bloody, chum-loving sharks for attorneys. Whatever he was doling out to them per hour was paying