Free The Good Father by Tara Taylor Quinn Page B

way?” he asked now, justifying the duplicity implicit in asking a question to which he knew the answer with the idea that all he wanted was to help Jeff.
    Jeff took a shot. And then another. He sank four balls in a row, leaving only Brett’s striped balls on the table, and motioned to a side pocket as his call for the eight ball.
    He sank that, too. Leaned his pool cue against the table, pulled the rack off its hook on the wall, reached under the table for the balls and began placing them inside.
    When the fully racked balls were ready for Jeff to break for the next game, he faced Brett.
    “I don’t know where she is.”
    Brett could not doubt the sincerity of the response.
    And knew an odd second of relief that Ella’s secret was safe.
    Because he was still protective of his ex-wife? And because the secret meant a lot to her?
    Ella—and her secrets—were no longer in his control, or of his concern.
    “She just up and left and didn’t tell you where she was going?”
    “Yes.” Jeff, at six-two and two hundred pounds was a big man, but lean. Almost to the point of skinny. With his sandy-blond hair and freckles, his glasses, he looked like the stereotypical guy next door.
    “What about her mother? Isn’t Chloe’s mother in Florida?”
    “Yes, and Chloe said she isn’t there and begged me not to call her mother and get her all upset. I’ve agreed not to look for her, and in exchange, she’s agreed to answer her cell phone each and every time I call. Or, at the very least, call me right back. I need to know that she’s safe.”
    Ella hadn’t told him that Chloe and Jeff were in constant contact. Brett was glad to hear it.
    “She hasn’t told her mother she left you?”
    “Nope.” Pulling back, Jeff shoved his cue stick forward, making perfect contact with the cue ball, slamming it into the freshly racked triangle of balls, spreading them all over the table. Two fell. A solid and a stripe.
    “I’ll take the stripes,” Jeff said, proceeding to sink another three balls.
    Brett studied the solids. He was likely only going to get one shot at the game. Not that he cared about the fifty dollars balanced there to taunt them, but because he was a guy, and guys didn’t like to lose. Not even to good friends.
    Jeff missed a nearly impossible shot. Reached for his beer.
    “I’d say it’s a good sign, then.” Brett stood, watching Jeff rather than the pool balls. “If she was looking to do anything permanent, she’d let people know.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    Jeff’s expression relaxed.
    And Brett cleared the table.
    * * *
    C HLOE WAS DUSTING the living room when Ella let herself into the apartment. Cody sat on the floor with a line of little cars around him, watching Nick Jr. reruns.
    “El! El!” The little boy jumped up when he heard her, running over to hug her knees and then to grab her finger. “Sit,” he said, pointing to his cars.
    “In a minute, buddy,” she told him. “Auntie El needs to get out of her work clothes, ’kay?”
    He was already staring at the television again as he nodded his little blond head. The boy’s constant need for technical stimulation bothered her, but raising Cody wasn’t her business. Loving him was.
    Chloe asked how her day was.
    And didn’t meet her gaze.
    Motioning down the hall, Ella headed back to her bedroom and waited for Chloe to follow her.
    “Did you go to the Stand?” she asked.
    Chloe nodded. And started to dust her dresser. Ella did her cleaning on her days off. Which started tomorrow. “Cody cried when I told him it was time to go. He didn’t want to leave.”
    “But you didn’t like it?” she asked, pulling her stained scrub top over her head and tossing it in the hamper in her en-suite bathroom.
    Swinging around, Chloe met her gaze. “I loved it, El,” she said. But the moisture in her eyes didn’t seem to carry the same message. The woman turned back to the furniture.
    “But?”
    “No but. I have so many ideas, and Lila gave