Chapter 9 Biological Crimes

Chapter 9 Biological Crimes
The afternoon sun stabbed through the windshield as we pulled up to the back gate of the school, where parents clustered like a chaotic little reunion. A few moms tried to stay elegant while yelling their kids’ names like opera singers on espresso.
A couple of dads looked seconds away from swearing at their popped shirt buttons.
Zade parked like he owned the street. Honestly, he probably did. One hand rested lazily on the wheel, his black watch catching the light. He glanced toward the playground like a bored predator scanning for movement.
I cracked open the car door. Washington’s cold wind slapped me in the face like a passive-aggressive aunt. But I was too busy squinting at the playground.
And there she was.
My daughter.
And what was she doing?
Chasing a boy around with a giant worm like it was Thor’s hammer.
“Zoey...” I shut my eyes and exhaled slowly. “Please tell me that thing’s not alive.”
Zade chuckled next to me, low and amused, like he was watching live stand-up. “It’s alive. She picked a good one.”
“Go get your child before she gets expelled and turned into a cautionary tale.”
He stepped out, adjusting his coat that was way too expensive for worm duty, then strolled down the path like a man who had all the time in the world, even as his kid was actively violating ten playground commandments.
I crossed my arms. Watched.
Zoey spotted him. Her blue eyes widened. Then she shrieked. “DADDYYYYYY! Look, I got a WORRRRMMM!”
Oh, for the love of—
Zade, the same man who could take down a New York CEO with a single stare, bent down on one knee and opened his arms like she was the freakin’ World Cup. And yep, Zoey ran at him full speed, proudly holding up the worm like it was her sacrifice to the gods.
“Nice work, sweetheart,” Zade said, no disgust, no normal human reaction whatsoever. “Where’d you find him?”
“In the dirt. I digged. With ice cream spoon. Ms. Carla got mad.”
Zade nodded thoughtfully, like that was a reasonable answer. “She doesn’t understand scientific value.”
I walked over, keeping my face blank. “You know, the only thing more unhinged than my daughter is the man encouraging her biological crimes.”
Zoey looked at me, still holding the worm. “Mommy... are you scared?”
“I’m not scared. I’m grossed out. Big difference.”
She grinned wide, then, because she’s my daughter, pointed the worm at me.
“Don’t you dare, Zoey.”
“JUST LOOK—”
Zade caught her wrist gently. “She already said no. Let’s take your little buddy back home, yeah?”
Zoey stared at him. “Can I kiss him first?”
I almost dry-heaved.
Zade stayed calm. “One kiss. Then we feed him some leaves and tuck him in.”
With the kind of dedication usually reserved for national ceremonies, Zoey kissed the worm—sweet Lord—and Zade, the same man who once tanked a rival cartel’s stock in under two hours, helped her dig a tiny hole and gently return the creature to the dirt.
I stood two steps away. “This child needs a spiritual cleanse.”
Zade rose, brushed off his hands, then scooped her into his arms. “You said you wanted her to be free, Bee.”
“Not this free.”
Zoey rested her cheek on his shoulder, all smug and satisfied, little dirt-covered hands still sticky.
I opened the car door, shaking my head. “No, seriously. We need detox. For her. And you.”
Zade raised an eyebrow. “What we need is pizza and cartoons.”
“And antibacterial wipes.”
We climbed back into the car. Zoey settled into the back seat, finally tired. Her eyes drooped, one hand clutching a pony doll that definitely hadn’t been there this morning. Zade started the engine, and I looked sideways at him.
He was still the same man. But he wasn’t.
And maybe... neither was I.
//
Zoey fell asleep five minutes before we got home. In the back seat, she slumped like a lazy donut, legs sprawled out, one shoe missing. Her My Little Pony doll lay on her lap like a war veteran.
I unbuckled, twisted around, and scooped the tiny human into my arms. She wasn’t heavy, but the scent of dirt and preschool sweat could kill the will to live. Mine included.
“Grab all your packages,” I muttered to Zade before he could open his door.
He turned, one brow lifted. “You sure you know which ones are mine?”
I stared him down. “If you ordered a limited-edition glitter unicorn slime and a T-shirt that says ‘I love my hot wife,’ I’ll believe one of them is yours.”
Zade chuckled and climbed out first, heading toward the security post by the front gate. There was a pile of boxes waiting. Three stamped with a toy store logo. Two from a kid’s boutique that charged college tuition for toddler pants. And one big, suspicious, with my full name handwritten on the label.
Yup. That one’s mine. Classy, I know.
I went inside first. The front door slid open automatically, and the cool air hit like a five-star hotel concierge.
The kitchen sat just off the foyer. Sleek. White. Too clean for a household that involved a worm-obsessed kindergartener. Zoey stirred in my arms, squirming like a lazy pancake. I set her down on one of the counter stools and rolled up my sleeves.
“No complaints. Your hands are full of bacteria, and I’m not letting you eat with the scent of death dirt on them,” I whispered.
She yawned wide. “Mommy… I’m sleepy. I’m also hungry. Why can’t you make my hands clean and my belly full at the same time?”
I looked at her smudgy little face. “Because I’m not a magician.”
She stretched her arms toward the sink. I turned on the warm water and soaped her hands gently, even though she groaned like I was pouring lava on them.
“I saw another big caterpillar,” she mumbled, eyes half-shut. “It was under Rania’s chair. But I didn’t tell anyone or they’d catch it.”
“Zoey… you can’t be the underground wildlife protector.”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Caterpillars need homes too.”
I was about to argue that it wasn’t our problem when the sound of the door opening made me glance up.
Zade walked in, two boxes in each hand and one balanced on his shoulder. Of course, he still looked like he’d stepped out of a high-end crime boss magazine. His jacket was unzipped, black tee clinging to his chest and arms like sin wrapped in cotton.
“Bee, are all of these legal?” he asked, dropping the packages on the kitchen floor with a soft thud. “Because I feel like I just smuggled biological weapons.”
“I only ordered one thing.” I pointed at Zoey. “The rest is hers.”
Zade raised an eyebrow at our daughter, who was now slumped over the counter, face planted on the marble like a passed-out gremlin.
“Zoey,” he called out, voice low and calm. “You need to change before you eat.”
Zoey lifted her head like a tiny zombie. “But my clothes are cozy…”
“You smell like wet grass.”
“I like grass smell…” she muttered, then dropped her head again.
Zade walked over and lifted her into his arms. I almost laughed watching our daughter melt against him like a lazy cat, while the man who could dismantle a national security system with a finger tap was now cuddling a dirt-covered goblin like it was his full-time job.
“Say goodbye to all the worms and germs living in that shirt,” I whispered as they passed.
“I will. I’ll invite them to lunch,” Zoey mumbled, voice sleepy and thick.
Zade disappeared toward the stairs, Zoey flopped over his shoulder like a sack of wiggly potatoes. I opened one of the boxes—a singing, light-up dragon unicorn plush. Great. That thing would destroy my brain before dinner.
But... yeah. This was life now.
And weirdly, I didn’t mind it.