I pick up Cole’s carrier and resolve to have Jack pick up the playpen later. There’s no way in hell I’ll be coming back here again. I take determined steps to the doorway and pause, sending a dazed look back at him. When I turn around again, I find Chad standing in the doorway with a stunned, angry look on his face.
Just great. As if I needed another complication.
THE DOORBELL STARTLES me, the baby, and one cantankerous old dog where we’re eating on the couch.
Considering the three of us had been up since dawn with one unhappy teething monstrosity, it’s no surprise when Hank nearly somersaults off the cushions, Cole rouses with a scream that could rival howler monkeys, and I pray for sweet relief. Normally, I’m blessed with a supernaturally well-behaved baby in spite of his illness. Believe you me, I count my blessings for that every day.
However, when Cole has a bad day, he has a really bad day.
When five a.m. rolled around and I still hadn’t gotten him to rest, I gave up and called in reinforcements. Thankfully Jack is able to have someone cover him at work. I don’t like sending Cole to daycare when he’s having an off day. The place he’s at is great and I made sure they were all CPR certified before I ever let Cole start, but he won’t be able to return until after he’s cleared at his next checkup. His second surgery was a month ago and we’ve been having a time of it ever since.
A knock follows close behind the bell, and I tangle in my robe and roll unceremoniously from my perch on the couch to the floor, landing with a thump. I contemplate staying there for a while as I rub the grit from my eyes. Hank trots over to lick my face, and I stumble to my feet to answer the door.
I squint against the glare of the afternoon sun and find Melissa on my front stoop. Her familiar perfume wraps around me. I’d been trying to place the scent as long as I’ve known her, but to no avail. Her customary black hair has gone a little lighter at the roots and her button-up denim shirt is tucked into a pair of worn jeans.
I belt my robe over my yoga pants and T-shirt and offer a pained smile. “Hey, Melissa. I’d invite you in, but we’re currently having a meltdown. Is everything okay?”
She smiles sympathetically. “I could ask you the same thing. I was in the area I just wanted to come by and check to make sure you and the little one are okay.”
Melissa has no other family, and losing my dad hit her quite hard. I thought it was sweet, considering they’d been dating less than a year. I love that my father had someone so caring after my mom died. He was never the type to be alone for long; he was a very social creature. Jack takes after him in that respect.
“Just a rough night of teething and the general discomfort after he gets discharged,” I tell her. “Nothing some rest and a little pain reliever won’t cure. Not to mention I think he knows he’s due for another checkup at the cardiologist tomorrow. It’s nice of you to come by and check on us, though.”
“Poor thing.” She pauses before gathering herself up and saying, “What I really wanted to talk to you about was…well, I couldn’t help but overhearing your conversation with that young man last night. Ben, isn’t it?”
I nod. “I’m so sorry if we bothered you. I hope he wasn’t rude.”
Melissa shakes her head with a laugh. “Oh no, honey. Nothing like that, I just wanted to give you some advice. I don’t want to seem too forward as we haven’t known each other that long.”
“Please, I can’t thank you enough for the days you’ve watched Cole for me. You’re practically family to us now.”
“That’s sweet. Well, I just wanted to be nosey, really. That man last night? That was Cole’s father wasn’t it?”
“I—I…Yes, it was,” I end on a whisper. “He’s been gone and I haven’t found the right moment to explain things.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I’ve been in my fair share of complicated relationships. I just wanted to make sure that you’ll let me know if you ever need anything. I’m always here for you. Talk, babysit. Whatever.”
“Definitely. I really appreciate you stopping by to check on us.”
“Anytime, honey. Give that baby a kiss for me.”
As if on cue, Cole’s wails reach a higher decibel and I wince. “I will. Thanks again.”
Twenty minutes later, I rush out the door, already heinously late and feeling tremendously guilty. I can hear Cole’s cries from outside as I unlock my car and load in my briefcase and paperwork.
Though the street is empty of traffic, a sense of unease skitters along my shoulders. Cole’s screams follow me the entire way to work.
Most days, motherhood suits me surprisingly well. Especially considering I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was doing. I took to it like it was second nature and so far, I haven’t forgotten him in a marketplace or pulled my hair out in frustration. Though, I expect both are in my future.
Unfortunately, Cole must sense my growing distress because his mood is no better the next day. By the time we reach the doctor’s office, I’m doubting my ability to handle this motherhood thing after all.
I hadn’t been able to skip another day from work, so we only had a narrow window between the end of my work day and the closing of the doctor’s office.
Cole struggles against my hip. “Shhh, baby boy. We just have to see Dr. Foley for a few minutes and then we’ll go back home.”
I doubt he cares much, but it makes me feel better.
We stumble into the doctor’s office a screaming, snotty mess. I am about ten seconds away from shedding all dignity and joining him in a rousing moment of self-pity. Heads swivel in our direction, a few mothers offer sympathetic smiles of solidarity, as the rest give me dirty looks. I ignore both, my cheeks burning, and march up to the receptionist desk. I don’t recognize the new person there, but I sure hope they’re having a better day than I am.
“Hi.” I bounce Cole on my hip in an effort to soothe him, to no avail. “We have an appointment for a checkup with Dr. Foley.”
“Name, please?”
“Cole Walker.”
The receptionist types into the computer while I try to distract Cole with the brightly colored flyers that paper the wall next to the window.
“The doctor will see you soon, if you’ll just wait here.” She smiles sympathetically and gestures toward the play area in the corner of the waiting room. “I’m sure Mr. Walker would love those.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. Unable to handle his cries anymore, I hunker down in the play area with him and pick up one of the toys with blocks stacked on wires. Cole sits in my lap and runs the blocks back and forth across the wire. The motions keep his attention for a few minutes, and I use that time to calm myself down, as well. Subjecting him to a session of poking and prodding is only going to make his mood go back downhill again, so I take my moments of peace and quiet when I could get them.
“Ms. Walker?”
“Right here.” I stand and walk to the window.
“Sorry for the wait. The doctor will see you in exam room three.”
“Thank you so much.”
She gestures behind her to the hallway that leads back to a row of rooms.
Twenty minutes later, we leave the doctor’s office with screams echoing behind us. I take deep, cleansing breaths because seeing him hurting and unhappy has the same effect on me. I don’t know how my parents ever raised Jack and me without going crazy. And they only had to deal with my teenage years. They made it look so effortless. I don’t know how Ben’s parents did it with four kids. One is definitely more than enough for me. Even though I know the risk of having a second baby with HLHS is very low, I can’t help but feel a trill of fear at having another one.
A cool autumn breeze greets us and soothes my hot face. I absolutely hate my baby being in pain, and it only made it worse that there was only so much I could do to make him feel better. I hoped the preemptive medicine I’d given him for both the teething and the shots would kick in soon to take away some of the hurt.
&nb
sp; I start to calculate how long that should be as I dig through my purse for the keys to my car. I hear the rev of an engine and squeal of tires, but don’t pay it any mind as I find my keys wedged behind my wallet. I snag them and look up just in time to see an SUV roll to a stop in front of me at the doctor’s entrance. At first, I don’t think much of it. Someone is probably just dropping off an elderly patient or a new mom.
I brush off the thought and hitch Cole farther up on my hip. The parking lot was full to bursting this afternoon, so I had to park on the far side of the lot nearest to the busy side street. Cole’s weight begins to pull at my side and a headache is making itself known behind my temples as I make my way across the lot. The only thing I want to do is curl up with a big cup of tea and maybe a nice bath and a book. I doubt I would get to do any of those things, but it is nice to think about.
The car starts behind me as I chatter to Cole about our plans for the rest of the day, which has become a habit of mine. His tears have abated, so I continue until we’re halfway to where I parked. I hear the telltale crunch of gravel behind me and make a point to move out of the path of the oncoming car. I glance back to make sure there’s plenty of room.
The car window rolls down, but it’s in the direct path of sunlight and covered in shadows, so I don’t get a good look at the driver. I see a nondescript arm leaning out of the open window and I don’t make much of it. My brain must sense something off about the whole thing because I glance back again to see the hand is holding a gun.
And it’s pointed straight at us.
A loud shot breaks the calm afternoon and I feel the bullet whiz past me and explode through the window of a nearby car. As glass rains down on us, everything in my brain slows to a single thought: Don’t hurt my baby.
I shift Cole’s body so I’m between him and the car, automatically dropping our bags in the lot so I can hold him more securely. I hear another shot sound off, and I can’t help the feral scream that erupts from my chest. I dart between the nearest cars and crouch to the ground. I can hear the slow crawl of the attacker’s vehicle behind me, so I scramble until we’re on the sidewalk that leads back toward the office with a minivan separating us.
There are a dozen or more cars between us and safety, but I know our chances are better in there than out here with a gunman stalking us. I take a ragged breath and gather Cole more closely in my arms. I hear the squeal of brakes and the click of a car door behind me.
I use the advantage of surprise and stagger to my feet. I don’t chance glancing behind me because it will only make me hesitate. Instead, I shoot toward safety, Cole’s little body bobbing against mine as I sprint.
Another shot sounds behind me. I feel the heat of it graze my side, but I don’t stop. The only thing that matters is getting Cole to safety. I don’t even feel any pain. Sweat blurs my vision. Blood rushes in my ears, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. The race to the door takes an eternity.
Footsteps pound the pavement behind me, and my heart lurches into my throat. Faces white with fear appear in the glass panels of the door.
“Open the door!” I scream, my voice breaking with the force of it.
Thankfully, they hear me and the door slams open so hard a pane of glass shatters around us. A few feet away and I think we’re going to make it. It’s going to be okay.
Then another shot comes, but this time it doesn’t miss. I feel the bullet tear through my shoulder as though I’m watching it happen to someone else. The force of impact catapults me off of my feet.
I collapse half-in and half-out of the doorway, my head smacking against the unforgiving surface of the tile floor. I feel my body being dragged across the floor and then I lose consciousness, the sound of Cole’s screams following me into the darkness.
MY FAMILY HAS lived in the same house for forty years. I don’t think anyone could pry my father away from his custom garage or my mom from her renovated kitchen even if they had a million dollars. No matter how much my siblings and I attempted to coerce them to host a huge yard sale for their collections and knick-knacks, they wouldn’t budge. Now that I’m older, I thank them for it.
I find my two younger brothers, Mitchell and Garrett, wrestling over the gaming system in the living room. The now seventeen-year-old twins had been a surprise to our whole family after my parent’s fifteenth anniversary. They both pause in their argument to toss off an acknowledgement my way.
My mother is in the kitchen, steam pouring from the oven and smelling a lot like heaven. She grins up at me over her boiling pots.
“Your father said you would blow off tonight, considerin’. But I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be so dumb. I should have known.” She shakes her head at me and points a steaming wooden spoon in my direction. One I had been well acquainted with in my youth. “I don’t even know what to say to you now, so you just sit there until I’m ready to deal with you.”
I have no idea what the hell I’ve done this time, but around here? It could be anything. The twins were probably foisting the blame on me for something or another. My older sister Amanda could also be the culprit. As she had married a Marine—something I still get hell about on occasion—and moved away years ago, there wasn’t anything I could have done to her.
Instead of worrying about it, I stuff my face with a piece of fried cornbread. I’d long since learned there was no use in arguing with a woman, especially if that woman was your mother.
The slide of our back door announces my father, and he steps in wearing his signature grease-spattered boots and simple T-shirt. His hair has thinned even more over the past year so only a single tuft is left at the top of his head.
“Benny boy!” he says in greeting.
My mom turns away from the stove to glare at him. “Don’t you start ‘Benny boy-ing’ him, Lewis Hart.”
Dad holds up his arms, a wide grin still pulling at his lips. He winks at me over Mom’s turned back and heads to the sink to wash his hands of motor oil. Still clueless as to what has her mitts in a twist, I stuff my face with another piece of cornbread and grab a soda from the fridge to wash it down.
“Go wash your hands, too, Ben. Tell the twins to set the table. Dinner’s ready.”
I go to comply, but stop to press a kiss to her forehead first. I mumble, “Love you, Momma,” into her hair before heading off.
Once I corral the twins into doing Mom’s bidding, we sit down at the table and spoon up the food. I’m so lost in the comforting smell of a home-cooked meal that I dig in as soon as my plate is in front of me. I’m halfway through my second rib before I notice that no one else is eating.
I wipe my face with a napkin and direct my attention to my mom, who is giving me a death stare. “What?”
“Don’t you ‘what’ me, Benjamin Thomas Hart.”
I cringe at her use of my middle name. “Honestly, I don’t know what I did this time, but if Mitch and Garrett are involved, it wasn’t my fault.”
The twins snicker and my dad cuffs Mitch on the shoulder so they both quiet down. My mom sniffs daintily and takes a sip of her soda. “It’s been all over the news. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? How could you keep something like this from us? I expect more from you, Benjamin.”
“All over the news?” My stomach drops. Certainly a small town like ours wouldn’t have picked up the coverage. The last thing I need is another story about the attack that killed my friends. I break out in a cold sweat. My easy-going, relaxed response to being back home disappears. “What are you talking about?”
Dad and the boys dig into their plates and studiously avoid my gaze. “Mom?”
“Come with me then if you want to continue this act. I’ll show you.”
Mom leads me from the dining room into the den where the TV is already on and at our local news station. I glance from it to her expectantly. When she doesn’t say anything, I make an impatient gesture. “Well, are you going to show me?” I ask.
Before she can answer, a name on the screen catches my attention. If
I thought being in hell for the past year was bad, I was sorely mistaken. My knees give and I slump onto the couch, my eyes glued to the reporters outside a nondescript office building. Behind the anchor and the crowd of people are an ambulance and a host of police officers.
Flashing on the screen is a picture of Olivia from high school. I remember the night it was taken. She’d just been accepted to Florida State University and her parents threw her a party to celebrate.
“Why would I hide that from you?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Why is Olivia on the news?”
“Not that,” my mom answers gently. She indicates the second picture on the screen. Olivia’s son, Cole. And, according to Jack, my son.
I look at her quizzically.
My brain is still stuck on the image of Livvie’s face on T.V. in relation to an accident. Adrenaline surges through me and I jerk to my feet.
“I have to get to the hospital. Jack. I have to call Jack. Why didn’t you tell me when I got here?” My mind flashes back to the chaos after the first bomb. To the feeling of helplessness and sheer fear. Is she dead?
“Local law enforcement were called to the scene of the crime,” the young female reporter says, “when nearby business owners reported shots fired. The events in question were confirmed by a second eye-witness report from a patient actually in the doctor’s office at the time of the shooting. There are no fatalities at this point; however, a young woman was shot and has been taken by ambulance earlier this afternoon. Her young child, who was diagnosed with hypoplastic left heart syndrome, a congenital heart defect, is undergoing evaluations by his cardiologist as a precaution. He will be released into the care of close family members.”
My chest seizes as they flash the pictures on the screen again. As I leave my mother sputtering questions at my back, the only thing I can think of is the little boy’s smile.
Warrior (First to Fight #1) Page 11