First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5

by Nicole Blanchard

  He gives me one last hug, then leaves. I wave at his retreating figure before shutting the door behind him. Cole begins to fuss where he is stirring in his bassinet.

  We stayed in the hospital for a few months after the first surgery to recover and learn the ropes. The fact that he made it through the first stage is a positive sign. Thankfully, Cole took to a bottle and the breast milk and the special formula he has to take. I was relieved to see that he was gaining weight regularly. We’re one of the lucky ones. There were no complications from the first surgery. He suffered from no infections and has started healing nicely. For the next few months I’ve been instructed to watch who he interacts with to stave off any contact with anyone who could give him any sort of illness.

  After we were released from the hospital, Jack insisted we stay for a couple of weeks at his place so he could help out. Even though I’d loved spending time with him, I’m grateful to be back in my own space without the constant in and out of the nurses—or the hovering of an over-protective Walker male. Nine weeks after Cole’s birth and we were finally home.

  I settle into the rocking chair Melissa gave me as a shower gift to feed Cole. Dad and Jack both stepped up to help me finish the renovations on the house, though after Dad’s heart attack, it was just Jack. All of the rooms have a fresh coat of paint, most of the faulty wiring has been updated or replaced and my kitchen is rocking new appliances.

  There was enough money left from Dad’s life insurance that I can care for Cole for the next few months without worrying. Once he’s healed and stable I’ll worry about going back to work. Until then I plan to spend each and every day of it soaking up the moments with my son. I’ve already scoped out daycares in advance, as he’ll need round-the-clock care and supervision. I dread the moment I’d have to leave him.

  The phone rings and shakes me from my thoughts. I glance down to see Cole still passed out in my lap and I smile as I answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, good lookin’,” Sofie says. “How’s my main man?”

  “Sleeping. We were just taking a nap. What’s up?”

  “So your no-good brother mentioned something to me that I thought you should know. And before you ask, no I’m not going to tell you why I was forced to talk to the devil and yes, I would have rather eaten meatloaf made of glass.”

  “Couldn’t have been anything too earth shattering because he dropped us off not too long ago. Surely he couldn’t have ruined your day in such a short time.”

  “God love you, Olivia, but you have blinders on when it comes to that man.”

  “Speak for yourself. Jack’s been nothing but supportive since Cole was diagnosed. I couldn’t have done this without him.”

  I hear Sofie’s sniff of derision over the line. “Anyway. Don’t you want to know what he said?”

  I sigh. “What did he say?”

  “Only that a certain baby daddy is coming home next week before he goes to his last duty station.”

  Olivia

  I finish washing the dishes, my fingers turned to raisins, and shut off the water. I take a moment to rest, just to shut off my mind, and lean a hip against the counter. My head pounds in a vicious rhythm, but I set that aside.

  We survived our first at-home scare. I am both terrified of the future and so very thankful for the present.

  A few days ago, I picked Cole up from his nap and noticed that his skin, especially his lips, had turned a faint blue. When I pressed a hand to his little chest, he was breathing rapidly. I immediately dialed 9-1-1 and we were rushed to the hospital for evaluation.

  Thankfully, the doctors were able to get him stabilized again, and after a short stay, we were allowed to go home. There would be more scares and more hospital stays. We would just have to take each day as they came. This time we were lucky.

  Thinking back, I count my blessings I got to him in time. Still, I lost precious moments fumbling with my touchscreen to get the right numbers. Moments where I knew if I failed, he would lose his life and it would be my fault.

  It felt like it took an eternity for the paramedics, policemen, and even a fire-response team to arrive, all sirens screaming bloody murder, in my driveway. In reality, it was probably a few minutes at most, considering how small Nassau is.

  The sound of the sirens didn’t even disturb Cole from his slumber and his little chest kept pumping away. He slept when they pulled him from his bed and throughout the ride to the hospital. For a moment, I was certain he’d never wake up. Then, after his examination, he opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at the doctor, confused. He twisted his head from side to side and kicked his feet. Then, he started to cry. There had never been a more glorious sound.

  I try to draw on that feeling of happiness now, when the house is asleep, everything is dark, and I am so alone. When I feel trapped by circumstance and hopeless. I walk through all of the rooms, turning off lights as I go. I let out Hank, our Boston Terrier, for one last bathroom break.

  Quietly, so as not to wake Cole from his deep sleep, I gather his limp body in my arms pad up the stairs and down the hallway to his nursery. I carefully lay him in his crib and pull a light blanket over his legs to ward off the chill.

  I pull his door to and pause for a moment in the hallway, trying to discern if the soft noise I hear is a figment of my imagination or just my dog, Hank, trying to make his arthritic way up the stairs for the night.

  I listen for the sound again, but instead of calling out for Hank, like I would any other night, something stops me. Then I hear it again: the telltale creak of a shutter easing open. The one next to the back door in desperate need of replacing.

  My heart thuds in slow, determined beats that feel as though it is trying to jump out of my chest. I freeze at the top of the stairs, unsure of what to do. A split-second of panic turns my veins to ice.

  The stairwell is set at two angles, so I wouldn’t be able to see anyone coming up until they were nearly on top of me. This is fortunate for me, though, as the person downstairs won’t be able to see me, either.

  I hope Hank is somewhere in hiding. That he somehow knew to get away from this person instead of displaying false bravado. He is getting on in years and sometimes has trouble getting up the stairs at night. I fervently regret not bringing him up with us.

  I retrace my steps to the crib and carefully lift Cole to me as I inch into a sitting position. He nuzzles my neck at the movement, but otherwise remains asleep. I feel his steady heartbeat against my chest and I send up a short, fervent prayer that we get through this unharmed.

  My bedroom door is still open and I know my cell phone sits dutifully on the nightstand, plugged into its charger. A floorboard creaks downstairs, much closer-sounding than before. The sound spurs me into movement. As quietly as I can, I tiptoe back down the hallway to my bedroom. If nothing else, it’s the last room on the floor. Whoever is downstairs will have to check all of the other rooms before reaching mine.

  If we’re lucky, I can get to my phone, notify the police, and hide until they arrive.

  The alternative is too terrifying to contemplate.

  I make it to the bedroom door where I ease it closed, hoping the hinges don’t betray me with a squeak. Fortunately, it closes with only a small click to signify the movement. I throw the lock and the hook-style chain then hurry to my bedside to grab my phone.

  Cole begins to murmur in his dreams as my fumbling fingers navigate the touchscreen. I have to try three times before I’m able to dial the numbers, my fingers too slippery with sweat.

  “9-1-1, what is your address and emergency?” The voice sounds dangerously loud in my ear.

  “4837 Mill Road. This is Livvie Walker. There is someone in my house. They’re coming up the stairs. I’m in my upstairs bedroom with my baby and the door is locked. Please, send someone to help. Hurry!” My voice breaks and I drop the phone, careful not to end the call just in case. It’s the just in case that makes my heart race.

  This can’t be happeni
ng.

  I slowly inch toward the walk-in closet that leads directly into the bathroom. From there, I can go directly into the hallway once the burglar goes into my room. It’s dangerous, but I don’t want to be cornered with no options, especially with Cole in my arms, relying on me. I tiptoe into the closet. Through the wall of my closet, I hear the subtle squeak of shifting weight as they make their way down the hall. If I hadn’t been paying attention, I never would have known until it was too late—that’s how quiet they are. I hear the door to my spare room click open and there is a momentary pause in their progression down the hallways as they investigate.

  My knees go weak as I realize my room is next. Cole shifts in my arms and I jiggle him up and down to soothe him back to sleep. The absolute last thing I need is for him to wake; his screams would draw them right to us. I steel my knees against the panic that wants to overwhelm me.

  I consider using the separate exit to the bathroom, then going out to the hall, but doing so would trap the burglar behind me and expose our position. I have no guns in my home—I had always considered Nassau to be a safe place before now. A foolish miscalculation on my part, one my father had always lamented. A tear streaks down my face at the thought, wrought of fear and sadness and desperation.

  I hear the handle of my door jiggle. Only once at first, but then more forcefully. I duck between some of my dresses, hoping for a modicum of camouflage in case the burglar comes bursting in.

  Just as I’m wishing Ben were here, the door to my room explodes open in a wave of splintered wood. I stifle my scream of surprise. Footsteps inch into my bedroom and with each thump, my heart beats louder and my breath grows increasingly ragged. The steps stop just outside the closet and I hold my breath, keeping Cole wrapped in my embrace. Before they can take the final step into the doorway, the room becomes bathed in flashing red and blue lights. It takes a moment for my ears to register the scream of the siren over my beating heart.

  This time, Cole is startled from sleep by the sirens. As hurried footsteps recede back down the stairs, he begins to wail. The sound is a welcome one as it signifies that we’re both still alive. I’m lightheaded with sweet relief.

  A few minutes later, a knock sounds at the front door. I manage to soothe Cole back to sleep with a pacifier and set him in the bassinet on my way down the stairs, taking care not to step on the splinters of wood from my mangled door.

  I find Hank scratching at the mudroom door, thankfully unharmed. He’d been locked in our fenced backyard and immediately started barking at the pounding at the door. I grab a long coat from the coat stand and shrug into it. It does little to cover my legs, but the small, filmy nightgown wasn’t something I’d like to greet the police in. I feel bare and vulnerable enough as it is.

  I pull open the door and stare in open-mouthed shock when I’m greeted by Logan on the other side. “What are you doing here?” I blurt.

  He peers past me into the room. “Is the intruder still in the house?”

  “No, they left through the back as soon as they heard the sirens. They busted open my bedroom door, though. It’s upstairs.”

  “I’d like to take a look, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, whatever you need.” I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night. “Thank God you got here in time. Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?” I know I’m rambling, but I can’t seem to stop.

  He jerks his chin, which I take to mean yes. “I’ll just be a few minutes. My partner is checking the perimeter for any signs of forced entry, but we didn’t see anyone lurking. They’re probably gone by now.”

  “Thanks, Logan.”

  The simple process of making coffee distracts me from my scattered thoughts. Measure grounds. Fill the water dispenser. Flip the switch. Grab a few coffee mugs. I stare out the kitchen window and see nothing, but that doesn’t erase the unease that skitters along my shoulders.

  Steps thud above me as Logan makes his way back down the stairs. He appears in the kitchen doorway as he buckles his radio back onto his belt. I hand him a cup of coffee, pleased that I judged him for a no-frills man when he makes a sound of pleasure at the first taste.

  He steps inside the kitchen and leans against the butcher block island. “Few questions for you, Livvie, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  I sip my coffee. “It’s no trouble. Please.”

  “Tell me what happened tonight, up until I got here.”

  Deep breath. “We got back from errands around seven o’clock. I always keep the doors locked, and windows, too. Habit. My father used to insist on it. We got to bed around nine. We hadn’t been there long when I realized our dog, Hank, hadn’t made it upstairs. He’s old, so sometimes I have to help him up. I was going to get him when I noticed all the lights downstairs were off, and I always leave at least one on. I’m prone to clumsiness. Then I heard a noise downstairs. The sound of the shutter opening. I called 9-1-1,” I continue on, telling him the rest of what happened until they arrived and scared off my unwelcome visitor.

  “It looks like they forced one of the windows open, tore the screen off and broke off a section, then unlocked it. You’ll need to get that repaired as soon as you can. We’re going to turn in the report, dust for prints near the window and on the bedroom door handle. We’ll run it through the system, but that can take some time and if they aren’t in the system, we won’t have much to go on.”

  “I understand.” It scared the shit out of me, but I knew there was only so much they could do. Never mind the new paint the outside of the house needed. A new security system was going up first thing. It had been on my home improvement to-do list before Cole was born, but I had always felt safe in our neighborhood.

  “We can have a patrol car come around every couple hours, just to make sure,” Logan says. “Do you want me to call Jack to come stay with you?”

  My shoulders round and I huddle around my coffee cup. The last thing I need is for Jack to become even more overprotective. “That’s okay. I appreciate it, but we’ll be fine. I probably won’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway, and all he’ll want to do is nag. You’ll let me know if you find anything?”

  “You’ll be the first person I call.” He puts his finished cup in the sink then turns to me, placing a hand on my cheek. I lean in to it, grateful for the moment of support. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  I nod, but in truth, I feel far from okay. I’ve just learned how to deal with it on my own.

  A knock at the door sends Hank into another wheezing fit. I excuse myself to answer it while Logan rinses the dishes in the sink—a decidedly homey task considering the horror of the night. My heart returns to a relatively normal rhythm and I take a deep, calming breath before opening the door, hoping it’s Logan’s partner and not Jack, who always seems to know when something has gone wrong.

  I’m looking down to grab a hold of Hank, who’s winding excitedly around my legs. Once I have him secure in my arms, I notice that my visitor isn’t wearing the usual police-issue black shoes, like Logan is. They’re black, but they’re a very specific type of combat boot that I’ve only seen grace one pair of legs before. I glance up, and instead of finding that other officer, what I’m met with is a pair of familiar crystal-blue eyes instead.

  “Why are there cops at your house at two in the morning?” Ben asks without preamble. As though he hadn’t spent a good part of the past year incommunicado. As though I don’t have a life-changing baby upstairs.

  I struggle to gather my wits over the blood rushing through my ears. A million thoughts race through my mind, none of which are the answer to his question. “Break-in,” I manage to say.

  He tilts his head toward me, a furrow between his brows. I notice something wrapped around his ear, but I’m distracted when his curious expression hardens. I’m reminded of the fact that he must have just returned from his deployment. I can tell from the deep lines around his eyes and mouth that weren’t there the last time I saw him that he hasn’t slept. I resist the u
rge to trace them with my fingers.

  “What are you doing here, Ben?” I ask faintly.

  “I was driving by and saw the lights. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” His eyes roam over my body, no doubt taking in my state of undress and calculating the possibility of injury. “Are you okay?”

  I nod faintly, my ears perking up at the sound of a cry in the distance. My heart stutters in my chest. I’m not ready for this. I thought the few months after Cole’s birth would have given me time to prepare for this very conversation. But it hasn’t. Especially not after my father’s death, Cole’s diagnosis, and tonight’s fresh trauma. How much can one person handle before they break?

  “Olivia,” he says sharply when I don’t respond.

  I refocus and clear my throat. “I’m fine. Logan got here just in time.”

  Speaking of, I feel his presence at my back. I turn to let them both say their hellos, but a frigid tension lingers. They both eye each other, and I hurry to explain. “Thankfully, I was able to call the police while I could. Logan and his partner were able to scare whoever it was off before any harm was done. Well, aside from my door. And my window.”

  Ben nods at Logan in a gesture of gratitude, I surmise. A loud squawk comes from the baby monitor I’d placed on the kitchen counter. I wince at the sound, but use the interruption to flee the situation.

  “Excuse me,” I tell them, face burning and shame roiling in my chest. So I do the thing I hate most: I run. Their murmured conversation follows me up the stairs, but my mind is racing too much for me to concentrate.

  Instead, I tiptoe over the mess left in my room and lift my baby’s small body against my own. Cole provides a welcome reprieve. Even through the chaos, there is something about holding him that calms me. Since my father died, it’s felt like it’s been just us against the world. I sit in the rocking chair and begin to try to rock him back to sleep.

  A few minutes later—not nearly enough time to calm my thundering pulse—I hear footsteps approaching. My skin ripples with awareness as Ben appears in the remains of my broken doorway. I watch as he surveys the damage, his expression unreadable. His eyes follow the path of destruction to where I sit near my bedroom window.