Let It Be Me

by Becky Wade

  They scrambled to do as she’d asked.

  Leah rushed outside. In less than a minute, Mason and Annie exited. A minute after that, a middle-school-aged version of Claire slipped from the house. Her skin was ashen, her mouth set. This must be Becca.

  “He’s not going to let Claire leave,” Becca told Leah flatly.

  “No?”

  The girl gave an abrupt shake of her head—

  Wes jerked open the door. His attention swept to the three children in the yard. His brow crimped. “You can take them, but not Claire. She’s grounded.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. She’s been struggling slightly with the concept of integrals, and the display does a great job of illustrating that in a way I think will help her understand.”

  “She’s not going,” he said.

  Claire would want her to take Becca, Mason, and Annie away. Yet everything in her was rebelling at the prospect of leaving Claire behind. Should she brave further entreaties?

  No. Wes’s expression left no room for that.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll be back with these three shortly.” Or not. How was she going to handle this? She didn’t have the right to kidnap this man’s children.

  The kids bundled inside her car. Three was better than none. She’d get them somewhere safe, discuss the situation with the police, then decide what to do about Claire. She executed a U-turn in order to leave the neighborhood.

  “Wait,” Becca said as they drove back past the house. “There’s Claire.”

  Motion caught Leah’s eye. Claire, climbing out one of the downstairs windows. Leah’s heart wadded in her throat. The girl’s head and shoulders were out, but when she tried to step through, something held her in place. She tugged but could go no farther.

  “We have to help her!” Annie cried.

  “I will. Just let me . . . let me park out of sight.”

  Two houses down, she came to a halt. “Wait here.” She dashed toward Claire.

  Claire was weeping silently when Leah reached her. The teenager strained forward. “My sweater’s caught.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “No, you’d better go, Ms. Montgomery.” Making a ragged sound, she heaved forward again. It was like watching an animal trying to escape from a trap. Behind Claire lay a messy bedroom and a discarded window screen, but Wes wasn’t in sight.

  “I’ll help you,” Leah repeated forcefully. The knit of Claire’s sweater had snarled in the crank handle. Leah wrapped her fingers around the threads and pulled. They began to give way. “Move to the side, Claire.”

  The girl did so. Leah got a better grip and yanked with all her might. This time, they ripped. She supported Claire as the girl jumped down. They jogged, holding hands, toward the car.

  They’d only gone a few yards when Claire’s dad stormed from the house, swearing. “Stop!” he yelled.

  Claire wrenched to a halt, separating herself from Leah.

  “What is this?” Wes glared at Leah’s car, then at Leah. “Are you stealing my children from me?”

  “No, sir.” Her voice sounded thin. “As we were pulling away, we saw Claire trying to get through her window. I stopped to help her.”

  “I told you that she’s grounded.” Another expletive hissed from him. “You didn’t think you were in enough trouble already?” he demanded of Claire. “So you decided to sneak out?”

  Claire stared at the grass.

  He turned away. Took a few paces toward the door. Rounded on them again. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Claire is not leaving,” he spat. “None of them are leaving.” He threw one of the metal chairs in their direction. They darted apart. The chair clattered between them, narrowly missing them both.

  Wes charged to Claire, grabbed her forearm, and marched her toward the house.

  “No!” Leah extended a hand. “I’m very sorry. I don’t want Claire to get in trouble—”

  A blur shot past Leah. Then another. Becca and Mason launched themselves at their dad, trying to free Claire. He shoved them away.

  “That’s enough!” Leah yelled. “Stop—”

  Pattering footsteps neared. Leah turned to see Annie hurtling toward the mob. Leah intercepted her, wrapping her arms around the girl’s waist. Screeching in outrage, Annie flailed.

  “You can help them best by going to get a neighbor,” Leah told her. “Any neighbor you trust who you think might be home.” She set the girl down.

  Annie froze.

  “Go!” Leah ordered. Annie sprinted away.

  Leah moved toward Wes, who continued to grapple with his children. Hateful words roared from him as he thrust Mason to the ground and tossed Becca aside. Mason sprang back at his father. While Wes’s attention was on his son, Leah drew Becca away, then attempted to pry Claire from his grip. Just when she thought she might succeed, Wes’s elbow collided with her cheekbone.

  The impact filled Leah’s vision with stars. She stumbled back. Her equilibrium tilted . . . the world dimmed . . . then slowly righted itself.

  Wes was far stronger than any of them individually and maybe all of them collectively. Claire and her siblings were already hurt, and he’d hurt them more severely—

  A figure barreled forward and entered the fray with the force of a silent and deadly wind.

  Sebastian, she realized.

  Sebastian.

  He threw a punch at Wes that connected with the older man’s jaw. Wes’s head snapped to the side, and his hold on Claire released.

  With quicksilver speed, Sebastian positioned the kids and Leah behind himself. “Get back,” he gritted out.

  Leah steered the kids a safe distance away.

  Wes stormed at Sebastian, his shoulders lowered so that he caught Sebastian in the stomach and drove him into the ground. They rolled, struggling. Wes rose on top, clobbering Sebastian with a fist to the temple. He pulled his arm back again—

  Leah shoved Wes to the side. He fell and the two men wrestled, each landing blows to the other’s ribs.

  A stranger—a muscular man in his fifties—entered the scene. He hauled Wes off Sebastian. Wes retaliated by swinging at the stranger, barely missing him.

  Sebastian gained his feet. Together, he and the stranger worked to subdue Wes. It was like bringing down a thrashing bull, but they finally pushed him facedown on the grass and held him there.

  Wes continued to swear and strain.

  Leah’s pulse jangled. Her breath came hard. The children were breathing hard, too—all of them blinking and shell-shocked. “Is everyone all right?” Leah asked.

  They nodded, though they didn’t look all right. Mason had a split lip. A red ring marked the skin of Claire’s forearm where her father had gripped her.

  Annie hugged Claire. “I went and got our neighbor, Mr. Hawthorne,” the little girl whispered to Leah.

  “You did very well.”

  A police car arrived at the curb. A stout officer with a graying crew cut crossed to them. His name tag read Wagner. “What happened here?”

  “He assaulted his children,” Leah said, “as well as these two men.”

  “The children attacked me,” Wes sneered.

  “The kids were trying to protect one another from him,” Leah said.

  Officer Wagner freed the handcuffs from his belt. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Sebastian and Mr. Hawthorne helped move Wes into the back of the squad car.

  Leah’s knees felt liquid. “Let’s all sit down for a minute,” she said to the kids, “and catch our breath until the police officer is ready to speak with us.” She sat heavily on the grass.

  The kids plopped around her.

  It didn’t take long before the officer began asking them questions. While they answered, Sebastian stood several yards to the side, alone. The long-sleeved work-out shirt he wore with scrub pants emphasized his muscled shoulders. Arms crossed, features granite-hard, he peered at the street . . . thou
gh he didn’t appear to be registering anything at all.

  “Can you please contact your mom for me and explain to her what’s happened?” Officer Wagner asked Claire.

  The teen nodded and brought her mom up to speed with a quick and hushed conversation. “She’ll be here in about thirty minutes to pick us up,” Claire told the officer.

  “Good. I’ll take Mr. Dobney to the station.” He looked between Leah and Mr. Hawthorne. “Can one of you stay with the children until their mother arrives?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Mr. Hawthorne said. “I know the kids well. My wife and I have lived next door for ten years.”

  “Is that okay with all of you?” the officer asked the four children.

  “Definitely,” Claire told him.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. Let your mother know that she can reach me by calling the station.” He drove off, Wes a hulking figure in his back seat.

  One by one, they stood. When Mr. Hawthorne approached Mason to have a look at his injury, Claire drew near Leah. “Thank you.” Her mouth trembled. “Thank you for coming to help us.”

  “You’re welcome. How your father treated you just now . . . it’s not acceptable or right. That’s not what love looks like.”

  Claire nodded.

  “Those of us at school,” Leah continued, “will team up with your mom to make sure you’re all safe and protected and cared for.”

  “We’ll be good with my mom.”

  “I’ll call and check on you tomorrow. If you need anything between now and then, let me know.”

  “I will. Ms. Montgomery . . . I’m so, so sorry about this.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m glad that you texted me.”

  “I’m really sorry, though.”

  Mr. Hawthorne led Claire and her siblings inside, and Leah was left in the suddenly empty, silent front yard with Sebastian.

  She’d seen a side of him just now that she’d known existed but hadn’t witnessed. Today, she’d glimpsed the tough foster kid who didn’t back down and wasn’t afraid to use his fists.

  She placed herself directly in front of him and saw that a pink-and-red bruise stretched from near the corner of his eye across his temple. His pale gray irises glistened like jewels.

  A wave of love rolled from her heart to the tips of her fingertips. She had no familiarity with falling in love. But because of her love for Dylan, Tess and Rudy, and others, she definitely did know what love was. She recognized the staunch commitment at its core. The fierce protectiveness. The willingness to sacrifice for the other. The determination to hold on.

  Do the math, you ninny. You love him.

  A tornado had formed within Sebastian back when Dylan had told him Leah’s location.

  It was still spinning.

  Still stirring up old terror and pain.

  He studied Leah’s face. “Your cheek,” he said.

  “Oh.” Her hand lifted to her swollen cheekbone. “Do I have a bruise?”

  He dipped his chin, wanting to kill Claire’s dad. He’d arrived just in time to see the man clock Leah with his elbow. The sight had affected him like a body blow, and after that, he didn’t remember exiting his car or running forward.

  She reached out and skated a fingertip across the throbbing skin next to his eye, leaving sparks. He inhaled raggedly.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then so am I.”

  “Thank you. For defending us.”

  He didn’t reply.

  She tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Dylan. He checked his app and told me where you were.” Inside himself, he was fighting his temper with just as much strength as he’d used earlier with Claire’s dad. “Why did you come here?”

  “Claire texted me and said that her dad was on a rampage. I called the police, but they were at the scene of an accident. I drove here and told Claire’s dad that I was scheduled to take the kids to the library.”

  Nearby, a metal lawn chair lay on its side. It, and the situation he’d found when he’d arrived, gave evidence to the chaos that had resulted from her attempt to help.

  “Claire’s dad wouldn’t allow Claire to leave with me,” she went on, “so Claire climbed out her window. Her dad caught us and dragged Claire toward the house.”

  “At which time you confronted an abusive man who owns guns?”

  “His other kids confronted him. I was just trying to keep everyone safe.”

  “You could have been hurt badly.”

  “And yet, look.” She spread her hands. “I’m fine.”

  “You could have been hurt badly,” he repeated.

  “But I wasn’t.”

  “But you could have been.”

  A short pause. “You . . . might be reacting slightly overprotectively.” Her tone was mild.

  She was accusing him of being overprotective? That was rich. She wouldn’t allow her brother two seconds of freedom. Yet he was supposed to be fine with watching her get whacked in the face by an enraged man?

  “In the end, things worked out well,” she said. “You told me that you’re okay. The kids are okay. I’m okay. I stand behind my decision to intervene.”

  “Even though you promised me that you wouldn’t come here alone?”

  “I take promises seriously, and I’m sorry that I broke my promise to you. But I couldn’t leave the kids to fend for themselves.”

  He had zero tolerance for broken promises. “You promised me, Leah.”

  “Today’s situation forced me to go back on that promise for the greater good.”

  “That’s a cop-out.” Frustration tightened his words. It was hard to think straight, to speak. This is why he didn’t trust people. This is why he shouldn’t have trusted her.

  His mom had failed to keep her promise when she’d told him she’d recover. Her death had stripped him of family and security. It had wrecked his life and his faith in people. It had taught him that the safest course was to depend on himself. So why had he strayed from that?

  He’d strayed from that because he’d been unable to resist Leah. “I have to step back from this relationship,” he stated.

  She flinched. Wind stirred through the strands of her hair. “Why?”

  “I can’t get any more involved.”

  “You’re upset, and I want to understand why.”

  He backed away from her.

  “Stay,” she said. “Let’s talk this through—”

  “I can’t.”

  His self-control was cracking like plaster. He couldn’t let that happen in front of her.

  “Sebastian,” she said.

  He climbed into his car and drove away.

  As he took one unthinking turn after another, the sensation that he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs grew more and more urgent. Finally, he pulled onto a half circle of dirt that formed an overlook and exited his car.

  The land fell away, providing a view of mountains retreating into the distance. No houses or people nearby. Just nature.

  He wrapped his palms around the metal railing at the curve’s edge and concentrated on breathing. Anger flew around inside him like a black crow.

  “I’ll be fine,” his mom had told him, when she’d spent all day one Saturday in bed.

  “What’s the matter?” He handed her the Pop-Tart and glass of milk he’d made her for dinner.

  “I’m just a little under the weather.” She sat up in bed, her back supported by pillows. “All of us get sick sometimes. Remember when you had strep throat a few months ago? Now you’re as healthy as can be.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” She didn’t look good. Why was she so thin? Her face was too white. He swallowed down worry. “I went to the doctor for medicine. You need to go to the doctor, too.”

  “I’ll go on Monday, ’kay? Will that satisfy you?”

  She was teasing him, but it wasn’t funny. It w
as dark and scary in here with the blinds closed.

  “Will that satisfy you?” she repeated.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Hey. I’ve taught you to say what you mean. So don’t say ‘mmm-hmm’ if it isn’t what you mean. What’re you afraid of? You can tell me.” She looked right at him, challenging.

  “That you’ll die.”

  She smoothed his hair, then took hold of his shoulder. “I promise you that I won’t die.”

  She was his mom. He believed her. He needed to believe her.

  “I’ll go to the doctor and get medicine,” she said, “and they’ll fix me up. I’ve never let my health beat me once. I’m a fighter. You know that about me, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m raising you to be a fighter, too.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You can’t let fear have control. We’re Grants, and Grants are strong. We can do whatever we put our minds to.” She shooed him. “Now go make me another Pop-Tart. I don’t think one will be enough.”

  He’d made her another Pop-Tart, but it had gone to waste. She’d only eaten half of the first one.

  When she’d died, and for a long, long time after, his feelings had been on one side of a glass pane while his body had existed on the other side. No longer. Leah had broken the glass, and now he was experiencing the weight of every emotion he’d never wanted to feel.

  “You can’t let fear have control,” his mother had said.

  Too late.

  He did not want to be parted from Leah. Just the idea of that turned his stomach. Yet to love her then lose her would cost more than he could afford. His mom’s death had sent him down a destructive path that had lasted for years. What would the loss of Leah do to him?

  He turned away from the rail and interlaced his hands behind his skull.

  Already, he’d put himself at risk by allowing Leah to become one of the most important things in his world.

  He’d made a mistake—a mistake he’d just tried to fix by breaking up with her.

  A deep, black hole opened in his soul.

  Upon arriving at home, Leah immediately shut herself in her room. She sat on the floor, leaned against the foot of her bed, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  She would not behave like a lovelorn girl and cry!