Mother's Love

by Kirsty Dallas

  I leaned back against the warm leather seat and closed my eyes. A tear slid down my face, the cool trail it left behind a balm to the burning pain under my skin.

  I had escaped my husband—I had escaped hell—and I’d be damned if I would ever put myself or my son in that kind of danger again.

  Chapter 1

  Annie

  “Earth to Annie, you still in there?” The voice seemed distant, like an echo at the bottom of a deep, dark hole. “I don’t get how you can just check out like that.” I was dragged back to the present like a taut bungee cord. Before me stood Michael, my handsome and much younger barista. At twenty, he was ten years younger than me, but you’d never know it. His eyes held not just a spark of life but also wisdom average twenty-year-olds lacked. Being the only male in a home of six other females had molded Michael into a sweet hearted man with a strong work ethic. He smiled when my eyes finally focused on his face, his dimples making him look more like a child than an adult. “There you are. I thought I was going to have to throw water on you this time.”

  I waved his comment off as I resumed wiping down the counter before me. “I was just daydreaming.”

  Michael snorted. “You looked like you were stuck in a nightmare; you were white as a sheet.” He moved back behind the cash register. “You want me to close up?”

  My coffee shop normally stayed open until five thirty, and it was already a quarter past five. The room was empty, though, so I didn’t see the sense in sticking around.

  “Yeah, go for it. I’ll finish wiping down the tables.”

  Across the narrow corridor that divided me from the ever vibrant and sweet smelling delight that was the florist, Bouquets, my best friend, well, one of my best friends, Rebecca, was moving buckets of flowers into the large refrigerator in the storage room out back. Her assistant, Lola, quietly emptied the bins into a garbage bag, her long black hair hanging around her face. She was a pretty girl who seemed to hold a grudge against color; she was never adorned in anything but black. She was like a shadow in the bright flowers she worked amongst all day. Rebecca sang off-key as she worked, her tight, red, fifties style dress accentuating her feminine curves. She was a beautiful woman and nailed the quirky pin-up style that she wore like armor perfectly. Under my dirty apron, I wore a plain blue shirt and knee-length, black skirt. My clothes were secondhand, purchased from a thrift shop. A pair of eight dollar ballet slippers finished the average ensemble. I was far from elegant and even further from stylish. My clothes were always cheap and practical. Just once, I would like to dress up and wear makeup. Every woman liked to feel like a princess from time to time, and it had been too many years since I had felt like anything other than the tired and lonely version of Cinderella. I wasn’t exactly alone. I had Eli after all, and he filled my life with a joy that made my exhaustion not only bearable but worthy. I also had friends now, an entire circle of men and women who cared about me and Eli. Some days I had to pinch myself just to check this was real, that my new life here in Claymont was warm, full of friends, and safe. It had taken a long time to settle in and find my feet, but now I was beginning to live as part of the real world again, a world without the pain and fear of a husband who battled mental illness.

  After the beating of a lifetime, my neighbor, Gareth Richards, had helped me and Eli escape. He had taken me to the neighboring town of Logan, straight to his sister Gail who had fussed over me and Eli for two weeks. As my beaten body had slowly healed, we eventually boarded a bus and found ourselves in Claymont. Nestled among the towering Black Ridge Mountain Range, Claymont was a quaint town with an old-world charm. A local college brought life and prosperity to the small town, while the city maintained that quiet, personable appeal. I spent the first five months in Claymont living in a woman’s shelter. Mercy’s Shelter for Abused Women had helped me take the first step in healing, offering me warmth and a bed. The shelter’s owner, Mercy, and her son, Jaxon, had helped me take another step by finding me a job and setting me and Eli up in a small, two bedroom apartment, walking distance to the town center. Jaxon had continued to pave my way to a better life when he bought me my very own business, a small but profitable café. Well, Jax was still officially the owner, but I was paying him back with monthly installments, and one day this place would be mine. Jax had no desire to partake in the day-to-day running of the café; having his own construction company and helping his mom with the shelter meant he had little time to worry about coffee beans and muffins. So, I treated the café as if it were my own, which one day it would be. I was on my way, on the journey to my own independence and success. I might be tired, haggard, and dressed in secondhand clothing, but at least I was safe and could provide for my son.

  “Can you guys lock up?” Rebecca called out. Our businesses sat side by side in the same building, one main door at the front. The building was known as Mercy’s Angels, a Jaxon Carter investment; Rebecca’s flower shop took up one side, my café the other.

  “Yeah, we won’t be far behind you.”

  Rebecca wrapped me in a big hug and kissed my cheek. “You’re coming on Friday, right?” she asked. How could I forget with her and my other best friend, Ella, reminding me every five minutes?

  “Yes, I’ll be there.” Every Friday night was girl’s night and had been established as such almost a year ago. It was a night we pushed the boys out the front door, kicked off our heels, grabbed a bottle of red, and gossiped. Now that Ella was pregnant, the wine didn’t flow quite as freely, but the gossip and laughter was still aplenty. Not that I ever overindulged where alcohol was concerned. I had never been much of a drinker and had always be renowned for being a little more conservative. Ella and Rebecca, though, they were two foulmouthed, wild girls who were quite obviously kindred spirits. Even though Ella was eight months pregnant, she still demanded her Friday night with the girls, and while Rebecca and I shared a bottle of red, Ella drank her green tea. We usually ended up playing bad eighties music and laughing like a pack of hyena’s. We tried to avoid the topic of our pasts; I preferred to focus on the present, as did Ella who had struggled with her own childhood of abuse and nightmares. Somehow we managed to keep the topics in a safe zone and managed to laugh so hard my stomach muscles would ache well into the next day. The men, Rebecca’s boyfriend, Charlie, and Ella’s fiancé, Jax, usually tucked Eli under their arm and made themselves scarce. They’d go hang out at Dillon’s and battle each other in the latest Xbox phenomenon. Dillon—my knight in soldier’s armor—just the thought of Dillon made my heart flutter like a box of butterflies. Dillon Montgomery wasn’t mine, though; he now belonged to another. He could have been mine, but my fears kept me stuffed behind the thick and tall wall of singledom. Dillon was perfect with his dark brown hair cut military short, grey eyes, and a perfect bone structure that framed a strikingly handsome face. At thirty-two, he had lived a hard and full life, having served four tours as a soldier in Afghanistan. He was now part owner of a private security firm with his cousin, Braiden Montgomery. The business that had started out with security installations had now flourished into a team of seven who not only handled security assessments and installation, but also hostage negotiations, search and rescue missions, and most recently, cyber defense. The organization was growing at such a rate that Dillon had said he would need to recruit and train more employees soon. Dillon Montgomery ticked all the boxes; he was handsome, ambitious and wealthy, and most importantly, he was the father Eli never had the opportunity to have. And he liked me, which I still didn’t understand. I was average Annie with a body that told a tale of a difficult pregnancy. I wasn’t a large woman, but I certainly had no muscle tone. I had stretch marks on my stomach and thighs, my barely-there breasts, which had ballooned to glorious C cups when breastfeeding Eli but quickly disappeared when he started solids, had now lost any chance to hold their own against gravity. My hair was a mousy brown, my eyes somewhere a cross between boring hazel and insipid green. I wasn’t what you would call ugly, but I most certainly wasn’t the t
ype of woman that drew the gaze of men. Yet somehow I had garnered Dillon’s attention. For all his perfection, though, I turned him down.

  I could still remember the first time I met my former husband, Phillip; he had ticked all the boxes too, then his illness betrayed us both and wounded me in such a way I didn’t think I would ever trust a man again. Now Dillon belonged to a gorgeous blonde real estate agent named Melinda. They looked picture perfect together, and Dillon seemed happy with their relationship. I hated my fear and apprehension which had left me friend-zoned with Dillon. I longed for the warm touch of a man. I ached to have someone other than an eight-year-old Marvel Comic enthusiast to go home to at night. I missed kissing. I yearned for the solid warmth of strong arms and a firm chest within a man’s embrace. I deluded myself into thinking that at least I was safe, yet I still lived a life like a nervous rabbit. I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder every spare moment, and I couldn’t stop the flinch at a loud noise or someone shouting. Although I was now safe, I still didn’t really feel it. How long would it take to feel normal again? Did such a thing have a time frame? Six months, six years, maybe never? I feared the never part almost as much as I feared the world around me. I longed for normal; I ached for ordinary. Would I always feel this worry? Would I always feel the heavy weight of someone watching my back, which lately felt heavier than usual for some unknown reason? After leaving Phillip, it had taken months to feel as though I wasn’t constantly walking on eggshells. I marveled at the idea I could make noise and eat meals I had always wanted to eat without persecution from an eccentric, mentally ill husband.

  “See you tomorrow, boss lady!” Michael called out as he pressed his way through the front door.

  “Thanks for today,” I called back as I unloaded the last of the cups from the dishwasher.

  Michael waved and left me to my thoughts. The silence within the building was stifling. I hated silence. Phillip had demanded silence in our home. He suffered from terrible headaches and often locked himself away in his study only to storm out when Eli or I had interrupted his quiet seclusion with a bark of laughter or a dropped toy. Feeling smothered by my own traitorous memories and the oppressive silence, I grabbed my bag and locked up. The sun still sat in the sky and wouldn’t set for another couple of hours yet. It was warm and the streets were still littered with shoppers. It was my favorite time of year; the air was alive with spring’s warmth and the smell of fresh pine permeated the city, drifting down from the clean forest range that surrounded us. I walked the four blocks to my apartment, my head finally cleared of memories and wedged firmly back in the present. Since it was such a beautiful evening, I decided I would take Eli to the park across the road for a little while before the sun was finally shielded by the mountain range. Climbing the two flights of stairs to my floor, I was reminded of my tired limbs, but I pushed the subtle ache to the back of my mind and drew out my keys to unlock my door. I could have taken the elevator, but it was on the eighth floor and I was too impatient to wait for it to come down. Two flights of stairs were more than manageable, even for my exhausted body.

  “Hi, Annie.” My neighbors, Alison and Stephan, had just left their apartment. In their mid to late thirties they were a quiet couple without children. They fussed over Eli and spoiled him rotten, often buying him presents and treats. I would have asked them not to, feeling a little smothered and miffed by their almost obsessive need to win over his affection, but they had once confessed to me of their desire to have their own children and Alison’s failed attempts to fall pregnant had left a yawning gap in their lives. I felt bad for them to miss out on the wonder of being a parent, so I turned a blind eye to their over-indulgence on Eli.

  “Hi, Alison. Hi, Stephan, beautiful day,” I said as they made their way past me. Stephan caught my eye, and a shiver danced across my skin. Although he always met me with a warm smile, I was still wary of men, and I knew those fears often translated to misgivings about others. Stephan had been the perfect neighbor, offering to take out my trash and carrying heavy loads of groceries up to my apartment. I internally berated my clinging nerves and returned his smile and friendly nod.

  “It’s such a glorious day we’re going for a walk. Tell Eli I ordered that comic book he wanted. It should be in next week.”

  “Thank you, Alison, he’ll be thrilled to bits,” I said as they headed down the stairs. I pulled my apartment door closed just as Eli raced down the short hallway and threw himself into my arms. He was getting too heavy to carry, but I enjoyed holding him so much I wouldn’t dare complain. He was already bathed and in his pajamas. I guess my plans for the park were foiled.

  “I missed you today,” I groaned as I lowered him to the floor.

  “Mom, you should have seen Dillon at school today; it was so cool. He showed everyone his gun and taught us how to punch a man in the nuts!”

  I had completely forgotten about ‘bring a parent to school day’. I had jumped at the chance for Eli to show me off to his class, and when he had asked if he could take Dillon, I was heartbroken. But what little boy wouldn’t choose a weapon packing papa bear over a coffee wielding momma bear?

  “Don’t say nuts,” I chastised Eli.

  “Okay, balls.” He grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Testicles or groin,” I corrected him just as Dillon waltzed into the room looking spectacular as usual in his black cargo pants, black boots, and black button up shirt stretched tight across his firm chest and biceps. The man could quite possibly make swooning fashionable again.

  “What about testicles?” he asked, and I hopelessly blushed. Dillon grinned when he saw my red cheeks, but he was gentlemanly enough not to say anything.

  “I hear you taught Eli how to punch someone in that region,” I murmured as I dumped my things on the kitchen counter.

  “Self-defense: eight-year-old style,” he said easily. To be honest I didn’t have a problem with Dillon teaching Eli how to punch someone in the nuts, as Eli put it. I wanted my boy to be able to defend himself.

  “The teacher said it would be fine. It’s the best plausible line of defense for a child; they’re not tall enough to aim for the face, and a good, hard jab to the groin is the quickest way to escape an attacker.”

  I waved off his defensive tone. “I’m actually grateful, Dillon. Do you think you could show Eli some more things? I mean, I don’t want to encourage him to be the playground wrestling champion, but I want him to know how to defend himself.” As I began flicking through the mail, I quickly realized the silence that had fallen around me. When I glanced up, I noticed Eli playing on his Xbox in the living room and Dillon watching me, a curious, unreadable expression on his face.

  “What bought this on?” he asked.

  I shuffled my feet nervously under his intense gaze. It didn’t frighten me; Dillon was one of only a small handful of men that actually made me feel safe. He always moved slow and deliberate around me, as if he were worried a fast movement might actually frighten me. To begin with, it would have, and being alone in a room with a man would have sent me into a panic attack. Now though, I was doing much better. The scars and fear were still there, but the panic had receded to a manageable and muted level.

  “I just want him to be able to protect himself. I guess this is the job a father would do, teach their son how to handle those kind of situations. He doesn’t have the luxury of asking his dad how to do . . . manly things.” I struggled for words. “If you don’t feel comfortable, that’s fine. I’ll ask—”

  “I’ll show him,” Dillon cut me off. “But he’s safe here, Annie. No one is going to hurt him or you.” I held his gaze for a moment longer before it erred on the side of awkward. Dillon was far too observant for his own good. “Maybe I could show you a few things, too,” he suggested.

  “I took a few of Charlie’s self-defense classes, so I’m good.” To be honest, Charlie’s classes scared the daylights out of me. Even though they were conducted at Mercy’s Shelter surrounded by women, and Charlie
was one of those handful of men I trusted, I found myself recoiling at the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It sounded far too close to the sound of a fist hitting flesh.

  “That was some time ago, though, and it doesn’t hurt to keep on top of it. Your safety is just as important as Eli’s,” Dillon went on.

  “Fine, next week maybe,” I mumbled, knowing he wouldn’t back down until I conceded. He smiled, and I found myself having to look away for another reason. The heat from that playful grin twisted its way through my body until it settled in a feminine region I had long ago put on a shelf. Concentrating on the unforgiving bills in my hands, my body stilled when I reached a letter whose postal stamp had a familiar zip code. When I flipped it over and saw the return address for the Law Offices of Clark, Lane, and Johnson, my stomach flipped.

  “Annie, everything alright?” Dillon asked.

  I dropped the remaining mail and quickly checked to make sure Eli was still obsessively glued to his Xbox. Taking the letter to the privacy of my bedroom, I sat on the side of the bed and ripped it open.

  “What is it?” Dillon asked, having followed me.

  The letter inside was formally typed and addressed to Mrs. Annie Lonergan.

  Dear Mrs. Annie Lonergan,

  We have been instructed by Mr. Phillip Lonergan to write to you in regards to him seeking access to his son, Eli Lonergan, in the form of supervised visits.

  The rest of the letter was a blur, and the dread in my veins no doubt bleached the color from my face. My eyes welled with unshed tears, fury burning low and deep in my stomach. Phillip, the man who had threatened to coat the walls of our home with my blood, wanted the opportunity to bond with his son. The only way such a thing would ever happen would be over my dead body.