by Aly Martinez
I licked my dry lips and flashed my gaze between the two men. “I mean…what’s going on with him? How is he involved?”
“He kidnapped our son!”
Tom lifted his hand to silence Brady. His face remained hard, but his voice gentled. “Our guys are still working with him, trying to figure out his role in all of this.” He pointedly cut his gaze to Brady for a second before sweeping it back to mine. “It doesn’t appear that he was part of the actual abduction. Lucas was already four when he met Catherine Reese. We believe her child died, though we don’t have a cause of death yet. It appears to be of natural causes. Maybe SIDS or some underlying medical condition. Who knows? She was probably distraught, saw Lucas at the park, and took him to replace her son. Just slipped him right into Travis’s life.”
I lifted a shaky hand to cover my mouth and breathed, “So, Porter didn’t know?”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me here,” Brady seethed.
Tom turned a scowl to Brady, who was all but vibrating beside me. However, with my old friend hope infusing my system, I didn’t give a damn.
“Answer me,” I demanded.
“We don’t know,” Tom replied. “I refuse to believe he didn’t figure it out before he started pursuing you. The fact that he was dating the biological mother of the child his wife kidnapped doesn’t sit well with anyone here. Way too much coincidence there for it not to be suspicious. But we’re going to get to the bottom of it. Trust me on this, babe. You do not have to worry about Porter Reese anymore.”
Oh, but for the way my heart felt like it had been put through a strainer, I did.
Brady fisted a hand on his hip, his other pinching the bridge of his nose, and spat, “I can’t believe you were dating that piece of shit.”
My throat got thick and a cold chill sent a shiver down my spine, but I gathered enough attitude to choke out, “I don’t particularly care what you believe and don’t believe, Brady.”
My hands were shaking, so Tom caught the back of my neck and pulled me into his chest, his words aimed at Brady. “Think of it this way. It all worked out. We found him, okay? Let’s worry about Lucas now.”
Nodding, I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that it would somehow ease the turmoil and panic inside me.
It didn’t.
But I could pretend better than anyone on the planet.
And, as the hours wore on, I had to do just that.
* * *
I sat on the wrong side of the two-way mirror in the police station, my arms folded on a small table, my face buried between them.
My chest empty.
My mind jumbled.
My stomach in knots.
My entire fucking life unrecognizable.
I’d only thought the day Catherine had driven off that bridge was the ultimate betrayal.
Boy, had I been wrong about that.
“Answer the question, Porter.”
“No!” I snarled, lifting my head to stare into the eyes of the third cop who had come in to ask me the same fucking question over the last two hours. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So, Catherine—”
“No!” I snapped, shoving off the table and rising from my chair.
My nerves were shot.
The fingerprints were a match. DNA was still being processed, but I’d given up holding out any hope that that wasn’t going to match too.
Travis was Charlotte’s son.
And nobody in the entire fucking Atlanta police department would believe that I didn’t have something to do with it.
“Catherine didn’t tell me shit. Okay? I didn’t even know her when Lucas was kidnapped. Travis was four years old when we started dating, four and a half when we got married, five when I adopted him, and eight when she killed herself. And, during those years, never, not once, did she ever mention that she stole a baby off a fucking playground.”
He stared up at me, his face unreadable, and slowly flipped a file folder open. “Okay. Now that you mention it, let’s talk about the day your wife died.”
My chin jerked to the side as though he’d struck me. “What?”
He kicked my chair, shoving it toward me, and tipped his chin for me to sit down. “It says here that you were on the scene the day of the accident. You were the first person in the water and the last one out. You managed to get both of your kids out, but somehow, your wife was still inside that car when her body was recovered?” He rocked back, folded his hands in front of him, and watched me expectantly.
Ice chilled my veins. “Yeah. That’s what fucking happened,” I bit out. Leaning forward ominously, I stabbed my finger at the file he was reading from. “Does it also say how I nearly drown in that car, trying to save her? How she fought me with her dying breath? What about that it was no accident at all? She purposely drove off that bridge. So let’s get one thing straight. My wife didn’t die—she killed herself.”
His face remained impassive. “The two of you have an argument that day? Things get a little heated? She had some bruising on her body when it came in.”
I barked a humorless laugh. “Are you shitting me here?”
“Not at all, Mr. Reese,” he drawled in a thick Southern accent.
“She drove off a fucking bridge!” I exploded, my voice echoing off the walls. “With my children in the car. We were all bruised and battered that day. That was not limited to Catherine. Travis was—”
“Lucas,” he corrected.
I glared at him with wide and wild eyes, daring him to correct me again.
He lifted his hands in feigned surrender, a cocky smile playing at his lips. “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” He tipped his chin to the chair again. “Sit down, Porter.”
My jaw ticked as I held his gaze. “I did everything I could that day. And I will not stand here and listen to you insinuate otherwise. My wife kidnapped a kid, a fucking baby, and you’re going to sit here and pretend that she wasn’t crazy enough to kill herself. Pull your head out of your ass, put down the torches, and look at the facts. I was not part of any of this. My only crime here is falling in love with a little boy who belonged to someone else.”
“Sit down, Porter.”
I sucked a breath in through clenched teeth, desperately trying to find a calm that I feared no longer existed, and begrudgingly sank down, fury fizzling in my chest.
Propping himself on his elbows, he steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. “The boy is going home with his mother.”
I choked on my own breath as a freight train hit my gut.
Intertwining my fingers, I rested my hands on my head, frantically trying to fill my lungs with oxygen.
“The boy is going home with his mother.”
Oh God. This was not happening. They were going to take him from me.
“No. No. Listen,” I started, but I had to stop to clear my throat when it became impossible to speak around the boulder lodged inside. “He’s sick. He needs a lot of medical—” I couldn’t finish, because if the pain ricocheting inside me was any indication, I was literally dying.
He spoke as if the Earth hadn’t fallen out of orbit. “Then it’s probably a good thing his mother is a doctor.”
I found no relief at the mention of Charlotte. My chest actually ached more.
“Oh God,” I groaned.
“We’ve been questioning the kid, Porter. And I swear, if one fucking detail of his life doesn’t match the statements you’ve given us, I’m going bury you under the jail. Murder, kidnapping, child endangerment, the whole nine.”
“You can threaten me with whatever the hell you want, and it’s not going to change the truth.” My mouth dried and I couldn’t keep the overwhelming emotion out of my words as I croaked, “I haven’t done anything wrong, but you’re taking my son away from me. Bury me under the jail now, because I’m not coming back from this.”
I dropped my head into my hands, my mind swirling with the cold, hard truth of my new r
eality.
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, but I didn’t bother to look up.
“We’ll let you know if we get any hits on your daughter,” he said.
I shot to my feet, my metal chair flipping over behind me with a bang. “You’re checking my daughter?” I shouted, incredulous. “For fuck’s sake, I was there the day she was born!”
His face remained stoic and empty as he pulled the door open. “Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
The door swung shut with a loud click.
How was this happening?
I’d woken up that morning with a family and a woman I was falling in love with.
And, now, my life was in shambles.
“This can’t be real,” I whispered, allowing my head to fall back between my shoulders. “Wake up. Please, God, just let me wake up,” I pleaded with the universe.
How the hell did they expect me to let him go? Shit. What would I even tell him? Sorry, Travis. Your mom stole you, and now, you have to go live with strangers?
“Oh God,” I choked out.
Would I even get to see him again to explain what was going on? The knife in my stomach twisted.
And then there was Hannah. She loved her big brother more than anything. How would I ever explain this to her?
Hell, I could barely breathe knowing this. Telling her should push me right off the edge.
“Fuck!” The scream tore from the core of my soul—or at least what was left of it. I picked my chair up and slammed it to the floor as hard as I could.
The crack was loud and jarring, but it did nothing to make me feel better. But then again, after this, I wasn’t sure there was a better anymore.
Welcome to your new life, Porter Reese.
“Goddamn it, Catherine. I hate you so fucking much!” I roared at the heavens.
Or, in this case, hell.
* * *
“Breathe,” my mom whispered, holding my hand tight as I stared at the tall, wooden door.
Brady on my left.
Tom at my back.
My little boy just a few feet away.
We were waiting for the social worker to give us the go-ahead to enter.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You’re crying,” she said softly, giving my hand a squeeze.
I swiped my fingers under my eyes, nervously flashing my gaze to Brady to make sure he hadn’t seen. Luckily, he was staring down, enthralled with his shoes.
“Are you going to be okay in there alone with Brady?” she whispered.
I looked at my mom. She was crying too. The only difference being that hers were tears of joy. She hadn’t stopped smiling since Tom had shown her a picture of Lucas he’d snapped on his phone.
I grinned tightly. “Lucas is in there, Mom. Brady won’t even know I’m there.”
She brushed the hair off my neck. “Okay. Well, if he gives you any shit, you let me know.” She lowered her voice and leaned in close. “I have no problem kicking his ass.”
My lips tipped up into something that I thought resembled a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
She winked. “Any time, baby.”
We all jumped when the door suddenly cracked open. A young woman with thick, red curls piled on the top of her head appeared, wearing a navy blazer and a warm smile. “Ms. Mills? Mr. Boyd? You can come in now.”
My whole body tensed as if I’d been invited to take a stroll down death row, but Brady moved fast, all but plowing me over as he raced inside.
“Lucas?” he called.
I had no choice but to follow him. That’s what good parents did. They ran to their children, relief flooding their systems, tears overwhelming them.
They didn’t stand frozen with fear in the middle of the hallway, nerves rolling in their stomachs while contemplating the merits of throwing up.
No. That’s not at all what good parents did.
Which probably explained why that was exactly what I did.
“Go,” my mom urged, giving my shoulder a gentle shove.
Stiffly, I shuffled into the room with my heart in my throat, prepared to face the little boy I’d failed so many years ago.
“Stop!” Lucas yelled before I’d fully cleared the door.
Brady was squatting low, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Lucas was tight in his arms, his face the picture of horror, as he frantically tried to shimmy his way out of Brady’s embrace.
“Mr. Boyd,” the social worker scolded.
We’d been briefed for twenty minutes on how to handle this reunion. During this time, we’d learned that our son had specifically asked that we not touch him. I assumed that this request had been given after my showdown with Porter back at the house. He’d also asked that we called him Travis. The social worker had urged us to stay calm and keep our emotions in check. And further that, if we found ourselves unable to keep it together, given the emotional altitude of that day, we were simply to excuse ourselves so as not to upset him.
And there Brady was, not ten seconds after he’d entered the room, breaking every last rule.
“Brady!” I hissed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reluctantly letting him go and rising to his feet. “I…” He trailed off and used the back of his arm to wipe his face. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I thought I could do it.” He looked over his shoulder, his red, tear-filled eyes slicing through me as he said, “It’s Lucas.”
“My name’s Travis,” he said, scrambling away, not stopping until his back was against the wall. His lungs wheezed as he added, “Travis Reese. And I want my dad.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth. After the last ten years, I didn’t have much of a heart left, but what was left shattered into a million pieces.
“I am your—”
“Brady, don’t!” I snapped, cutting him off.
He wanted his dad.
And, suddenly, so did I.
Squaring my shoulders, I took a step toward my son. “Hey, Travis. I’m Charlotte.”
His dark-brown eyes, which matched my own, slid to me, and then he sank deeper into the corner.
“I won’t touch you. I promise,” I assured, moving to the other side of the large conference table. I slid a chair out and sat. “I’m really sorry about all of this. Especially for when I freaked out on you back at your house. That won’t happen again. You have my word.”
He didn’t move or relax, but he continued to wheeze.
I had no idea what I was doing in the parenting department, but his every strangled breath was my territory.
“I met you once before today. At the doctor’s office. You stood outside with my best friend, Rita, while your dad and I talked. Do you remember that?”
He nodded cautiously, and just that little acknowledgment sent a wave of relief crashing over me.
“Okay, good. Then maybe you remember that I’m a doctor too, right?”
He nodded again.
“Perfect,” I breathed, leaning forward on my elbows. “Now, listen. I know you’re scared. Today has been crazy. But I really need you to sit down and try to relax. Did you bring your inhaler?”
His eyes cut to the social worker in question.
“Oh, right,” she said, jumping into action. After grabbing a small, neon-green backpack from the corner, she carried it straight to me. “There’s a lot of medicine in there. I’ll be honest. I have no idea what’s what.”
I smiled up at her. “I think I can manage.”
And then my smile fell when I unzipped the bag. She hadn’t been lying. There was a lot of medication inside. At least thirty prescription bottles, a full nebulizer including extra mouth pieces and tubing, packets of individual saline, and three inhalers.
Jesus, my baby was sick.
Clearing my throat, I laid the inhalers on the table and then zipped the bag back up, saving that nightmare for another day.
I recognized all of the labels, but handing him the right one wasn’t going to win me any affections.
“Hey, T
ravis?” I called. “Do you remember which one of these Dr. Laughlin gave you for emergencies?” I hazarded a glance up and found that he’d come unstuck from the corner.
“The blue one.”
Another one of those waves of relief hit me.
I purposely picked up the wrong one. “This one?”
Shaking his head, he took a step toward me and lifted his finger to point. “No. That one.”
I offered it his way. “Right. Of course. Silly me.”
He stared at me for several seconds, the scales in his head visually shifting as he weighed his options. Then he lifted his gaze to Brady, who was still standing near the door.
Understanding dawned on me.
“Brady, can you do me a favor?” I asked while keeping my eyes on Lucas. “Go see if you can find a first aid kit for me.”
“What? Why?” Brady asked.
I peered over my shoulder and flared my eyes at him. “Please. Now.”
His back shot straight for only a second before he rushed from the room.
“Why do you need the first aid kit?” Lucas asked.
“Oh, I don’t. He was just making me nervous standing back there.” I winked.
And then it happened. The most beautiful thing I had seen since the day he was born.
He grinned.
It was small. Almost imperceptible.
But it was there. And it was aimed at me.
Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.
I bit my tongue to distract myself and shook the inhaler. “Here.”
His frail body swayed as he walked toward me. I tried not to stare, but I was desperate to memorize his every movement. To fill even the deepest recesses of my mind with ten years’ worth of memories, for fear that that moment was all I would ever get.
Our fingers brushed as he took the inhaler from my hand, and I once again ignored my overwhelming urge to cry.
Sucking in hard, he drew the medicine into his lungs with a practiced ease. He immediately started coughing, so I pushed the chair beside me out for him to sit. He didn’t delay in accepting the offer.
“There ya go,” I soothed, my fingers twitching to touch him. But I somehow managed to keep them in my lap.