A mountain of a man walks inside and stops when he sees me cowering with the child clutched to my chest.
Jameson.
He stands there, staring at me in disbelief, while I suffocate. A rush of pain, grief, relief, love, and a million other emotions course through me, leaving me breathless. And then I die all over again when Gabe follows him inside. “Stop!” I cry out, holding my hand out. All the years of building up walls to stop my heart from hurting turn to rubble.
“You can’t be here,” I plead, my chest aching from the sob ripping from it.
“How the fuck could you do this to him?” Jameson croaks.
Gabe moves toward me, his eyes made of glass. He opens his mouth, his head shaking from side to side. He’s so close, the bar the only barrier between us.
“I’m dreaming. This isn’t real,” he mumbles.
Sickness stirs my stomach. I want to rush toward him, throw myself at him and never leave his arms, but it’s too dangerous. He can’t be here.
“Stop,” I beg, trying to back away from them.
“Willa?” Gabe calls out, still not believing his own eyes.
“He will find us and kill our son. Please.” My visions blurs through my tears as James tightens his little arms around my waist.
Gabe’s eyes drop to James, finally registering he’s here.
I move him around to behind me.
“I’m so sorry, Gabe,” I sputter, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Why!” he roars, and I cringe, half expecting the bottles lining the back wall to shatter.
“I didn’t have a choice.” I want to go to him so bad, it physically hurts to stay away.
“Tell me why? You killed me, Willa. YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” James lets go of me and takes off running up the stairs. I’m torn between chasing after him and staying put.
“Is he my son?” He sounds so broken, so defeated, I want to scream and bring down the heavens for the shitty cards we were dealt.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“How could you fucking do this to me? You were my everything. I cut my fucking chest open and placed my heart in your palm. I still smell the fire, hear the fucking sirens in my sleep.”
“I had no choice.” I move toward him, my arms outstretched.
“No.” He bulks, moving away. “No. Don’t fucking touch me. You’re dead. You died.”
“Gabe…”
“Willa,” Jameson snaps, and my eyes shoot in his direction. I’d forgotten he was here. “Go get Gabe’s son.”
What? My chest constricts, air fleeing my lungs. “You can’t take him.” I reach for the other bat I keep under the bar, pointing it out in front of me.
“Don’t make me take that from you,” Jameson warns me.
“He’ll kill him. Please, Jameson.”
“Who?” Gabe scowls, thinking I mean him.
A gun rings out, and I scream, covering my face.
“Fuck,” Jameson groans, his body hitting the floor with a thud.
“She means me.”
The world around me shatters, my sky falling plunging me back into darkness.
He found me.
Fear ricochets throughout my body, rattling the bones. Everything I sacrificed to keep this from happening, now worthless if he takes them from me anyway.
“Please, Milo.” I beg, my voice crackling in terror.
I won’t survive watching them die.
He taunts, dark narrowed eyes hold me hostage, “Don’t act like this is a surprise. I told you what would happen, didn’t I?”
His words from all those years ago rush into my mind making sickness bubble up. No. Please, no.
Thirty-Eight
Willa
Ten years ago…
It’s weird sleeping in our bed without Gabe in it. He’s only been gone hours, and I already miss him. My stomach grumbles, demanding I feed our baby growing in my womb. If I don’t, he’ll keep me awake all night. I think back to my phone call with Gabe earlier, him promising to cook for me. Flicking the hallway light on, I hear a door creaking back and forth. My heart skitters as I search out any movement or other sounds. A thud, like something heavy being dropped. “Gabe?” I call out. My hands tremble. I try to determine which phone would be closest to call Jameson. He’s my emergency contact in case I need anything while Gabe’s away. Shit. Looking behind me, I bite my lip and decide to go toward the front door. I’ll get in the car and drive over to Jameson’s.
I grab my keys and reach for the latch when I hand comes over my mouth and a blade digs into my stomach.
“Don’t move, Willa.”
NO.
Fear moves through me like ice solidifying every molecule of my being.
“Milo?” I gulp against his palm.
“Did you miss me, little sister?”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Remove your hand from the door,” he warns me, and I obey, holding them up in front of me.
The smell of gas assaults my nose. I’m not sure if it’s from his hand or the house.
“Move to the kitchen,” he instructs, digging the blade in a little more. I wince and begin to cry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m free. I’m supposed to be free.