A shout sounds from upstairs and my heart trips. Throwing myself at the stairs, I take the steps three at a time, bursting onto the landing and into the kids’ bedroom in two seconds flat.
Octavia looks up from where she’s changing Cole’s diaper. Mary is standing beside her, a doll in her hand. They all stare at me, eyes wide.
“What the fuck,” I pant, trying to wrap my head around the fact they all look fine. Safe and sound. Alive. “What…?”
I can’t even formulate the question.
Octavia pulls up Cole’s pants and lowers him to the floor, turning to face me. Her slender brows draw together. “What’s wrong?”
Oh baby, too many things to count. But not a word comes out of my mouth. I lurch forward, grab Mary and Cole in my arms and drop to my knees on the thick carpet, closing my eyes.
The piece of paper flutters to the floor.
“Matt…” Octavia puts a hand on my shoulder, and I let go of Mary to blindly reach for her. I grip her arm, the feel of her solid, warm flesh chasing some of the fear away. “What happened?”
“You dropped this,” Mary says in a small voice, and lifts the paper from the floor.
I reach for her again and Octavia squeaks when I pull her along too, down to the floor, into my arms.
We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, until Cole squirms and babbles and wails until I let him go play with his toys.
Mary and Octavia are looking at me, quiet. I pat my daughter’s cheek, try to tuck a strand of hair behind her tiny ear, and she bats my hand away.
“Let me up,” she demands, and reluctantly I release her small body from my side.
Still afraid of me.
Not that I’ve given her much cause to trust me lately. I watch her join Cole by the window and grab a legless doll out of his hand, her face stormy.
Cole seems absorbed in his Lego construction. It looks like a haunted castle, all holes and uneven walls.
I shiver.
Octavia clears her throat, and I realize she’s still kneeling beside me—and I’m still holding her plastered to my side, my arm around her back.
Under my palm, through the thin cotton of her shirt, I feel her warmth, the fine bones of her ribcage, the curve of her hip, and a bolt of need shoots through my body. She smells so sweet, and her soft hair brushes my neck when she turns her face up to look at me.
So close. Her eyes like summer skies. Her mouth soft and inviting.
Pulling back my arm, I struggle to compose myself. I need to regroup.
Need to calm down before my heart gives out.
She unfolds gracefully, climbing to her feet. “Want to tell me what happened?”
The filthy piece of paper is scrunched up beside me where Mary dropped it when I hauled her to me.
I pick it up. Hand’s still shaking.
Dammit.
“Nothing happened,” I say and shove it into my pocket.
If this is someone’s sick idea of a joke, I’ve scared my family enough for one day. My family and the nanny who has no clue what a fucked-up crazy-ass mess her employer is.
Let’s keep it that way.
Chapter Twelve