Their voices different but always the same.
Terror rippled through Ian’s spirit, and he wanted to save his mama. But he was too scared.
Quiet footsteps moved over the carpeted floor.
His big brother was there.
Ian breathed out in relief.
Jace pulled back Ian’s covers, crawled into bed beside him, and wrapped him in his arms.
“I’ve got you, Ian. Don’t be scared.”
Don’t be scared.
Don’t be scared.
Scared was the last thing Ian wanted to be.
Eighteen
Grace
I was already out the front door and running for the curb when the car came to a stop. So, what if it made me look desperate and needy. That was exactly what I was.
It really didn’t matter all that much if I was showing an iota of vulnerability, anyway. I should have known it wouldn’t be Reed who’d take the time to deliver his children back to me at the end of their visit.
I refused the spike of anger that wanted to climb into my feelings. Not right then. The only thing that mattered was they were home.
Safe.
Where they belonged.
We were going to make it. We would. Whatever it took.
Reed’s driver, Riggs, put the big sedan in park and climbed out. He really didn’t need to bother. My children were already pouring out, Mallory darting across the lawn with her arms thrown in the air.
My pulse spiked, joy hitting me hard.
I didn’t even stop walking as I scooped her up, hugged her close. Breathed her in.
“There’s my Mal Pal. I missed you so much.”
I knew there was no way she could understand just how much that was.
Her little arms wound around my neck. “I missed you all the way to the moon!”
“All the way to the moon?” I teased. “Well, I missed you all the way to the sun and the stars and right back again.”
“No way. You didn’t have time to get that far.”
“But what if I had a spaceship?”
“A spaceship?” Her little voice lifted in excited awe, as if we were already writing another chapter in our story.
We just might need one for a getaway.
I was holding her as I moved across the lawn and toward the car, my eyes on my Thomas, who looked like he was holding the weight of the world on his little shoulders.
I knew he was.
Our fragile world.
The child trying to be the caretaker, the protector of his sisters while they were away, continuing our stories as if they were here, as if it was me who was whispering in their ears.
He helped Sophie down.
Only she immediately tripped and fell onto her hands and knees.
I was hit with the urge to run for her. To shield her from any pain.
But my wild thing popped back up as if nothing had happened, sending me a smile with a row of her tiny teeth, gaps in between them, happiness radiating from her little body. “I do it, Momma!”
With a brush of my fingers through her hair, I set Mallory onto her feet, and she ran over to Riggs who was unloading her little pink suitcase from the trunk.
Sophie lifted her hands in the air, those chubby legs toddling my direction. “Momma now.”
Momma now.
Momma forever.
I picked her up, filling my nose with her sweet scent, baby powder and the promise of spring. I spun us around, and she squealed, “I fly!”
Soft laughter rolled from me, at one with the peace of the late afternoon air, and I carried Sophie the rest of the way over so I could set my hand on Thomas’s back.
I leaned in to whisper at his ear, “There’s my brave boy.”
He grimaced, and I knew he was contemplating playing indifferent, the big man who shouldn’t show his feelings, which I was sure Reed had fed into his brain over the last two days.
“Sweet boy,” I murmured, trying to reach him.
For a second, he hesitated before he threw himself at me and burrowed his face against my belly. “Mom. I missed you.”
“It’s okay, Thomas. I’m right here. I’m so sorry.” I let him cry, these big, angry sobs that erupted from him, one of my arms around his shoulders while I kept Sophie situated on my hip as I tried to silently give him all the encouragement I could find.
The promise that we would be fine. That this would soon be over.
The faith that it would work out.
No matter what.
Like Gramma had said, some things were just too right to go wrong.
Riggs tried to hide the sympathy in his face, the old man always so kind in all the years I’d lived at Reed’s house.
“Here you go, ma’am,” he told me as he pulled the rest of their things out of the trunk. They had stuff at Reed’s—ridiculous, expensive things—and I made sure to send them with familiar toys and clothes that would make them feel comfortable every time they went.
“Thank you,” I told him, my voice hoarse, part of me wanting to beg him to tell me anything he could. To give me any ammo. I was sure he had plenty.