It took only a flash for it to penetrate Evan’s mind, and he darted for my purse where I’d left it on the coffee table in the living room.
Dane shoved me so hard it sent me reeling, my feet unable to find solid ground. I flew backward, my head snapping back and smashing against the wall.
A sharp strike of pain blazed across my skull, blurring my vision for a second.
Dane’s vindictive voice filled the chaotic air. “He can’t hear you, Harley. That little freak can’t hear you.”
And I knew I would never get through to this man.
But in that moment, while I stood there helpless, sure he was going to end me, I let the years of pent-up hurt and rage pour from my mouth. “He can hear me. He’s always heard me, just like I hear him. You just refused to listen. To understand him. To see him. You’re the one who missed out. And now you don’t get us, not ever again.”
Dane growled an inch from my face, “He was a mistake.”
Defiance pulsed through my veins. “He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
A clatter sounded from the other room.
Dane’s attention jerked that way, and his gaze narrowed in shock when he found Evan with the phone, the screen lit and connected, an operator on the line.
Blanching, Dane reared back.
Shock on his face before it was gone and the monster returned. Revulsion curled his fists. “You think this is over? I warned you, Harley. I will find out what you’re up to. And you will come home . . . one way or another.”
He blew out the door.
A loud sob wrenched from my body, and I slid down the wall to the floor.
It was too much.
The shock and the grief. The hurt and the fear.
Cracks fissuring through my spirit.
Two seconds after Dane disappeared, Evan ran back through the archway with my phone in his hand.
And I swore, I was crushed by his expression when he found me balled up on the floor, sobbing.
No longer able to stand.
His little face was ridden with horror, confusion, and fear. Maybe the worst was that he was looking at me as if he would give anything to have stopped what had just happened.
“Evan,” I whispered, and he rushed to me, his precious face a mess of sticky tears.
Arms stretched out for him, I pulled him onto my lap and against my chest. My mouth went to his temple, my lips moving with the promise as I rocked us. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
He made a scraping sound, and his tears soaked the front of my dress as he clung to me.
“I’m so sorry, Evan,” I whimpered, clutching him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
Sorry he had to see that. Go through it. Feel it.
My little man.
My savior.
My protector.
Sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder and louder as they approached. A gasping, relieved breath tore from my lungs when two police officers finally appeared at my gaping door, their guns drawn as they stepped inside to assess the situation.
I pressed Evan’s face to my chest to at least protect him from that, hating to put him through any more shock and turmoil.
“We’re okay. We’re okay. We’re okay,” I told them through my cries, which only increased as the adrenaline bled away.
As I realized the magnitude of what had just happened.
As I wondered if my telling them we were okay was just another lie because I wasn’t sure that we truly were.
Dane had just given me ammunition to fight him. An attack that I’d been unprepared for.
But did that even matter when he suspected, knew something was wrong with the records? I held Evan tighter against me as if that one touch might protect him from every danger.
Still, I could feel it slipping away.
Hope.
An officer helped me to my feet, and I carried Evan to the couch, and I continued to hold him as tightly as I could while I answered the officers’ questions.
What happened?
Did anything occur to incite the attack?
Were we injured?
I saw it in their expressions when I told him it was my estranged husband.
This was just another common domestic disturbance to them. The same kind of call they’d probably responded to a million times.
Despair settled into the pit of my stomach when they said they would attempt to get in touch with Dane Gentry to get his side of the story.
As if the fact he’d forced his way into my home weren’t enough.
After an hour of answering their questions, I followed them to the door to let them out, every muscle in my body feeling as if it weighed a million pounds.
The younger officer, the one who’d helped me stand from the floor, paused on the porch and turned back to look at me from over his shoulder, sympathy in the tight twist of his brow. “Make sure you have that door locked up, ma’am.”