That’s when I spot Gabe on the floor behind him, being helped up by Agent Walker.
My hand instinctively dives into the drawer to grab the Glock.
Noah’s eyes narrow at me. My hand starts to shake but I grip the gun tight in one hand as I shift to stand protectively in front of the crib.
I don’t know what the hell is going on but my only focus is on protecting my son.
“Are you going to shoot me, Ree?”
My throat tightens, constricting at his use of the nickname my mom called me when I was a kid. Noah started calling me by that name shortly after I told him about it.
How dare he call me that?
My hand gripping the gun raises itself and points it at him. I stare at him in indignation.
I don’t owe him a damn thing.
I want him gone out of my lifenow.
Again.
But as usual, Noah does what he wants and steps into my room.
His eyes trail behind me to Adrian and I swear he shakes with rage. Pain shooting out of his eyes as he stares at our sleeping baby.
Gabe follows him in, his hand reaching out to shove Noah back out.
“Man, let’s not do this here. The kid is sleeping.”
What can only be construed as a roar spills out of Noah as he shoves Gabe against the wall, an arm locking him in a chokehold.
“TELL HER. Tell her, you fucking asshole. Tell her what you just told me. Tell my wife what you did.”
That’s when I snap.
I shove the gun back into the drawer. With the way I’m feeling right now, I could kill them with my bare hands. The last thing I want is for my seven-month-old son to wake up and witness his own father’s demise at the hands of his mother.
“I’m not your wife.” I grab the baby monitor off the changing table and I storm out the door, knowing they’ll follow me out.
I’m counting on them to follow me out because this is not a conversation I want to have in the same room my son is sleeping in.
I pass the spare room where they let me set up Adrian’s play area. I spot Agent Walker in the other room that’s set up as their office looking over surveillance and Agent To in the room the agents sleep in, cleaning her gun.
I place the monitor on the kitchen counter, bracing my palms on the cool surface and attempt to take in deep breaths. My anxiety has been out of control since I found out I was pregnant, but it’s even more unpredictable post-partum. Add that to the stress of being on forced house arrest by my ex-husband who didn’t even bother to show up when I found out I was pregnant or even when I gave birth, my emotions are undoubtedly all over the place.
Then suddenly he’s here, a month after I asked Gabe to serve him divorce papers.
What is going on?
I am so angry and heartbroken and sad and fucking pissed. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I watch as Noah stalks in front of me on the other side of the counter and as he levels a dark look at Gabe who follows closely behind.
Something isn’t adding up. Noah is pissed too. No, scratch that. He’s livid. I have never seen him act this way.
And Gabe? He looks guilty… of what I don’t know.
Gabe looks at me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.