by Mj Fields
Fucking cold, I reach over and grab my military-issued sleeping bag, when I hear a tap on my window. Ava.
I crack the window open, telling her, “Now is not a good time, Ava.”
“You’ll freeze,” she gets out before the sobbing begins anew. “Just come in.”
“No. If I do, you won’t like what I have to say.”
“I’d rather get it over with now, than when they’re awake.”
She wants her punishment now? I haven’t even figured out what it’s going to be.
“How fucking dare you?” I snap as I push open the door. “You knew all along, and you—”
“Shh...Jesus, Luke,” she scolds, looking around.
“Do I look like a man who gives a fuck what anyone around here thinks, Ava?” I scream. “Do I!”
“I hope you freeze,” she sneers before she turns to storm back into her building, but then she freezes.
I wait for her to turn around. Then I realize she is staring at something. Her body begins to shake, and I know damn well it’s where...he died.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble as I roll up the window. Then, slamming the door shut, I walk toward her and grab her arm.
She looks at me in the way she did as a kid: hurt feelings, lost little girl, and expecting—no, demanding, I take care of her.
“Let’s go,” I tell her with as much care as I can muster. When she doesn’t move, I tell her honestly, “I can’t carry you again, Ava. You’ll have to walk this time.”
Tears cascade down her face as I pull her toward the door, using my key to get into the lobby, and then again to gain access to the elevator, taking her to her place.
When we walk in, she wipes her fingers under her eyes then wipes her nose, turning toward me and asking, “What do you want from me?”
“What do I want? What the hell do I want?” My voice grows louder with each word.
“Shh...Please, they’re sleeping.”
I have no idea how to answer her question. I have so many of my own.
“Why the fuck did you keep him from me? Because of Thomas fucking Hardy?”
She reaches out and slaps me across the face with the force of a woman who has held in her anger for months.
I grab her wrist and tell her, “You ever slap me again, you better make damn sure I have it coming.”
With her other hand, she tries to slap me again, but I catch it this time.
“You are such a fucking bitch, Ava.”
CHAPTER TEN
I won’t do it again. - C. White-Lofton
AVA
“You haven’t seen bitch, Luke. Mark my words, you will if you say another thing about the man I love, the man who loved me enough to tell me the paternity tests came back that he was the father. He did that so I wouldn’t hurt, so I would be happy! He knew everything about me. He loved me! He was nothing but a gentleman and patient, waiting for me to realize he had been there the whole time! You have no right to judge him or talk about him disrespectfully when he, Thomas Hardy, was more of a man than you will ever be, and he would have loved and raised them both as his own, for me, for them!”
“Your disillusions are fucking epic, Ava,” he snarls.
“Don’t you dare try to minimize or cheapen our love!”
“How much did he love you when you came home to announce your engagement and he bent you over your kitchen sink and fucked you knowing I was looking out the window at you? You were a conquest, Ava, a fucking toy.”
How could you, T?
Skin to skin again, my hand connects with his face. “You’re sick.”
He laughs, walking back toward the elevator.
“Where are you going?” Fear and anger make my voice shake. Panic of the unknown, of what he will do, sets in.
“To figure out how to fix this mess you two caused.”
Just then, I hear a cry from the hand-held video monitor sitting on the kitchen island, so I walk toward the nursery, forgetting all about Luke.
Inside the room, I pick up Hope, and she calms a little. I look at Chance, finding him still sound asleep. Then I turn to walk out of the room and see Luke filling the doorway, his eyes trained on Chance’s crib, his fists balled at his sides. He doesn’t move when I walk toward him.
“She’ll wake him; move.”
He steps back, and I walk out, making sure I close the door behind me. I don’t want him in there.
“Shh...It’s okay, butterfly. You’re okay,” I whisper as I walk over to the couch with Hope. I hold her up, her little feet on my knees, and kiss away her tears.
She opens her mouth and...
“Oh,” I gasp when her mouth finds my jaw and she begins trying to...eat it? “You hungry, Miss Hope?”
I laugh as her mouth slides to my chin, and then her little hands tangle in my hair.
I look up to see Luke watching us. The moment is not lost, even if he is here. My moments with them are my everything.
“Well, feed her,” he gasps.
I can’t help closing my eyes and laughing, and then my little Hope’s head goes to where his voice is.
“You’re not hungry, are you, Hope?” I say, trying not to move my mouth. “Your gums are sore, huh?”
She lunges toward Luke, and I try to hold her, but she starts to slip.
He grabs her. “Christ, Ava, be careful.”
Before I can say a word, he has her, and she has him, and his chin is in her mouth. His eyes widen to the size of saucers as he tries to pull free while she grips his face.
“Claws, just like your mother.”
“Give her to me,” I demand, trying not to sound pissed.
He ignores me, sitting down and not giving her back.
“Luke...” I start.
He tries to pull free, but Hope lets out an almost cry, so he stops.
“She’s fine.”
She may be, but I’m not. Not one bit.
“I’ll take her and find one of the teething rings.”
“Ava, relax. Go get the tooth thing and bring it back.” He rolls his eyes at me.
Rolls his eyes...at me!
I stare at him, and he stares back. He’s not budging, and I’m pissed.
“Hope, someday, you and I will talk about all the times your mom held her tongue because she loves you.”
“When you and I can talk,” he says, moving his face to the side so he can talk better, “I’ll tell you that your mother very rarely holds that thing. It’s like a weapon.”
I stand before I say anything and flip him off as I walk into the kitchen to search for the teething rings for her to chew on. I know I have some somewhere around here...
When I finally find one buried deep in a cupboard that makes no sense, I stand up and look toward the couch. They are gone.
Panicked, I race to the window and look out to see Luke’s truck in the same place, and when I turn around, he is standing behind me.
“She’s asleep.”
I nod, relieved. “Two doors down is an office; there’s a bed in there. That’s where you can sleep.”
He continues to stand there, looking at me, just staring with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he shakes his head and says, “You thought they were his?”
I look away. “It wouldn’t have mattered either way. He would have—”
“You would have told me. I know you would have.”
I shake my head. “When I knew, I didn’t.”
“When you knew, you were...You have...” He’s stammering. He is, and he never does. “I know you, Ava. You would have fucking told me.”
I look back at him. “Not if he was here.”
His eyes widen, and his jaw clenches. Then he opens his mouth to say something before he snaps it back shut.
“He was to be my life, Luke, and then...he died.” I turn away and leave him, walking into the nursery and feeling as if my world has once again been turned upside down. This time, though, instead of having my children in my arms safely,
I am threatened by the fact that one may be taken away, and the other will be left to a mother who will not feel whole again without both arms full.
I look at them both sleeping peacefully, knowing I will travel to a different depth of hell tomorrow, and I may never sleep again. Therefore, I take comfort in the twin bed, in a room full of love and hope, and pray again to a God who has deserted me for a chance.
***
I wake up to the sun shining through the window and the smell of bacon. Panicked because they never sleep in this late, I jump out of bed to find empty cribs.
Running out of the room, I see them both in their bouncy seats. Hope is gnawing on her fist, Chance is cooing at Luke, and Luke is looking at them like he has it all under control.
It pisses me off.
On the counter is the jar of little, star-shaped treats that I have never given them because they aren’t ready.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, walking quickly over to them.
He looks at me and sighs. “Making breakfast.” Then he looks me up and down. “You may want to shower and try to tame that hair, Ava.”
My hand goes to my hair, instinctively patting it down. “They can’t eat that.”
He shrugs. “They ate the first pound of bacon without issue; what’s one more?”
“Are you trying to kill them!”
Chance laughs, Hope smiles, and Luke turns around to look at him.
“You not only got my good looks, but my sense of humor.” He looks over at me. “Try to keep up, will you?” Then he looks away.
“No, nope, no way. You don’t get to come in here and think you can just...feed them!”
Still, he doesn’t look at me. He just keeps looking at Chance.
“Tell the queen that she should be grateful she got to sleep in, and that I got these little troops under control.”
Chance coos again, and Luke smiles.
“Exactly.” Then he looks over at me. “Shower, Ava. I have places to be in about an hour, and—”
“Where!” I gasp, or yell, or both.
“I have a job I need to do.” He lifts the spatula and points toward the bathroom. “Shower.”
“I don’t need you here.”
“Didn’t say you did, but that’s not up to you and you alone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that he’s mine, too.” He turns away.
“Yeah, well, when you found out I was pregnant, I didn’t see you trying to claim paternity, so why now? Because you’re bored and can’t go play GI Joe until you heal?”
“Found out about five hours before the explosion that you were pregnant. I asked Mom if it was mine while I was coming out of a drug-induced coma. Thought if there was a chance”—he winks at Chance, and he smiles at him—“that I was, you’d have done the right thing and told me. Wasn’t thinking that you would’ve hid it until I saw you. Then, I made the decision to get stronger and make sure you were doing the same before asking. Now, I’m not gonna wait until that happens, so here I am, making breakfast for you, fed both kids, and telling you to take a damn shower because clearly you aren’t strong enough to take care of you and them.”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” I say, looking at the sink and seeing two empty bottles and that he used the premade baby food. “But how about you try not to take care of something while you’re bored and at home, something that you may only be able to take care of once or twice a year. That never ends well, and it’s not fair to them.”
He smirks and cocks his eyebrow. “Twice a year was good enough for you for seven years.”
When I ball my fists, he looks down.
“Not in front of the kids, queen. Now, go shower.”
I am so pissed I want to slug him, to scream at him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ava. Can’t go back. I was medically discharged, so I have nothing but time on my hands.”
I start to say something when I notice he looks less like an arrogant asshole.
“Had I heard it from you, my head wouldn’t have been a mess, and I would have been first in that building. I would have probably been the one who came back in a bag. My best friend is dead instead of me, so don’t. Don’t tell me to walk away, because I can mind fuck this situation, too, and make this even uglier.
“You wanna blame using all your prayers on me as the reason he’s not here? I can blame you messing my head up for the reason two boys and a woman don’t have a daddy or a husband. Now, go shower. The three of us were just fine before you came out.”
I don’t move, feeling a lump form in my throat.
He is looking at me with his eyes narrowed, not saying anything. In his former words, though, in the look he is giving me now, I know damn well things are going to get uglier than I ever thought possible.
Once upon a time, a little girl loved a little boy. He was her knight, her protector, her everything. Then she twisted Fate, and Fate fought back with a force that rocked the entire world, destroying lives and causing devastation and pain.
I once thought Fate was a bitch. Now I know she is an ugly cunt. If she thinks for one minute she is going to harm one hair on the heads of the children who grew inside me, she has another thing coming.
No one, not Fate, not Luke, not friends, family, or foe, will ever hurt my children. I won’t allow it.
“Ava, I’m not your biggest fan right now, but I can assure you, I am still the man I have always been—a man of my word. I give you my word I won’t slip out the door with him while your back is turned. Now, go take a shower; they’re fine.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Together we can overcome. - C. MacRae
LUKE
I walk out the door, feeling better than I have in months. My head is clear, I have a mission, I slept in a bed for the first time in days, and I have a little boy, a beautiful little boy, whose name is...everything. Chance Thomas.
The last name will get straightened out, but Chance Thomas is everything. He is my second chance in life. His middle name, although when given it, I’m damn sure she wasn’t thinking of my father, it was his name.
Thomas, my father, was held in such high regard by everyone who knew him, and Chance Thomas will be no different.
Hope, now that’s a totally different story. She’s going to have one hell of a time if her mother doesn’t pull her shit together.
Ava. Her shit is splattered everywhere. Hell, it hits hundreds of miles away from here. She is going to have a hell of a time, and no, I don’t like the thought of it. Until she decides she’s ready to face the facts, though, she has not a prayer of being strong enough for what needs to be dealt with.
I will give her time and ample opportunity, but I will not run. I will not leave one of my own.
When I finish with the first floor security panel installation at the front desk, I’m sore, but not the same type of sore I have been for months. It feels good.
I tell them I will be back to finish the first floor and second tomorrow, not that they give a damn. Then I sit in my truck, laptop in hand, going through footage and hoping like hell to find something.
After finding the date and time, I study the footage, which means I have to try not to think about why the hell a man would watch a woman in a maid’s uniform with a feather duster and a fucking clown nose dust the same piece of furniture for an hour.
I turn up the volume when the time approaches and hear the sound of metal and a scream, a female scream.
I zoom in, but the shot is blurry. I see a person get out of a vehicle and run toward the scene. Then there’s a muffled argument between a woman and a man. At present time, I kind of like the bitch that is Nan Buford, and even her narrow, little ass since she doesn’t fill the window, and her kink isn’t just visual, it’s got audio, unlike the store front’s footage.
I see the top of a vehicle. It pisses me off that I don’t know United States’ civilian vehicles like I do the military’s and vehicles in the Middle East. I could easil
y pick out the make and model of those by seeing the tire tracks or a fucking exhaust pipe, but not this shit.
I need a better computer, a bigger screen. I need to do some research, and I need to have it all wrapped up in a neat, little package before I take it to the Brooklyn PD.
Something makes me look up and into my rear view mirror. I see Ava pushing a stroller that looks like an all-terrain vehicle as she crosses the street behind me.
Closing the laptop, I get out and close the door, hurrying as best I can to catch up.
“Ava,” I call out from behind her, and she jumps. “Easy girl.”
She looks at me with angry eyes, and I remember how she froze in front of the pole last night.
“You’re doing great.”
“I don’t need a cheerleader,” she states, her lips in a straight line.
“How about a friend?”
For a moment, she looks almost sad, and then, well, Ava scowls. “A friend, Luke? A friend? You’re a threat to my family.”
Her words stop me in my tracks while she keeps going. She sees me as a threat? I’m not a fucking threat. I’m here to make things right.
I turn around and walk back to my truck. If I stay, I will end up saying something to piss her off because, honest to God, she is pissing me off.
***
I’m turning into someone’s bitch, I think to myself as I lug groceries from my truck up to her place. I can’t live on pizza and a meal replacement shake like she can. I can’t. I won’t. Neither will she. That’s probably half the reason she’s being a bitch—she’s half-starved.
When I walk in, the curtain is again blowing in the balcony doorway. I know what she’s doing. She’s grieving.
I decide to put the groceries away and leave her to it.
If she only knew that I understood, that I don’t blame her, that I blame him. If only she knew.
I look at the cupboards. What the hell? Nothing makes sense.
Fuck, Ava, what are you doing?
I do much better with structure. Anyone who says they don’t is full of shit, so here I sit, on a bar stool, going through drawers and trying to make sense of the senseless. Killshot would have a fucking field day with me right now.
