by Amira Rain
And I have no interest in hearing anything that a criminal has to say. I’ll stay here in Greenwood because I want to stay with Sam, and I know you’ll never let me take her from you. I also don’t even want to take her from you, because you seem to make her so happy. But as for you, and me, and talking, and kissing, I’m absolutely done. You may speak to me about parenting-related things only. I hope I’ve made things clear.”
With that, I turned on my heel and stalked out of the kitchen, intending to go up to my room. However, when I reached the living room, where the stairs to the bedrooms were, I found Sam still sleeping in her playpen, and I hesitated, not wanting to lift her out and wake her, but unsure if I should leave her in the living room.
It wasn’t that I didn’t think that Warren couldn’t or wouldn’t keep an eye on her; I just didn’t want to have to go back out to the kitchen to ask him to. While I was trying to make up my mind about what to do, though, I heard Warren’s heavy boot-steps coming up behind me, and then his voice.
“I’ll watch her.”
I mumbled a thank you without even looking at him before striding across the living room to the stairs.
Once up in my room, I just kind of fumed around for a little while, straightening things and putting a basket of laundry away while trying not to picture Warren’s impossibly handsome face, especially not his full lips. I also fought not to recall how his lips had felt on mine, and how his hands had felt on the small of my back, and how his scent filling my nostrils had been almost intoxicating.
Eventually, when there were no more tasks to do, I got into bed intending to just rest my eyes for a few minutes, tired from my poor sleep the night before. My California king-sized bed was too comfortable, though, and I ended up falling dead asleep, not waking for about an hour. Beyond my lace-curtained windows, the sky was a deep shade of lavender-blue, and my stomach was growling, begging me to acknowledge dinnertime.
After splashing my face and brushing my teeth, I headed downstairs, dreading another “civil” dinner with Warren, and wondering if he’d already made something for the both of us. If he hadn’t, I was going to make myself a sandwich, or something else quick and easy, to take back upstairs.
However, when I arrived in the spacious living-room-slash-dining area downstairs, I saw that Warren hadn’t made anything, but that dinner was ready. The table was set for two, and a large pizza box sat beside a serving bowl of salad and a white paper bag that I thought probably contained breadsticks, since it bore the same red logo as the pizza box.
Standing beside the table with Sam in one arm, Warren was placing a few paper napkins beside each of the two plates, and he glanced up at me.
“We were just about to come get you. Sam says she’s a pretty good eater, but that she won’t be much good to help me with this pizza. Says it’s something to do with her complete lack of teeth.”
In spite of my residual anger toward Warren, I couldn’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles.
Before having a seat at the table, this time right next to Warren instead of all the way down at the other end, I pulled Sam’s portable playpen over from the living room and put her in it so that she could play while we ate. Inside the playpen, I put one of her favorite toys, which was a plastic arch sort of thing with wide bases on each side that kept it upright.
From the arch dangled tiny stuffed animals, plastic blocks, and plastic mirrors of all different sizes, all just within Sam’s reach so that she could bat at them on her back and make them swing on their colorful braided ropes. She was simply fascinated by this toy, and I often couldn’t believe how long it could keep her entertained, and what intense, serious expressions she would get on her face while playing.
While Warren and I ate, she was our entertainment, and we both spurred her on when she showed particular interest in a cat-shaped mirror, batting at it furiously while kicking her little legs wildly. A few times, Warren and I exchanged glances, smiling a little, and each time, I told myself I wouldn’t look at him again, and definitely not smiling, but I did. I was still very mad at him and had meant every single word I’d said. It was just that when Sam was involved, I found the little glances of pride and amusement that parents often exchanged to be near-irresistible, no matter that my fellow parent was Warren.
Around the time that Warren and I were both slowing in our respective eating paces, now more picking than eating, Sam began to get visibly sleepy, having batted and kicked herself into exhaustion. Like she sometimes did though not very often, she brought a thumb to her mouth and began sucking, eyes already beginning to close.
With obvious affection in his eyes, Warren watched her for a few moments, then turned his gaze to me. “She’s so, so beautiful. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that this perfect little creature is mine.”
Not knowing what to say, and also not wanting to get into any kind of a real conversation, I just smiled politely and began eating the rest of my salad in earnest, intending to go right upstairs with Sam when I finished. Warren, however, who was spearing a few last pieces of his own salad, seemed intent on having a conversation.
“Back in the kitchen when you said you were in a good mood earlier today because of some things in your personal life, what were those things? Will you tell me?”
With half a tomato wedge in my mouth, I began chewing a little harder than was probably necessary, and once I’d swallowed, I kept my gaze on my plate, spearing a few pieces of lettuce. “I told you that I’m only willing to discuss parenting-related things with you, and I don’t believe that my moods or my personal life are things that fall under the umbrella of ‘parenting-related.’”
“Well, that’s true, but no matter that you think I’m a criminal, I’d still like to get to know you a little better, if you’ll let me. Won’t you give me a chance, Tara?”
I finally looked up from my plate. “A chance to what? Prove to me that you’re not a criminal?”
“Yes. Exactly. Just please give me the chance to prove to you that I’m not who you think I am.”
“No, thank you.” After setting my fork down, I abruptly stood up from the table, leaned over Sam’s playpen, and carefully lifted her out before cradling her sleeping form to my shoulder. “Do you mind clearing the table without me? I think I’d like to go up to bed now.”
Frowning, Warren stood. “Just please wait. I—”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but the first thing that put me in a good mood this morning was the note that you supposedly wrote for Sam. It made me smile, and I am truly happy that you’re proving to be such a good father.
The second thing that made me glad today was that a got a call from my brother, who said that our dad is finally going to try to quit drinking. He’s been a world-class alcoholic for over six years now, and it’s absolutely devastated our family.
Then, the third thing that made me glad today was Sam’s good checkup. So, those were the things that had me in such a good mood that I spaced out and took a wrong turn out of the grocery store parking lot.
But then, it all popped like a bubble when I was reminded that I’m just a captive here in Greenwood, with shifter guards watching the roads to make sure I don’t escape.”
Frowning, Warren raked a hand through his hair. “They’re also positioned there to make sure that no Graywolves try to enter our town by circling around to the south. We can’t just let them waltz right in and attack us.”
“That’s another thing that makes me wonder about you. I’ve heard that these Graywolves aren’t exactly the hyper-aggressive killing machines that you act like they are with all your guards and patrols.”
Warren frowned even harder. “Who told you that they’re not ‘hyper-aggressive killing machines?’ Everyone here in town knows all too well—”
“I mean that that’s just what I think.”
I hadn’t forgotten that I was supposed to keep my interaction with Brooke a secret, but I’d made a bit of a misstep by saying “I’ve heard�
� in regards to what I had about the Graywolves, implying that someone had told me.
However, Warren seemed to accept my little cover, sighing. “Think what you want, Tara, but the Graywolves are ‘hyper-aggressive killing machines.’ They want this land, and they want everyone in Greenwood dead. They wouldn’t even think twice about slaughtering us all if they were able to. As it is, they’ve already committed some horrible crimes against our people. I’d lead my men in an attack on them and wipe them all out for good if they didn’t have so many women and children in their village. The Graywolves are just sick and demented enough to use their own wives and kids as human shields.”
Wondering if the truth was somewhere between Brooke’s portrayal of the Graywolves and Warren’s, I said nothing, and Warren sighed again, raking his hands over his face.
“Speaking of the Graywolves… I have to leave before dawn tomorrow morning with a few of my men, on a mission to hunt down and deal with a few of the Graywolves. They were members of one of the packs that made it south to Michigan, but these ones remained behind in FDS territory for whatever reason, and they’ve recently been spotted. I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of days, though.”
Trying to appear unconcerned and disinterested, I shrugged. “That’s fine.”
I was only trying to appear unconcerned and disinterested, though, and actually wasn’t either of those things, because when Warren had said that he’d be leaving, I’d experienced a flash of anxiety, or disappointment, or something. I wasn’t really even sure what it had been, but it had surprised me, to say the least. I felt like what I should have experienced was relief or happiness upon hearing that he was going to be gone for a few days.
A long moment ticked by, and when I didn’t add anything to what I’d said, Warren stepped a little closer and dipped his head to give Sam a kiss on the side of her face. Then, straightening up, he said that he’d take care of clearing the table. “Just go ahead and get some rest.”
I mumbled a thanks and a goodnight, then began heading out of the dining area and toward the stairs, unable to understand why the strange disappointment I’d felt upon hearing that Warren would be leaving had turned into a dull ache somewhere deep in my chest.
CHAPTER 14
The following morning, I just happened to wake up shortly before dawn, strangely feeling unable to sleep anymore. After getting out of bed, and putting on a midnight blue satin robe, I had thoughts of going downstairs to enjoy a leisurely breakfast with a mug of tea and maybe a book before Sam woke up. However, almost to my bedroom door, I paused, then turned and went over to one of the wide east-facing windows, thinking that maybe I’d enjoy watching the sunrise first, since I couldn’t remember the last time I had.
When I reached the window, the sight that greeted me was almost indescribably beautiful. With the sun just about to break over the horizon, which I could only partially see because of the trees, the sky was painted in all manner of oranges and pinks, from pale ballet pink and peach to fuchsia and fiery orange.
It was this fiery orange color that bathed the enormous stone-walled box near the trees at the edge of the property with warm yellow-orange light, making the cold gray stone appear as if it were made of gold. As gorgeous as this sight was, I regretted that the walls of the box were so high that even from the second floor of the cabin, it was impossible to see what was inside.
Then a dark shape coming around the side of the house caught my attention, and kind of startled me. Still not quite used to seeing shifters around, it took me a good second or two to realize that the dark shape I was seeing was an enormous brown bear, definitely the biggest I’d ever seen in Greenwood.
It took me another second to realize that this huge, lumbering bear was Warren, leaving the house to join his men in hunting down the couple of supposedly rogue Graywolves still in the FDS. I’d actually forgotten that he’d be doing so.
With his massive paws making impressions in the dew-dampened grass, Warren began making his way across the back lawn, and I watched him while experiencing some funny rush of an emotion that I couldn’t even identify. Or, maybe it was more like emotions, plural.
Whatever I was feeling, it was something like one part strange melancholy, one part slight sizzle of anger, and one part bizarre feeling of pride, although I had no clue why my chest should swell while I watched Warren. It wasn’t like he was my bear shifter. In fact, I told myself, I’d never in a thousand years want him to be. The kind of man I wanted didn’t kidnap women and hold them captive.
Figuring that my strange little sense of pride upon seeing Warren was just because he was Sam’s father, and I was proud that she had such an obviously strong, powerful father, I continued watching Warren until he was maybe halfway across the lawn. At that point, as if he had psychic powers and could sense I was watching him, he suddenly paused, then turned his face to look up at my bedroom windows.
And right then, a widening of his dark, fur-ringed eyes told me that he hadn’t in any way been expecting to see me. I maintained eye contact with him, wondering if he'd looked because he’d been thinking of me, and wondering if he was experiencing the same funny rush of emotions that I was.
However, after a long moment, I suddenly stepped away from my window, closing the cream-colored lace curtains, telling myself that I didn’t want Warren to be experiencing any particular emotions in regards to me. Just like I didn’t want to be experiencing any particular emotions in regards to him.
I certainly didn’t want to experience any emotions that would make me long for him or make me long to have him kiss me again. That was done, I told myself. Never again. Never. He was a temptingly attractive man, sure, but I had to be stronger. I couldn’t let myself fall for a man I still didn’t really know, except that I knew that this man had committed crimes against me and was even still currently doing so, essentially holding me prisoner in his town.
Taking a paperback from the small bookshelf in my room, I went downstairs, made a cup of tea, halved a grapefruit, made an omelet, and proceeded to enjoy my nice, leisurely breakfast. Or, I tried to, anyway.
The book I’d picked was a political conspiracy thriller, normally the kind of book that I loved and became engrossed in right away. But on this particular morning, I found myself having a difficult time even getting beyond the first page, despite the fact that the book was by one of my favorite authors.
Irritating me, my thoughts kept turning back to Warren, and eventually I just gave up on reading right then. This was just as well, because not a few moments later, Sam’s cries came through the baby monitor I’d put in the pocket of my robe.
Two days passed, and although I tried to keep myself very busy, cleaning the house, taking long walks around the property with Sam, and making a daily shopping trip into town to buy new clothes for her, I still couldn’t keep my thoughts from turning to Warren frequently. This put me in a low-level perpetual bad mood.
Even Sam seemed to be kind of bummed out with him gone, not being as smiley and giggly as she usually was. She didn’t even seem to enjoy batting at her favorite playpen toy as much, with its dangling mirrors and plastic blocks, without her Daddy to show off for. Or, maybe it was just that my low mood was rubbing off on her. I really couldn’t tell.
The morning of the third day since Warren had left, my low mood got even lower when Kevin called, speaking in a tired, flat voice.
“Dad’s in the hospital.”
Although saddened and concerned, I wasn’t exactly surprised by this news. Kevin had texted the morning before, saying that our dad was “still on the wagon and doing okay.” So, being that our dad had been an alcoholic on the worst possible level for over six years, sometimes even developing hand tremors if he didn’t start drinking soon enough after waking, I’d expected that alcohol withdrawal symptoms would kick in soon. And I knew that they’d be terrible.
Just wanting to confirm that this was what was happening to him, though, I asked Kevin if this was the problem and if he’d be okay, and
Kevin gave me an answer that I wasn’t expecting.
“He’ll be fine, I guess, but he’s not in the hospital because of withdrawal symptoms. He’s in the hospital because he was found lying in the alley behind the liquor store this morning, drunk, with a big cut on his head. He couldn’t even remember if he fell down, or what he hit his head on, or if he was attacked, or what. He could barely even talk. The ER doc said his blood alcohol level was ‘high enough to render three non-alcoholics comatose.’ They just stitched him up a few minutes ago, and they’re going to admit him and keep him all day for observation, maybe even overnight.”
Profoundly disappointed, sad, and angry all at once, I didn’t respond, and after a few seconds, Kevin spoke again.
“I knew he couldn’t do it. I almost wish he hadn’t even tried, because I think Derek and Joey had really started to hope that they might have a dad again.”
I tried to swallow down a little lump in my throat before responding. “And what about you, Kev? Were you hoping?”
He didn’t answer right away. “No. I knew better. Now I’m just mad because now I’m going to be up until midnight finishing a Sociology paper, because I’ve lost so much time this morning here at the hospital.”
I didn’t think that was the real reason he was mad.
He soon said he had to go, because someone at the hospital wanted him to fill out more paperwork. “I’ll keep you posted, though. Hopefully he’ll come home, go back to drinking in his room, and just leave me and Derek and Joey the hell alone, like he used to.”
After telling Kevin that I loved him and to hang in there, I ended the call and pocketed my phone with a profound heaviness in my chest, like my heart had been replaced with a stone.
I napped with Sam that afternoon, just wanting to sleep and avoid reality, and when she was still knocked out when I awoke, I did some thinking and internet searching, then called Kevin back, asking him if the doctors could give our dad some kind of medicine to help stave off withdrawal symptoms if he wanted to try to get back on the wagon again.
