by Malcom, Anne
Plus, I was eighteen years old, about to graduate high school with no plans, shitty grades and no sense of who the heck I was. What I was, was the perfect mark.
There was also this thing with Robert, when his attention was focused on you, it was powerful. It could make you feel like the most beautiful, treasured person on the planet. Then it began to make me feel worthless, weak. There was such a power in that, I started to believe it. And I was still clinging to the times when he gave me love. Kindness. Because when he showed me that, he made me feel like I was worth something. Everything.
I deluded myself into thinking that it would get better.
But it didn’t.
And I left.
To make a long story short.
It was only around decent men that I was beginning to believe that they were real, that they existed.
Duke’s handling of rejection showed me.
I knew better than a lot of women how scary rejecting or breaking up with a man could be. Most men would never know that fear. If they broke up with a woman, they got tears, maybe some late-night drunken phone calls. But they more or less could go on with their lives without fear. If a woman broke up with a man, rejected one, she had to deal with the very real possibility that he could hit her, rape her, kill her.
Heck, the entire reason Duke was frickin’ here was because of a man’s reaction to a break-up.
I didn’t forget that. No matter how well we got along. No matter how good he treated Nathan. Even with Polly’s calls, Rosie’s texts, Lucy’s emails. All received on my new phone, of course. Nathan had to teach me how to use it it was that fancy. Somehow my five-year-old knew more about technology than me.
I was still waiting for him to exhibit some behavior as a reaction to the kidnapping. For him to act out in some way, maybe even start wetting the bed, something that had thankfully he’d grown out of six months ago.
But his sheets stayed dry, and his smile stayed wide.
Until Nathan’s teacher pulled me aside at school pickup. My stomach dropped at this, I got Nathan situated in the car with a book to keep him busy. I was yet to resort to shoving a screen in his face, in front of his still-developing brain. Not that I judged parents that did. Kids were hard, moms were constantly tired.
Once that was done, I faced Hannah with a smile and waited for her to tell me my son was biting kids, licking walls or bullying someone. It was my worst fear, that somehow nature would trump nurture and some sort of gene from Nathan’s father would be passed onto him. It seemed impossible being around my kind, happy and well-behaved son. Most of the time I didn’t even think about it. But fears crept in in the darkness, in my weakest points, in times like this.
“Is everything okay?” I asked Hannah, more than a little panic in my voice.
She must have sensed it because she reached forward to squeeze my hand. I was gonna be super sad when Nathan moved up a grade because I really liked Hannah and I knew good teachers at public schools were rare as all hell, even in a public school as good as this one. “Everything is fine,” she reassured me. “I just wanted to have a quick chat with you about some of the things Nathan’s been telling me and the kids.”
Color drained from my face in a rush. I thought of all the stories Nathan could be telling kids about some random guy introducing himself as his dad whisking him away to an unfamiliar house, telling him he’d be living there, and then having more strange men come into that house and whisk him back to his mother in a strange office in the middle of LA.
Or how about the brooding hot guy that he became attached to and had been asking about all week? The last time he’d seen him, he’d smashed a phone. Or more aptly, dropped him off at school, never to be seen again. I was mad at Lance purely for that. For coming into my son’s life, charming him with his lack of charm and abundance of bad assery and then disappearing without a word. One of the biggest reasons I didn’t date, apart from not having time to and being too freaking scared. I didn’t want men in and out of Nathan’s life, upsetting him.
“He’s a fan of Marvel, I assume?” Hannah asked, jerking me out of my spiral.
“Marvel?” I repeated.
She nodded. “Captain America, more specifically.”
Shit.
Fucking Lance.
I grinned and hope it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “Yeah, he loves that dude. Who wouldn’t love Chris Evans?”
Her grin was not forced. “I’m more of a Hemsworth guy myself.” She winked. “Nathan has a very active imagination. He’s under the impression that Captain America came and brought him back from his dad’s place, back to his mom’s.” She paused. “I’m wondering if this is connected to the new man on the pick-up list and the firm word he had with me about not letting Nathan get in a car with a man calling himself his father.”
Fuck.
My grin disappeared. How could I think this wasn’t gonna come up? Lance didn’t exactly blend in at pickup, and I’d had Lululemon moms who barely even blinked at me in the past come up and ask about him.
All of them had a mix of judgment and jealousy in their faces when they spoke to me. I did my best to brush them off while still being polite. I definitely didn’t need to make enemies of the PTA moms. I knew they already judged me enough for my crappy car, my working-class job, the fact I was a single mother and that I didn’t have time to do things like join the PTA. Or own two hundred dollar leggings.
I couldn’t care less about what they thought of me, I had a couple of moms who were actually normal and whose kids were the same and ate things like gluten and dairy. That’s who Nathan had playdates with. And as long as my son had friends, didn’t get bullied and learned things, I didn’t care what the uppity moms thought of me.
But I did care about what the teachers thought.
Because this was a good school. Evidenced by the Range Rovers and expensive cars sandwiching my crappy one. This was a great school, especially by public standards, because it was in the middle of an upscale area, which my neighborhood brushed enough to get me in the school district.
I wanted Nathan to remain here, get as good of an education as he possibly could. No way could I afford private school and the only other public one in the area was not great, to say the least.
I bit my lip and tried to figure out what a good mother would do in this situation. A good mother wouldn’t lie. But then again, a good mother wouldn’t have let it get to the point of her son being kidnapped by a violent ex. A good mother wouldn’t have trouble putting food on the table, and a good mother definitely wouldn’t have to rely on a hot and scary stranger to rescue her son, pay for her car to be fixed and pay for groceries.
But I wasn’t going to lie.
“Things with Nathan’s dad are... complicated,” I began, which she already knew thanks to the scolding she got from Lance the first day back. “He hasn’t been in the picture, and it’s in Nathan’s best interest that it stays that way. It’s been, confusing for him, to say the least. But we have it under control now, his dad knows what’s best for Nathan.”
Hannah looked at me with understanding and kindness. Not even an inch of judgment.
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said. “I know bringing up a little boy on your own must be hard.” She glanced around. “Especially around here. If you ever need to talk, have a coffee or debate which Chris is hotter, I’m here.”
The offer was surprising. But nice. It seemed that I may be a magnet for chaos, drama, violent men, but maybe my luck was turning. Maybe I was attracting good, decent people.
Or maybe more chaos, drama, and pain was right around the corner.
* * *
I was on a beach.
My eyes were closed, and I was relaxed. When was the last time I felt relaxed? I couldn’t remember.
The only thing I heard was the gentle hum of the waves against the sand.
I’d never heard a single isolated sound before. Not living with a five-year-old. There was music.
Cartoons. Yelling ‘mom’ when he needed me to wipe his butt. The crash of him dropping something. The clanging of wooden spoons against pots while he ‘played the drums’.
But there was none of that.
Just me, lying in a very comfortable sun lounger, the sun beating down on my bare skin.
Something tightened around my hip.
I looked down.
It was a hand.
A man was gripping my hip.
And I was not lying on a super comfortable sun lounger. I was lying on a man. A man corded in lean muscle, obviously dozing if his closed eyes and even breathing were anything to go by.
How he could sleep with someone splayed on top of him, I had no idea.
But when I focused on his features, I had an exact idea of why he could sleep. Because this was a dream, and impossible things happened in dreams. Like me having enough money, free time and childcare to just lay on a beautiful beach.
And me lying on Lance with his arms around me, like it was some normal everyday thing.
Something stung the back of my neck.
The sun.
It was no longer warm.
It was hot.
Like uncomfortably hot.
My chest suddenly constricted and my lungs seized as I choked out a cough. My entire body rattled with the force of it, but the man below me didn’t move.
He was still in the dream.
I must have been too.
But why was I so damn hot.
And why couldn’t I breathe?
My eyes snapped open, I wracked my body with the force of the cough that had woken me up.
My eyelids stung with the bitter acrid smoke that was filling the room.
Something bright flickered outside my door.
Fire.
Oh my god.
The house was on fire.
My throat was closed up, eyes were swelling, I felt like acid was filling my stomach, but I moved.
I sprinted to Nathan’s room, trying to cover my mouth the best I could.
The visibility in the house was decaying quickly, but I could see a small form on his bed. I scooped him up, blankets and all, trying to cover his little mouth and nose the best I could while still giving him the opportunity to breathe. Oh my god, was he still breathing? How long had I been dreaming on a fucking beach while my son was inhaling the smoke from our house burning down?
I couldn’t think about that.
He was breathing because he had to be. I’d keep him breathing by getting us out.
It was a blur of smoke and flames, running the short distance from Nathan’s room to my front door. It seemed like it took a year, with tears running out of my stinging eyes, flames seeming to scorch layers of skin off my face.
I couldn’t breathe.
The heat was unbearable.
I could smell my hair burning. Maybe even my flesh.
I took no notice.
I got us to the front door, unlocked it with fumbling hands. Smoke alarms screeched, crazy beeping was coming from the security alarm. That could mean someone knew what was happening, someone was coming to save us.
If we waited, it would be too late. Something in me knew that. If I waited for someone to come and save my son and me, we’d die.
I would not die.
I covered my hand with Nathan’s blanket to turn the handle.
Nothing.
I tried again.
It wouldn’t budge.
I put my entire weight behind it and it moved a little, but something was jammed into it.
Heat licked at my back and I could feel the thin cotton of my tank burning off me.
I had to find another way out.
The back door off the kitchen was out of the question, since most of the kitchen was currently in flames.
My eyes went to the windows, my only options.
Most of them were small, we could fit through if I smashed them, because Luke and Keltan had put security locks on them so we couldn’t open them farther than a crack. If I smashed them, there would be a high chance of both Nathan and me getting cut. The one behind the sofa was larger and went straight into the flowerbed in our front yard.
I didn’t hesitate. I moved, jostling Nathan in my arms, finding my bowl of crystals and smashing the window by throwing the bowl and the crystals at it. Considering the bowl was fake marble, it did the job.
The sofa, which by some miracle was not on fire, so I managed to use it as a boost up to the window and out into the cool air that was rushing in and feeding the fire that was licking at my heels. I used my free arm to brush more glass away but didn’t waste time in making it a safe exit.
I jumped out, sharp pain erupting from my foot and arm.
It didn’t matter.
I landed on cool soil, my lungs seemed to be coated in blood, my throat thick in ash, my eyes soaked with acid, every blink agony.
I kept going until Nathan and I were safely out of the flames.
It was then I opened the bundle I was holding.
The bundle that had been unmoving throughout the entire ordeal.
My heart skipped and then continued its thundering rhythm as Nathan blinked his eyes open, widening on me, illuminated by the flames.
Small amounts of black covered his cheeks, but he was unhurt.
I laid him down and explored every inch of him. He was unharmed, coughing, but not hacking or suffocating as I was.
He must have been mostly protected in the cocoon of blankets I’d fastened around him.
“Momma,” he said, voice raspy. Never had there between a sweeter sound.
Tears, not from the fire but from my soul leaked out of my eyes and I clutched him to my chest. “Baby,” I rasped, rocking back and forward.
He started beating on my back in panic. I immediately let him go, searching for some hurt I’d missed. His eyes were wide on the flames eating at our house.
Our home.
“Feebo is in there, Momma!” he screamed, trying to fight me. “He can’t burn!”
I struggled to contain him.
Shit.
It was then that two figures came running.
One had a phone to her ear.
Karen crouched down, worry painting her face. She was in her pajamas. They had bananas on them. I had the urge to laugh hysterically.
But the terror on her face stopped me.
She put her hand on Nathan’s head.
“Oh my god, Elena! Are you okay?”
I couldn’t answer, because Nathan was still struggling, screaming for Feebo. Real pain saturated his voice.
I made a split-second decision that turned out to be very stupid.
I thrust my son into Karen’s arms and went sprinting back into a burning building for my son’s soft toy.
The last thing I remember was clutching a stuffed bunny by the ear and telling myself I had to get it back to my son.
* * *
I did not wake up gently or peacefully.
I woke up painfully.
With someone yelling in my ear.
The world was shaking.
Or someone was shaking me.
Someone who was gripping my shoulders to the point of pain.
But pain was pretty relevant since it blanketed my entire body, inside and outside.
“Wake the fuck up!” a voice growled.
Not gentle.
Or kind.
No, furious.
“Stop shaking her like that,” someone else, someone decidedly more feminine snapped. Someone who sounded concerned but sharp.
Karen.
The grip only intensified and the shaking did not stop. “Elena, I swear to fuck, if you don’t open your eyes and breathe—”
I sucked a painful and deep gulp of air through my lungs as I realized that in all the time I’d been noting these voices and the emotion in them, I hadn’t been breathing.
The grip on my shoulders relaxed a smidgeon as I coughed and spluttered the oxygen I’d been greedily trying
to suck up seconds prior.
My lungs didn’t seem to work properly.
My throat was scraped and cut open to the bone.
Or at least that’s what it felt like.
Memories and comprehension flooded back to me. Flames. Burning. Smoke. Carrying my little boy through a house fire.
Our house fire.
I struggled to sit up, my eyes blinking furiously, filled with grit or dirt or something that made them itch and sting and made the world around me blurry and tinged in black.
The arms at my shoulders where tighter than before, not being used to shake me but now to hold me down. I struggled harder, still not able to see, not able to lay my eyes on my kid, the last time I’d seen him he’d been in his Avenger PJs outside a burning fucking building.
Nothing mattered at this point. Not the fact I was still coughing, lungs tight and unable to produce a healthy breath, not my raw throat, or my painful near blindness.
Nathan was all that mattered.
I struggled harder, the iron grip on my body loosening some against the wild, animal movement of my body. Pure adrenaline and motherly fear had me fighting against one of the strongest people I’d encountered.
“Let me go!” I screamed. Well, I intended on it being a scream, but it came out as a bare, fractured whisper. Still, I did not stop fighting. “Nathan!” I screamed again, my voice managing to get a decibel higher.
“Stop.” The words were uttered with force, just like the grip on me. I had thought it was firm before, I had thought Lance was using his full strength to contain me.
I was wrong.
Because I couldn’t move now.
I figured I’d probably be in pain if it wasn’t for the agony in my chest at not having eyes or hands on my boy.
“Nathan is fine,” Lance said, coming into vision as I continued to blink smoke and soot from my eyelids. Every blink seemed to move broken glass across my eyeballs but I didn’t stop because I needed to see.
