Always The Hero (Plot Twist, I'm Pregnant Book 2)

by Kelli Callahan

  That hadn’t happened yet, but it could, the doctor’s said the trauma I received was significant, and my memory could basically come and go as it pleased. It could stay for long periods of time, or disappear, and everything I learned up to that day would have to be relearned again.

  The impending doom of that was enough to keep me down. Staying positive was hard, and looking for the brighter side of things when I hadn’t experienced anything bright seemed pointless.

  Logan was bright.

  Thinking about Logan made me smile, and the longer I strolled down the street, the more excited I became, and my palms began to sweat. I had to think of an apology, but how do I say sorry to someone I hit with a two by four?

  Apologies didn’t come in a size that big.

  I looked both ways before I crossed the street and jogged so the car coming didn’t have to slow down or honk its horn for being annoyed with me.

  “Hey there!”

  I kept walking, and the car next to me matched my pace.

  “Do you need a ride?” the man yelled out the window.

  The last thing I wanted to do was to meet his eyes. His voice was older, chipper, one that made my skin crawl. No one could be that happy. No one was that genuine.

  “Aw, come on darlin’, I ain’t gonna bite.”

  The way that sentence ended told me he would.

  I walked faster, and the car sped up. My heart pounded with paranoia. I still didn’t look, but the tentacles of darkness, of ill wishes, wrapped around my body and held on tight. No, seeing the man in the car would be a mistake. I guaranteed he had bad intentions all over him, and they were aimed right at me.

  “I said get in the fucking car, bitch!”

  Run.

  I looked over my shoulder as I tried to put as much distance between me and the man in question. I couldn’t see his entire face through the windshield. The old white car had rusted sides, and the grill was damaged. He wore a baseball cap, had a cigarette in his hand, and his knuckles had tattoos, but that was all I could see.

  The car sped up, and the engine buzzed like a bumblebee as it followed me. I hung a right into the woods, a place where a car couldn’t come. A door slammed shut, and his footsteps were swooshes in the grass. He chased me.

  I knew the woods like the back of my hand. That was one thing I could say for myself since I had to be the reason for my survival.

  “I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he sang, the smile in his voice impossible not to hear, and the words nearly made me trip and fall.

  I righted myself, but with every three strides I made, his one made up for it, and he grew closer. My arm stretched out to push the branches out of the way so they wouldn’t hit me in the face. Sharp ends of the twigs and briar bushes hooked onto me, slicing my skin. Leaves slapped against my face as I headed nowhere in particular. My feet killed me. My toes, my ankles, the soles of my feet, everything felt raw and open.

  His heavy breaths drifted through the wind, promising harm and death. I ran in a zigzag pattern and then eventually hung a hard left, almost backtracking to where we came from. He wouldn’t expect that. Whoever this person was, he knew me.

  And that was enough to freeze me in place if I didn’t need to run for my life. My skin was hot and sweaty, my lungs burned, and I came to the edge of a pond with nowhere to go.

  “I know where you are. I can hear you.” He coughed, wet and harsh like a lot of people who smoke.

  I had nowhere else to go.

  Except in…

  With quiet steps, I walked my way into the murky water until my feet no longer touched the sandy bottom. I opened my mouth and inhaled the deepest breath my lungs could hold. I sank the bottom, opening my eyes to see if he was there. The dirty water clouded my vision, but I saw him, standing at the shore and peering over the pond for me.

  I still couldn’t see his face.

  I moved slowly, crawling on the bottom, gripping slimy grass. The last thing I wanted to do was look because if I saw what I was touching, I’d freak out.

  “I know you’re here,” he shouted. “I can smell you.” He wore dark blue jeans and a black t−shirt. That was all I could make out.

  My eyes burned from keeping them open in this dirty water, and his head jerked to the side. A noise of some sort must have gotten his attention because he left, stepping into the other side of the forest. Good.

  My lungs burned. My head felt like it was about to explode, and if I didn’t get air within the next minute, I’d die. I kicked to the top, the light of the sun teasing me the closer I got, and right before I broke the surface, I made sure not to splash out of the water and be too loud.

  Like an alligator, I popped my head out of the water, took a few deep breaths, glanced around, and when I noticed I was alone, the only thing left for me to do, was to get the hell out of there.

  My feet struggled to gain traction on the pond’s earth. When I did, I fell forward and clutched fistfuls of sand in my hands, pulling myself up along the shoreline. I coughed and shivered; the sun was gone and replaced by grey skies. My nightgown stuck to me; every curve of my body was on display. I felt weighed down from the drenched material, but I had to keep going.

  I had to get to Logan.

  In the last year, he was the only person to make me feel safe, and now I had this person chasing after me. Maybe I took his spot in an alley for a night? But not a lot of homeless people had cars, so I’m not sure what this man wanted with me.

  I wrung the bottom my gown out, gallons of water puddled on the ground, and brown dirt stuck to the hem of the gown, ruining it. I’d have to soak it to try and get it out. Peeking over my shoulder, I studied my surroundings. I was alone.

  The trees swayed, their leaves brushed together from the wind and the shadows between them hid a man that wanted me, and not in a good way.

  Holding onto the length of my gown, so I wouldn’t trip, I ran again and dove under a fence made of wood. My feet sunk into black mud, and once I was on the other side, I sprinted away from the pond, away from the villain, away from all the bad.

  When I got to town and the main road, I remembered that the kidnapper’s car was on this street. I hurried down the sidewalk and dove onto a side road. He would notice me considering I was soaked and dirty, completely out of place from everyone else.

  People bumped into me, glared at me, curled their lips at me in disgust when they saw me. Panic spun inside me like a tornado, and right as I was about to lose it, I ran into something sturdy. It was a light pole.

  There was a big white poster attached to it that had a familiar face on it.

  My face.

  It was me.

  Impossible.

  In big black letters at the top, it said, ‘MISSING’.

  Who cared enough to search for me? No one else had before. I glanced down, and it said, ‘If seen, please call Logan Green at…’ and it listed a number and an address.

  “Logan,” I repeated, reaching out to touch the face so well drawn on the poster. I ripped it down, clutched it in my hands, and started toward the direction of his house again. I wasn’t sure why he cared so much. Maybe he genuinely wanted to help me, and I had never had that before. If I wanted to be honest with myself, I was tired of being lonely, it ate at me every day, and this life was starting to get to me.

  I was having really dangerous thoughts, things I never wanted to do or think about again, but when I got depressed, they wiggled their way in, pulling me back under the progress I made. I kept to the edges of the city, staying on back roads and alleyways.

  Tears burned eyes and fell like hot droplets of lava on my cheeks when I saw the subdivision.

  It was then I realized how happy I was to finally feel the silly emotion I never allowed myself to feel.

  Hope.

  Chapter Seven

  Logan

  I searched for her all night and all day. Haden and I hung up posters all night after Godrick did a quick sketch. I hadn’t slept in more than twen
ty−four hours, and every muscle in my body ached from finishing the bedroom and putting the final touches on it, so she had a place to sleep.

  Lucy said Abigail was more than welcome there, but my gut told me introducing her to people slowly would be the key, not all at once.

  I was on my way back to the house. I had to get a coffee pot, and I didn’t want to miss her coming home if she did.

  Home.

  I was already thinking that my house was her house. I was already in deep, and I knew nothing about this woman. What the hell was wrong with me?

  My phone rang, and it came from a number I didn’t know. I pressed the green button on my steering wheel since I connected to Bluetooth and answered, “Hello?”

  “Is this the number to call if I saw this woman on the poster?” an old lady’s voice shook, but she sounded sweet and sincere. I imagined she had a few cats and liked to knit. Just like any other old lady, or was that stereotyping? I didn’t know what old people liked to do; I didn’t know any.

  “It is. Have you seen her?” I pressed on the gas harder, and the truck surged forward with more power.

  “Why, you know, I think I did,” she said slowly. “I was lookin’ out my winda’, you know, watching that Henderson boy from across the way. He is up to no good, I tell you what, and I didn’t want him and his little skater friends ruining my petunias. I just planted them, and you know, it’s hard to get around when someone is my age, so gardening is hard for someone with my old bones.”

  “Right,” I said, not wanting to be rude. “Ma’am? Have you seen the woman on the poster?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, dear. I tend to ramble. I saw this young lady go into that house you’re building across the street. I assume you are the Logan that your crew members are always yelling for, waking me up from my afternoon nap,” she huffed. “I don’t like to be woken up.”

  I smiled. She was feisty. I would have to visit her and make proper introductions. “I’m sorry about that, Ms?”

  “Ms. Molly. That is what everyone calls me.”

  “Ms. Molly. Thank you for letting me know about my friend. I’ll make sure to tell my crew to take their lunch break around your naptime.”

  “Oh, what a sweet man. I’d like that. Dear? Your friend didn’t look in good shape. You need to get over here.”

  I slammed my palm on the hazard lights and floored it. The engine growled, and I swerved around other cars as they honked at me. “Why? What did she look like? Was she hurt?” God, the thought of something happening to her when she should have been with me, safe and sound in my arms.

  Yes, my fucking arms, but that was how I felt, and I couldn’t help how my entire being needed her close.

  “She was dirty, soaking wet, crying, clutching the poster in her hand. She walked like her feet hurt. Poor thing. She looked like she went through hell.”

  My breath hitched, thinking of the worst. What if—I swallowed—what if someone took advantage of her? “Thank you, Ms. Molly. I’ll make sure you get your reward, as stated on the poster.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about money, but my kitchen sink stopped working, and my grandson just went out of town—”

  “—Say no more, Ms. Molly. I’ll have one of my guys go over first thing.”

  “Thank you,” she said, the cheer infectious in her voice. “I’m saving your number in my caller I.D. I need to go. Wheel of fortune is on. Bye now.”

  Ms. Molly was a life saver.

  The call ended, and my hands gripped the steering wheel as hard as they could, sweating against the leather. It was hot, slippery, and I wanted to be at the house already. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” I hit the steering wheel and slammed on the breaks. Bumper to bumper traffic and it had no chances of moving, not with the big cloud of smoke in the distance. There was an accident. I needed to get to the next intersection and take a right, which was before the accident. “Fuck this shit,” I said, spinning the wheel all the way to the right and inched my way from behind the car in front of me. My truck dipped when my tires hit the grass.

  And I bolted again, honking my horn the entire time to let everyone know I was coming. Grass and dirt flung through the air, and a few people had their hands out the window, the universal gesture of ‘What the fuck.’

  No one knew that a really special woman needed me right now. Why was it that any other day, the road was fucking clear?

  I rode the side of the ditch, leaning to the right from the natural force of gravity and when the road came up, I slowed, spun out of the trench, sending mud at the cars behind me, and finally got to the road, bypassing the traffic and the accident. I had no idea how many laws I just broke or how many people were ticked at me for it.

  Stray pieces of grass still flew free from my wheels. I noticed when I glanced in the rearview to double-check there were no cops behind me. It would be my luck to have another thing slow me down.

  I could run from them.

  That would be a terrible idea. If I was in jail, then Abigail would be all alone, and I refused to have that. She had been alone long enough; that time was over for her. I rolled through a stop sign; a few cars honked at me since I went on their turn.

  I hit the curb as I turned into the ‘Stoneridge Estates,’ and the suspension in my truck bounced and jiggled my body all over the place, just like the metal frame of the vehicle. I remembered my blinker of all things, turning left and then an immediate right on my new street.

  That was right. My street. As of three hours ago, I was the proud owner of a new home. Jerking the wheel too hard, the truck fishtailed as I pulled into the driveway, and my tires spun over red clay, and an orange cloud of smoke engulfed me and blinded my view of the house for a split second. I knew this house like the back of my hand though and walked through the garage, stepped over a few pieces of equipment, and turned the shiny bronze handle to the newly installed door that led inside.

  I stood there, staring into the house, waiting for any sign that she was here. If it wasn’t her, I’d be fucked because I didn’t have my knife on me. I was screwed if Ms. Molly was wrong. Oak floors met my boots, and as I looked around, pride swelled in my chest. Everything was almost done, and I did it for Abigail.

  It felt right.

  Something that felt so right, there was no way in hell it could be wrong.

  Something that good, could never be bad.

  “Abigail!” I shouted, unable to keep my feet in one spot any longer. I ran down the hallway, right toward the master bedroom. I knew she would be there because it was the one room in the house she was comfortable with. “Abigail?” I said her name through the closed French doors of the bedroom.

  They weren’t closed before.

  Sobs on the other side made me burst through, kicking one of the new doors off its hinges. I could fix that; I wasn’t worried about fucking doors when Abigail was on the floor instead of the bed, crying, shivering, and hugging her knees to her chest.

  I dropped next to her and picked her up in my arms. “Baby, you’re okay. I got you. You’re safe here.” I kissed the top of her head, and her bones shook from the cold and her damp clothes. She cried so hard she couldn’t speak. Abigail clutched onto the front of my shirt and buried her face in my chest. That was alright. She could use me for anything she wanted. I’d be here. “Come on, baby. We need to get you out of these clothes. I bought you new ones. These are soaked. Let’s get you in a warm bath, and then we can talk about it.”

  Abigail said nothing.

  I scooped her into my arms easily and determined she needed to gain twenty pounds, at least. Her health came first before any of my needs, her well−being, her everything before me. I flipped the light switch in the bathroom and then turned them down a bit, so they weren’t so bright. This was Abigail’s time to calm down and relax.

  I sat her on the counter, and she held onto me, clutching my shirt so I couldn’t go anywhere. “I’m only going to turn on the bathtub. Okay? I’m going to fill it full of bubbles. I promise I’m
not going anywhere.”

  She let me go, staring at her hands as if they were strangers. She had yet to look me in the face. Good, she might feel worse when she sees the huge black and blue bruise I sported. I didn’t hold it against her. I wasn’t angry.

  I only wanted her to be safe.

  And she was here. With me.

  I turned on the tub and poured way too much lavender scented bubble bath in with the water. Like way too much. Shit, like half the bottle.

  Whatever. Women liked bubbles.

  “Do you like bubbles?” I asked just to make sure, if not, well…

  “I don’t know.” Her voice broke from emotion. She spoke with a slight slur, kind of like when someone was buzzed when they had a bit too much to drink.

  “That’s alright. We are about to find out.” My heart hurt for her, to not know anything, to feel that empty without knowing yourself completely after living for so long, I couldn’t imagine. “You aren’t alone anymore,” I comforted.

  “I was chased today,” she said in a distant tone.

  I screwed the cap on the bubble bath and set it on the counter. “What are you talking about?”

  “A man. In a car,” she spoke in broken sentences. “He told me to get in. I didn’t want to.”

  I cupped her face, her jaw fitting perfectly in my palm. I rubbed my thumb over her wet cheek, doing my best not to look angry, but rage boiled my blood. “Good. You should never do that,” I reassured. “What happened next, baby?” She swallowed, still not looking at me, and another tear dropped from her soaked lashes.

  “I ran. He chased me. I hid in the water.”

  “What did he want?”

  She shivered, teeth chattering, and the tension in the room darkened. “Me.” Her voice was small and timid.

  I pulled her to my chest, burying my hand in her tangled hair. “Do you know why?” Why anyone would want to hurt her, confused the hell out of me. I swore right then and there that I’d protect her, that nothing would ever harm her again.