Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Holly
“Sweetheart, if you don’t start getting some rest, you’ll be no good to Rebel once he’s released from rehab,” Grammy says, chastising me as I help her clean the kitchen after dinner.
She’s already bathed both girls, who are in their pajamas, just waiting for Pappy to carry them over to our house so they can go to bed. “Grammy, I promise, once the girls are down, I’m only going to call Rebel really quick then I’m going to sleep myself.” Like the dead. I’ve never felt such an emotional toll as I have since Rebel’s accident.
The clients can wait since the only accounts I’ve got left to work on are the club businesses. I’m sure they’ll understand the delay seeing that Rebel’s their president. Psycho has already sent me the spreadsheets for each of the businesses so all I have to do is plug them into the software for payroll. He’ll print off the checks and he and Ash will sign them since they’re on the business bank accounts then distribute them to the employees. Each business now has its own checking account which has made life so much easier for all of us. Initially, it was a hot mess and I thought I’d never get it all sorted. Nowadays, it runs like a well-oiled machine. Even with this situation with Rebel, the brothers have been able to handle shit for the most part.
“Come on, Holly, let’s get these girls to bed,” Pappy says. My smile is tired looking, I’m sure, but seeing both girls curled into his strong arms makes me remember when I was a little girl, and he did the same thing for me. Cuddling with my pappy was the highlight of my day. Wish things were still that simple and his arms could fix anything that’d gone awry in my day.
“Good night, Grammy. And if I haven’t already said it, thank you for all of your help with the girls,” I say, leaning in and giving her a kiss and a hug.
“Child, there’s nothing your pappy or I won’t do to help y’all as long as we’ve got breath in our bodies,” she replies, patting my cheek. “Now, you get a good night’s sleep, then bring the girls over for a hearty breakfast. What time are you planning to go over to the rehab facility?”
I stop and think then say, “He’s got his therapies first thing in the morning, so I’ll probably wait and go closer to lunch time.”
“Then I’ll be sure to make plenty of food so you can take him some good home cooking,” she replies, solidifying her words with a hefty nod.
Both girls are lightly snoring before I get three pages of their latest book read. The bedtime story is a classic. It’s one I remember as a little girl and I know they’ll enjoy it once we get further into the story itself. Setting it on their bedside table that sits between their twin size beds, I lean over and kiss both of them, check their covers then turn out the lamp. On my way out the door, I click on their nightlight. They don’t ask for it anymore, but it makes me feel better knowing they’ll be able to see where they’re going if they need to visit the restroom in the middle of the night.
Ever since Rebel’s accident, they’ve insisted on sleeping in the same bed. Rather than argue with them, I’m rolling with it because I know they’re scared. It’s something that gives them solace, and as their mother, I’d do anything to help them sleep peacefully throughout the night. Even if it’s a habit that we’ve broken over time.
Unfortunately, I can’t divide myself in two, so if they can get comfort from each other, I’ll allow them to do so, and we’ll worry about any repercussions once Rebel’s home. I know they’ll end up in my bed at some point, but at least there’s plenty of room for all of us to spread out.
Yawning, I make my way around the house, checking to make sure all the doors and windows are locked before I double check the alarm. I grin because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rebel will ask me if I did it since he’s not here to ensure it’s done.
Since my bathroom’s out of commission, I grab my pajama set and clean underwear then head into the other bathroom the girls use that’s in the hall. Pulling up my hair into a knot on top of my head so it doesn’t get wet, I make quick work of showering, then I brush my teeth, clean my face, then apply my nightly moisturizer before I head into my own bedroom.
“Ah, bed,” I murmur as I set my alarm on my phone then toss it onto the mattress so I can call Rebel once I get nestled beneath the blanket. When it rings, I see it’s from a local number so I answer it, thinking it may be someone calling from the front desk of the facility Rebel’s at.
“You were supposed to be on that bike,” Myra hisses. The venom in her tone has my back subconsciously going ramrod straight.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head to clear the sleepiness trying to pull me under.
“I thought you’d be on the bike with him,” she states.
Confusion wraps around my brain, so I ask the only question that comes to mind, “Why?”
“Because you’re the reason my boy is dead,” she tells me, sounding so hateful.
“Where are you, Myra? The police know it was you,” I reply.
“That’s for me to know and y’all to find out,” she sing songs, her words are maniacal and have goosebumps erupting across my skin.
Jesus, she’s batshit crazy! Deciding to record the call, I hit the button on my phone, thankful that the last update gave me that option.
“So, because you think I’m responsible for Devin’s death, you decided to hit Rebel?”
“You were supposed to be on the bike with him!” she yells, repeating her earlier statement.
“No, I wasn’t. I was at home, working. Do you know you almost killed him?” The anger radiating from me has my body shivering in response. If she were in front of me, I’d wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze the life from her. I’m that mad!
“Good, you don’t deserve to be happy.” Fuck. Her. She has no idea what monster she unleashed by trying to take away the one man that makes me and my girls feel happy.
“So, you’d willingly let your own granddaughters become orphans? What kind of sick person does that?” I question. “Myra, I’m hanging up now. Just know, your time’s coming.”
“As is yours,” she sneers before disconnecting the call.
Shudders wrack my body as her words replay in my head. I don’t know what to make of her last statement either, it almost feels like a threat or maybe even a prediction of sorts even though I know I’ll never be in a position to where she can get her hands on me, but now I’m worried that she’s going to make me her sole target since it appears that was her original plan to begin with, only she ended up hurting Rebel instead. What if I have the girls with me when she decides to strike? Tears spring to my eyes as everything from the past two weeks crashes down on me and tries to swallow me whole. As the sobs pour out from my soul, I realize I can’t call Rebel in this morose condition. There’s nothing he can do, and I won’t put this additional strain on his shoulders to carry. Pulling up our text thread, I decide to go that route tonight.
Me: Hey, handsome! I’m wiped out so figured I’d just text you tonight.
Rebel: Miss your voice, Holly.
Me: And I miss yours, but Grammy scolded me on how tired I look. I think she’s expecting me to go right to bed.
Rebel: LOL. Did you lock up the house and set the alarm?
Me: Yes, sir.
Rebel: I like that, we’ll explore that when I get home.
Me: No, we will not. I’m not calling you sir or daddy. That’s just…ew…no. I don’t mean to yuck on someone else’s yum, but that does nothing for me at all Rebel.
Rebel: ROFLMAO. I love you, Holly. Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget, I’ve got my physical and occupational therapies first thing.
Me: I remember. I’ll get there close to lunch time since Grammy’s sending food for you.
Rebel: Thank God. If you saw what I had to choose from for breakfast, you’d probably be hauling your ass up here to bring me that too.
Me: That bad, huh?
Rebel: Put it this way, you and the brothers will be supplementing my food unless y’all want me to drop a lot of weight.
Me: Yeah, we’ll make sure you’ve got food, handsome. Don’t want you losing any of your physique. I mean, the hospital food wasn’t too bad.
Rebel: The food here is toddler food, Holl. Not even lying.
Me: Don’t forget, there are a lot of elderly people there on the assisted living side. I bet they base their menu on them and their appetites.
Rebel: Well, they need to revamp that shit.
Me: LOL. Go to sleep, handsome. Dream about me and I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one bearing food gifts.
Rebel: Don’t forget the cookies and the pictures from the girls.
Me: Those are already packed.
Rebel: Good. Now, put your phone on the charger because you always forget and remember how much I love and adore you.
Me: Night, handsome.
Rebel: Night, beautiful.
“Where’s the road?” I mutter, my eyes constantly veering to the rearview mirror where a car is bearing down on me. If I can just get to Pine Street, it’ll take me right to the police station.
I feel the impact and scream as the car swerves to the side, skidding on the loose pebbles on the road before I can correct it, both Mina and Ruby yelling as well. Calling out my name. But I can’t do anything to comfort them since I’m concentrating on not crashing.
“It’s okay, girls, we’re going to be okay,” I tell them, sounding calmer than I am. “Siri, call 9-1-1.”
“Calling 9-1-1,” the robotic voice responds.
As the call connects with the precinct, I feel another jar, only this one has me fishtailing, even though the roads are clear and dry. “Help me!” I scream. “Someone is hitting me from behind!”
“Ma’am, can you tell me where you’re at right now?” the dispatcher asks.
I quickly relay what I’m driving as well as which road I’m on. I can’t really speed up too much since there are substantial curves ahead and if I’m not careful, we’ll nosedive off the side of the cliff. I won’t risk my daughters’ lives because some demented bitch is gunning for me.
The third impact sends me toward the guardrail, and I scream as I fight to regain control of my SUV. “My daughters are in the car too!” I tell the dispatcher, hoping the urgency in my voice will have the police arriving sooner.
“Are they safely secured?” the dispatcher asks. “Police are enroute, ma’am, and are about a minute out from your location.”
“They’re both in age-appropriate car seats, but we’ve already been hit three times and we almost just hit the guardrail.”
“Stay calm,” she encourages. What the hell? I’m as calm as one could be when someone is attempting to murder them. It’s not like I’m at the nail salon waiting on one of the technicians to come and give me a pedicure.
Tears continue to stream down my cheeks and fear radiates throughout my body as I inform her, “I’m trying, I promise, but we’re coming up on the curves.”
Her tone changes at my words and I feel my heart drop as it dawns on me, we might not make it out of this alive.
“Mina, Ruby?” I call out.
“Yes, Mama?” they reply in unison.
“I love you girls so very much,” I tell them, swallowing back my sobs.
“We love you too, Mama, and also Daddy,” Mina says.
“Ma’am, just before the curve, to the left, there’s a runaway truck lane, do you think you can aim for that?”
“I can try if it’ll keep me from going over the cliff and rolling down the embankment,” I grit out. My teeth are clenched so hard my jaw is aching at this point.
“I’ll stay on the line with you until the police arrive, ma’am,” the dispatcher states. “Now, as you go up the runaway ramp, make sure you take your foot off the gas. It’s meant to help stop your vehicle.”
I see it ahead and turn the wheel…
Gasping, I wake up, my breath shuddering in my chest as my heart races a mile a minute. I’m covered in sweat from the realistic nightmare I just had. Throwing the covers to the side, I get out of bed and start pacing. Is this what Myra meant when she whispered those last words to me? Do I have to fear for mine and my daughters’ lives? Maybe they need to just stay at the farm and not go anywhere with anyone until Myra’s caught and put behind bars. I realize I’ll never get back to sleep, so I strip the sweat-sodden sheets from my bed and head to the laundry room. Might as well take care of a few household chores until it’s time for the girls to get up.
So much for a restful night’s sleep.