Chapter 37
The second I pull into the parking lot, I see him.
Bash.
He perches at the edge of the bench, folded into himself the way he gets when his nerves take over. Ashley sits too close, arm draping over his shoulders, staking a claim she has no right to.
My focus locks on them before I'm even fully out of the car, my hand clutching my bag like it holds a live wire.
A jogger cuts across my peripheral and that's when I notice there are a few people scattered around—someone walking a dog, a woman at the playground with a stroller—but no one close. No one watching.
My chest seizes.
Bash’s eyes find me before hers do. Recognition flickers across his face. Relief softens the crease between his brows but it doesn’t last long. He pushes off the bench on instinct—only for Ashley’s arm to tighten around him, bicep flexing as she pins him in place.
She turns her head and sees me.
The air between us shifts. Her smile stiffens. Her back goes rigid. Her hand clamps down harder on my son.
My feet are moving closer.
Each step feels heavy and slow, but I’m closing the distance fast, every cell in my body vibrating with fury and fear. I don't reach for the gun yet. Not with Bash that close. Not with her hands still on him.
Her fingers move through his hair with a softness she hasn't earned, her entire body leaning into a lie she’s desperate to make real.
My stomach turns. Another wave of nausea rolls through me.
Bash has the quiet panic of a trapped animal all over his face. He’s wide-eyed, silent, and his shoulders are drawn up tight. His little hands are pressed against his knees, fingers twitching, pleading with his eyes for permission to bolt.
My baby.
“Let him go, Ashley.” I demand through gritted teeth.
A fake innocence clings to her as she feigns surprise at my arrival. But her eyes betray nothing but the same smug glint from the bar. The same knowing smile she wore, convinced she held the upper hand.
“I’m just spending a little time with him,” she says lightly, brushing hair from Bash’s forehead. He flinches. Her voice is sweet, almost sing-song. “We were talking about how different things would be if you weren’t around.”
Bash stiffens. I see the sudden jolt in his small frame, a silent hit from something he clearly feels.
She’s messing with his head.
“Don’t do this,” I say, keeping my voice low, even. Don’t let her rattle you. “He doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s scared.”
Ashley tilts her head, that condescending angle saved for things found to be ridiculous.
“Is he?” she says, all wide-eyed mockery.
She picks at the shoulder of his shirt, brushing away some imaginary lint, the way a mother might.
But she’s not. She never will be. “Or is he just confused because everything’s been so unfair? ”
My jaw clenches so tight my teeth hurt.
“You want to come at me? Fine. Come at me. But involving Bash—what the hell is wrong with you?”
She rises slightly from the bench, just enough to shift position, but not enough to let him go. Her arm stays firm around him, the way someone might hold onto a possession they know they’re not supposed to have.
“You don’t get it,” she says, her voice hardening. “You never did. I didn’t just want Andrew. I loved him. And he never even gave me a chance. Because of you.”
I step closer, hands trembling at my sides.
“Ashley, my relationship with Andrew is over,” I say, careful with every word. Bash is right there. He’s listening. “Whatever this is in your head—it’s not real. It never was.”
Her laugh breaks apart, brittle and jagged.
“He wants you,” she hisses. “Always has. Perfect Sable. The one with the business, and the brains, and the beautiful little boy.”
Her hand slides over Bash’s hair again and I see his lip tremble. A flicker of panic flashes in his eyes. I go cold. Ice in my veins. Cement in my limbs. Rage in my bones.
Her hands don’t ask. They take. Wrapping around him with the confidence of someone who already owns the ending.
“You ruined him for me,” she whispers, each syllable laced with veneration and resentment in equal measure. “He told me you were the best woman he ever knew. Do you know what that does to someone? Hearing that? After he’s already been inside you?”
Every muscle in my body goes tight at what Bash might hear.
“Let. Him. Go.”
Her eyes don’t see me. They’re blown wide and wild, staring straight through me at some imagined elsewhere. A world she’s rewritten in her favor. One where I never existed. One where she got the man, the house, the child.
“I could’ve given him a child, too,” she murmurs, voice thin and trembling. “I would’ve given him everything. But you’re in the way. You and your son—”
Her hand creeps lower.
Bash jerks in her grip, a soft, startled sound escaping him like he still doesn’t understand what’s happening. But I do.
She’s about to do something I can’t come back from.
Something she won’t come back from.
The sound that comes from her chest next is feral. A broken screech of something unraveling all at once: pain, delusion, and desperation snapping free.
His eyes go wide—round and confused.
Her fingers wrap around my son’s throat.
And the world stops.
One heartbeat.
His mouth opens but no sound comes out. He flails.
He slaps at her wrists, weak and panicked.
And something inside me tears open so violently I swear I feel it shoot through me like fire.
There’s no time.
My hand dives into my purse, fingers finding the grip. I yank the pistol free, fast but controlled—just like Hex taught me.
My thumb releases the safety.
His voice is in my head, steady and sure:
Breathe. Line it up. Look past the fear. Find the shot.
Ashley angles forward away from Bash, back exposed. I have a path. A clean one.
White-knuckled hands around his throat, she digs her fingers into the softness of his skin. His face flushes dark. I don’t even know if he sees me anymore. If he knows I’m here. If he knows his mom is watching this happen, helpless.
No.
Not helpless.
I raise the gun.
Every version of myself—the businesswoman, the mother, the fixer—breaks apart. All that’s left is the part of me that would bleed the world dry to save him.
And it’s enough.
My finger finds the trigger. I sight down the barrel.
Take the shot, Hex whispers.
I pull the trigger.