Chapter 13 Lana
LANA
There’s nothing in this world I dread more than having dinner with my ex. Even Noah isn’t that happy about it. He asked if he could keep his teddy bear all throughout dinner to make him strong like the Hulk.
My little boy.
Why can’t I push him away? Am I the only survivor of abuse letting my abuser come back to me for a homemade meal?
Something must be wrong with me. Broken in an irreversible way.
Like a dog going back to its master after a beating.
I’m damaged beyond repair. It’s a simple dinner: soup with croutons, and a side of meat.
I look up at the kitchen clock, above the stove, and swallow. Almost seven.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Did your friend play with my figurines?” He’s got his PJs on and it makes him look even younger.
“Um, no, but it was sweet of you to offer, you know, sharing is a really nice thing to do, Noah. I’m proud of you.” I pat his little head as he walks past me to the dinner table.
“Kay, I was checking because no one can touch them. Only you and your nice friend.”
“Why are you saying that he’s nice?”
“Because you smile when you talk about your friend, Mommy. That’s a silly question,” he shakes his head, focused on his toys.
“Okay, just—go wash your hands, honey. Your dad will be here any minute.” Noah steps toward me, hugging his bear tight. More than usual. Like when he wakes up after having nightmares in the middle of the night.
“Why is Dad coming?”
“Because… Because he wants to spend time with us,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t you want to see your dad?”
Noah stays quiet. Then, after a moment, he shakes his little head, brown curls bouncing, just like when he refuses to clean his room or finish his plate.
Exactly like that. I kneel down and pull my son into a tight hug.
He smells like soap and something uniquely his, something that takes me back to when he was just a baby in my arms.
The doorbell rings, slicing through our moment like a blade.
I inhale deeply. Noah and I share a long, heavy look before I turn toward the door.
My hand hesitates on the handle, and I catch myself wishing I didn’t have to open it.
But I do. And there he is. The man who carved ruin into my life.
Behind him, the sun is setting in a sky streaked with blood, too red to be pink, too dark to be orange.
There’s a slaughtered quality to it, as if God ripped open the horizon to warn me.
The devil is at my door. And all I can think is that I wish Carter were here.
“Hi, guys!” Ben greets, arms wide as he crouches in the entryway, expecting Noah to run into them.
I don’t respond, and it doesn't go unnoticed that Noah stays glued to my side, clutching my left leg like he does with strangers. I try to step away, but Ben catches me off guard, forcing a hard kiss onto my temple. Stunned, I freeze. Noah’s grip tightens.
“C’mon, Noah, go play,” I murmur, lifeless. My mind is already spiraling back to those dark hours of my life.
“Don’t,” I whisper, barely audible. “Don’t ever do that again.” But I’m not even sure I said it out loud.
“What, babe?” Ben says loudly, then suddenly turns to Noah with forced enthusiasm. “No way, you got new figurines? That’s awesome, little man!” My hands begin to tremble. My pulse drums in my ears. Carter. He’s all I can think of. I need him.
“Soup?” Ben asks casually, stripping off his jacket and draping it over a dining chair. “Nice, honey. Love it.”
I move to the sink in a daze. Turn the tap and let cold water pool in my palm. Then I press it to my temple, hoping irrationally that I can erase him from my skin.
“Lana?” His voice is getting closer. “What are you doing? Your face is all wet.”
I don’t answer. He steps in behind me, and I feel it, the slow, deliberate way he closes the distance, until his hand settles on the small of my back with a weight that feels both familiar and unbearable.
His breath ghosts along the side of my face as he leans in and murmurs, low and cold, “Get your shit together. Noah’s watching. Dry your face and sit down. I didn’t come here for a shitshow, so act accordingly.”
His hand slides down to my wrist, the one clinging to the edge of the sink, and without warning, he wraps his fingers around it and squeezes.
The pressure builds until it feels like something inside me might crack, a deep and searing ache spreading up my arm.
I lift my gaze and meet his eyes. And even as pain pulses beneath my skin, I say nothing.
I don’t move. I don’t wince. I simply endure in silence, because that’s what I’ve learned to do.
After a moment, he releases me with a final squeeze, as if to remind me that he could’ve gone further.
Then he turns and walks back toward Noah, his voice shifting into something falsely warm, like nothing happened.
A shudder runs through me as I finally breathe out.
My hand, numb and tingling, reaches for my phone with a kind of desperate precision.
I open Carter’s thread, my heartbeat roaring in my ears.
I don’t overthink it and tap rapidly on the screen.
Lana
“Help.”
And I press send.
CARTER
I’m not sure Dr. Parks would approve of this.
Scratch that, I know for a fact he wouldn’t.
But I haven’t killed the guy. Yet. So that’s progress, right?
I’m not going to lie, I was already in her neighborhood when she texted.
Actually, I was parked at the end of her street, engine off, half-hidden in the shadows.
Just watching. Making sure she was safe.
Therapy or not, nothing will ever rewire that part of me, the part that won’t stay away when the people I care about are in potential danger.
Red washed over my vision the second I saw him step into her house.
I kept my distance, waiting for a sign. And then she sent one.
One word. Four letters that lit my blood on fire and set my pulse thundering through my chest. She needs me.
Now. So much for the therapist-approved ideas about stepping back and letting her lead her own healing.
That might’ve made sense in theory, but not when she’s calling for me.
Not when he’s in her house. And there’s not much in this world that could stop me from walking in there and wrapping my hands around his neck.
But I can’t lose it. Not yet. Making sure Lana and her boy are safe is my priority.
By the time I reach her house, I can hear white noise pulsing in my ears. I park my bike, kill the engine, and take the porch steps two at a time. The front door isn’t locked, and I step inside without hesitation.
Something’s off the second I step in. It’s too damn quiet, but not the peaceful kind.
This is the kind of silence that hums with tension, thick enough to choke on.
They’re all sitting at the dining table.
Lana’s pale, too pale. That soft, golden skin I know by heart is now paper-white, almost see-through, like life's been sucked right out of her. Noah’s right next to her in his blue pajamas, small and silent, his little hands folded in his lap.
And then I see him. Laid back in the chair as if he owns the fucking house.
Same expensive suit, hair slicked back, shoes shining like he walked out of a damn commercial.
Her eyes meet mine. Everything in me stills.
Her pupils are blown wide, jaw locked so tight I can see the muscles twitch.
She doesn’t say a word, nor have to. I know that look.
It’s the same one I’ve seen on too many faces in the club’s basement.
Fear.
“Hey,” I say, softening my voice so I don’t frighten her son.
“Hey,” she echoes in a single breath.
Ben jerks to his feet, brow hardening in defiance. “What—what the hell are you doing here?” I hold his stare, calm and steady.
“Lana?” I let her name hang in the air, waiting for her order. She clears her throat, gaze sliding to Noah.
“Um…We—Noah and I are gonna go upstairs to play for a few minutes while you two catch up…” Her eyes bore into me. I nod. Got it.
Without waiting for Ben’s reply, she clasps Noah’s hand and guides him toward the stairs.
Ben plants his fists on his hips, sizing me up as if we’re about to fight.
I’m relieved the boy is gone; nothing good would come from him witnessing this.
She’s shielding his peace and protecting her own as well.
I wish I could hold her right now, but this isn’t the time.
Now is my time to show her that I’ve got her back.
That she can rely on me. Faces of my sisters and mom flash before me.
Perhaps protecting Lana is fate, giving me a second chance to repair what happened.
Her son looks just like her, by the way.
Same thick chocolate hair and sweet little face. Hope I haven’t scared him.
“Lana!” Ben calls out, but she’s already gone. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sneers, “You gotta be kidding me.”
I stare at him, then jerk my chin toward the door. It’s better if they don’t hear us. Once he follows me outside, I close the door and take a deep breath to control myself. He’s Noah’s father, I can’t kill him. At least, not today.
“So, you don’t seem old enough to get this, but when you’re a grown man,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “you don’t disturb a family who's having dinner.”