8. Ava
8
AVA
My eyes are wide open, as if I just downed six cups of coffee in one go. I have been without my baby for three days, and I’m losing my mind. Without the weight of his little body against me, life feels devoid of any goodness. I feel numb, unable to hear his laughter or see his face scrunch up when he cries. The absence of his soothing suckling has left my breasts aching with emptiness.
Jack tried to console me last night during our call, but there was only so much he could do. His voice, though he meant well, only served to make me miss him more.
“He’s coming,” Sam assures me as I repeatedly sit and rise from his living room couch in the past hour. “Once his plane has landed, I’ll drive you to Belgrade, your new safe home. And he’ll meet you there.”
I nod, still worrying about Quinton and thinking about Jack.
“You know he’ll do anything for you and Quinton,” Sam continues.
“That’s comforting, Sam. But to be honest, that worries me too,” I admit .
“He knows what he’s doing, and you have no reason to feel guilty about it,” he tells me as if he can read my thoughts.
“I just don’t want him to think this is the only way to redeem himself.”
“Maybe he does. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be careless.”
I mentioned it because I can see how desperate Jack is to prevent what happened to him from happening to anyone else, especially my baby. Honestly, Jack doesn’t have anything to redeem for.
Silence falls. My mind is like a restless pendulum, swinging back and forth between Jack and Quinton. Sam has reassured me countless times that it’s unlikely for Willem to harm Quinton, and I believe him. But there’s still that small ‘what if’ lingering in the back of my mind. Besides, there’s no one else who can look after my baby as well as I can. Quinton should be with me, not with some random person hired by Willem. On the other hand, I don’t want Jack to sacrifice himself for us.
In a bid to distract myself, I ask, “What happened to him, Sam? I mean, Jack had told me about his kidnapping, but he didn’t tell me exactly how. When we were in Bozeman, we mostly talked about the aftermath, like how we perceived birthdays differently. I had fond memories of mine, while he didn’t have any recollection at all.”
Sam sits beside me. “I’m surprised he talked about his birthday with you. He hated it. It took some convincing from me, Cass, Grace, and our father, but he finally agreed to have his thirtieth celebration with us.”
I scoff. “He told me that, too.”
Sam then laces his fingers in front of him. “Well, to be honest, a lot still remains unresolved. I’ll tell you what I know. As you’re aware, we’re originally from New York. That day, we were in Syracuse, just being kids at the fairground over Labor Day weekend. We both wanted to go on a rollercoaster ride, but he was too short.”
“He was too short?” I say in disbelief. How did he grow to the size of a tower?
“Yeah,” Sam chuckles. “So, I rode alone, and he stayed with our father. When the ride was over, I couldn’t find either of them. I searched and searched, only to find my dad surrounded by police, but Jack was nowhere to be found.”
He pauses, his hand trembling as he clears his throat, then waves at me to wait. The event, though it occurred when he was a child, is still clearly raw for him. He rises from the couch, facing the window, searching for the sun as it peeks over the landscape surrounding this country house.
His voice is slow and deliberate as he recounts, “Jack slipped from our father’s grip while the old man was busy taking photographs of me. Someone in the crowd just grabbed my little brother and dragged him away, maybe even sedated him so he couldn’t scream or fight back.”
Jack could have been sedated in many ways, but my mind instinctively deduces it, and my neck pulsates involuntarily, as if a syringe pierced my jugular vein.
After a moment, Sam returns to my side, saying, “Years passed, and the only evidence we had was Jack’s bloodstained clothes. The case was eventually closed, and he was presumed dead.”
“That must’ve been devastating.”
“I never believed it, and I was goddamn right. We still don’t have much information. Jack’s memory is practically non-existent. But I know he was wounded, maybe even tortured. And he was definitely drugged, mercilessly.”
The revelation hurts me. “I don’t know how he copes. God… he’s done well to absorb all that. If you spoke to him, you wouldn’t have known, would you? ”
“He still has a lot to reconcile with himself. Be gentle with him.”
Suddenly, Sam’s phone rings, interrupting our conversation. He doesn’t say much, but I understand. Jack has landed.
After a covert transfer from Sam’s house to our new safe house in Belgrade, we wait. Elmo paces around us like a satellite, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor, in rhythm with our own nervous energy. Jack should have arrived by now.
Then, the distant hum of a car reaches our room, causing Sam and I to spring to our feet. Though I know the car is there and the engine has stopped, my surroundings are taken over by the jumbled voices of the two brothers, blended with Elmo’s barks.
In a blur of movement, I find myself enveloped in Jack’s arms.
“Ava, you okay?” His voice is as gentle as his hold.
“Jack… you’re back,” I whisper, the words more for my own solace than for him. I press against his chest, needing to feel him to confirm his presence. And there he is, as tangible as flesh and muscle, despite the darkness of his suit jacket.
“Come inside,” Sam urges, breaking the spell.
In response, Jack guides me in while never fully releasing his grip. We settle in the living room of the safe house, and Jack helps me find a seat. As my mind gradually quiets, I can finally take in the full sight of Jack before me. A different kind of whirlwind holds me captive.
I’m compelled to momentarily set aside the grim reality we’ve been facing and immerse myself in the breathtaking scene that unfolds before me. Jack stands tall, his hands resting on my waist. His face is marred with concern, but boy, his whole body exudes handsomeness that can only come from the Kelleher genes. He’s wearing a borrowed suit, with the absence of a tie, but he looks as if he’s stepped straight out of a scene from the TV show “Suits.”
“What took you so long!” Sam opens the conversation.
“Taxi got a flat tire,” Jack reveals.
Sam peeks out, rechecking the vehicle Jack drove to get here. “But you took that car from the motel I told you about, right?”
“I’m not an idiot, Sam! I took a cab to the motel and drove here—wasn’t that what we discussed?”
“You’re here,” I say. “That’s all that matters.” My fingertips glide over the damp fabric of his chest as his restlessness grows amid the tension between him and his brother. They’re both tired, I can tell.
“I guess the suit makes up for your tardiness,” Sam jokes as I help Jack remove his jacket. Sweat clings to his shirt, evidence of the physical and mental strain he carries.
Sam heats up some pre-made meals from the fridge, and we have a late lunch.
He then packs his things, saying, “I’ve left a laptop in the bedroom. If you need to revisit any CCTV footage, that’s your go-to machine. Call me if you need anything else. And there’s still plenty more food in the fridge and pantry. Don’t order pizza!”
With that, Sam waves us goodbye.
Jack inputs a security code at the door to lock it. Obviously, he has been briefed. He then turns to me, “You need some sleep. I thought you were going to pass out when I got here.”
I simply plop myself on the couch. “I don’t even know where the bedroom is. And I don’t really want to sleep.”
“Rest here then.” He guides me to lie flat across the long couch. Then he spots Quinton’s giraffe teether resting on the side table. He pauses but stops short at showing his reaction.
My body sighs in anguish. “He must be anxious to play with it again. He must be crying.” Those words make me wither as if life drains out through my pores.
Jack reaches for a throw blanket, draping it over me. He leans closer, and his fingertips caress my arm. “Hang in there.”
I bring my hand to my tired face, trying to compose myself. Jack rises from his seat, but I reach out and grasp his hand, halting his departure.
“I need to change,” he says.
If it were any other man, I would have requested a shower. But with Jack, his scent pulls me in. Somehow, his perspiration becomes a symbol of his unwavering dedication to me. He has earned his place in my heart, the whole him—blood, sweat, and tears.
“Please, stay,” I implore meekly, shifting myself in to give him room on the couch. He settles down beside my legs, his hand caressing my thigh.
“You know, Ava, when we were in Bozeman, you told me how after a day in court, sometimes you’d spend the night reflecting on the faces you drew,” Jack recalls.
“That’s right.”
“And you didn’t enjoy cases where it was a David versus Goliath battle. Especially during long trials when you noticed the expressions of the innocent ones deteriorating. Didn’t you say, sometimes, you wished you could tell them not to give up?” he adds.
I chuckle, impressed that he actually remembers. Then I explain, “I never allowed my emotions to interfere with my work. It was my job to separate my thoughts from what was presented to me. Occasionally, I sympathized with some of the people. I’m only human. But it only happened when I was away from my pastels and paper.”
Jack nods understandingly. “What I wanted to say is... that’s how I feel right now. I want to be the one in your corner, telling you not to give up. I know it’s easier said than done, but you can’t lose faith,” he says earnestly.
I rub his arm, grateful for his support. “We had some interesting conversations back then,” I muse.
“We did,” he murmurs, gently stroking each of my fingers. “Remember when you said tall men have slower reflexes?”
“It’s true!” I insist. “The longer your limbs, the longer it takes for signals to travel from your brain.”
“No, Ava. Come on! I defeated you in every game of ball toss!” Jack defends himself, playfully reaching over to tickle me. “See!”
I attempt to repel his rapid attacks, but I find myself unable to keep up. I let out a giggle and wriggle around. “Alright! Alright!”
A satisfied smile spreads across his face as he looks at me. “That’s what I wanted to see.”
We laugh some more, and then I remind him slowly, “I almost fell asleep in your room that night.”
“Why did you move?”
“I was pregnant, you silly!”
His ‘yeah’ is barely audible, but the intensity in his eyes speaks volumes. “Did you wish you had slept in my bed? That maybe... we had gone further?”
I sigh. “I did.”
“My kidnapping didn’t bother you?”
“Why should it?”
He tilts his head, exhaling. “Well, I’ve succeeded in distracting you, haven’t I?”
I give his hand a squeeze. I do feel better, while he’s apparently ready to move on from where our conversation in Bozeman has left off. I steer our chat to the more current matter. “Hey, what else did you find in L.A.?”
“It wasn’t exactly a new discovery,” he says with a hint of frustration in his voice. “But being there, sitting just feet away from Willem, I managed to gather some clues.”
The mention of that name sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. “What are those clues?”
“I don’t believe Quinton is anywhere near him. He looked far too casual, and he didn’t go anywhere else apart from his office, some restaurants to eat and meet people, then home.”
“I think you’re right. Not that he’s a hands-on father anyway.”
“Look, I’ve seen cases where very young children were taken. The kidnappers usually hired female help.”
Anger surges through my muscles, causing my body to jolt upright as if I were a corpse suddenly brought back to life. “Another woman is taking care of my child?” Frustration fills my voice. If Willem were here, I would have punched him square in the face!
But Jack, ever the calming presence, soothes my racing emotions. “We haven’t had a hit with that round-faced man. It has to be a woman showing up in various places—buying diapers, milk, food, gas, anything they may need for the trip, and the baby,” he explains, his tone understanding. “Yes, Willem’s men may have left L.A. well-prepared, but with young children, there’s always something you need to get, isn’t there? Am I right?”
His words placate me, as if he’s already been a father before, an empathetic figure to his child’s mother.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice softening. “But how have they managed to remain hidden? Quinton is a fussy baby. He doesn’t warm up to people easily. Even Morgan struggled to handle him.”
Jack nods, lost in his own thoughts, until his phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket.
“Hang on, Sam,” he answers. “I’m going to put you on speaker.”
I stoop forward as if I would miss a thing if I’m too far, my stance rigid. Then we hear Sam. “Jack, Ava. There’s a development. Completely unrelated, but it might be one of our strongest leads so far.”
“Sam, tell us!” Jack’s voice is low and concise.
“The police have found a seventeen-year-old girl from Wyoming with a baby boy who’s about the same age as Quinton.”
The possibility makes my stomach churn, but something concerns me. “I thought we agreed not to involve the police!” I protest.
Sam carries on, “She was reported missing three weeks ago. It’s an ongoing Red Mark case, and the police have been in on it from the beginning. The girl insists it’s her son. But as far as we know, there was no mention of a baby with her until today.”
I grip Jack’s hand, begging, “Take me there!”
“No, Ava!” Jack stops me from getting up. “Calm down.”
My body has become a mass of fatigue and disarray. I can’t feel my own existence or even the presence of Jack. The void of sensation bears down on me, and I collapse onto the couch.
“Ava, stay with me,” Finally, Jack’s voice brings me back from my state of detachment. His hand envelopes mine, clinging like my digits are wrapped in a snug glove.
“You two wait there,” Sam instructs. “I’ll have Cora-Lee stream Ben’s body cam footage to your phone.”
Jack opens an app on his phone and starts streaming. It’s like watching a police operation on a TV show, except it’s real. My heart pounds intensely, but so far, all I see is a group of police officers.
“Ben, we need visuals on the baby,” Sam relays. Ben is part of the Red Mark team and is also Sam’s brother-in-law, Cass’ brother.
Ben replies, “The baby is safe. He’s with child services. They haven’t given him a name yet.” We watch Ben sprint outside the house, urgently calling the paramedics as they prepare to shut the ambulance doors.
I close my eyes, drowning out all other sounds, focusing solely on the cries of the baby. My lips purse, the sound confusing me.
Ben persuades the child services lady to reveal the baby’s face. “I just want to make sure he’s okay, please.” His desperation latches on me. “I rescued him. I need to know.”
The lady presents the baby to Ben, the camera capturing the delicate features.
I release a sharp breath. “It’s not Quinton,” I utter in despair. The anticipation, so immense, causes bile to rise in my throat. I sprint, miraculously stumbling upon the bathroom in this unfamiliar house. And then, I retch, emptying my stomach.
“Ava…” Jack rushes to my side. He gently gathers my hair, holding it back from my face, while his fingertips trail soothingly along my spine.
My ass rests on the cold bathroom floor while Jack takes a damp towel and wipes my mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine remorse.
“I can’t… I can’t go on without him, Jack,” I quaver. “He’s a part of me. He’s my entire life!”
“I understand, sweetheart. ”
I would ask ‘how could you possibly know?’ but his words carry so much pain that I wonder if he has absorbed mine and truly understands.
“You know, Jack. Many cancer survivors struggle to have children. I’m one of the fortunate ones who’s blessed with strong fertility despite my leukemia.”
He gives my hand a tender squeeze. “You were meant to be a mother.”
“And I need to be with my baby,” I shoot him a desperate look. “One more day without him, and I’ll lose my sanity.”
With a gentle gesture, he brings my hand to his chest, placing it over his left pec as if offering me his strength. “I promise I will do whatever it takes to bring Quinton back into your arms.” His voice breaks with emotion.
Trembling, I reach out and grasp his other hand, squeezing it tightly against my left breast. His presence brings a rush of darkness and light at the same time. Foreheads pressed together, his lips so close, I can almost taste the oasis in this desert of despair. With half a breath, our lips meet, and it becomes more than just a kiss. It becomes a necessity, a lifeline.
In Bozeman, I had yearned for this moment, imagining the heat and passion of our connection as I admired his physique from afar. We didn’t sleep in the same room, only letting out our affection like we were just friends. Now, this kiss exceeds my wildest dreams. It is a primal need, a salvation for my shattered soul. It grounds me, keeps me alive. And he willingly gives it to me.
Every girl wishes their first kiss to be romantic, earth-shattering. But my first kiss with Jack is more than just a physical act. It’s magnetic, binding us together on multiple levels.
Jack’s hand cradles the back of my neck, and I reciprocate, pulling him closer. As we break the kiss, our breath coming in ragged gasps. We don’t need words to communicate; we feel each other’s pain and determination. When my own strength wavers, this man reminds me of the indomitable power within every mother.
This brief respite allows me to gather myself. Then, like a bolt of lightning, a thought strikes me. “Jack…you said there was likely a woman involved?”
“Yes.”
“My babysitter.”
His hum whirs low in his throat. “Who paid her?”
“Willem. And I remember. A few weeks before I left L.A., she asked for a raise and more hours. She said her brother was in debt. Could it be her?”
“Damn… we should start looking for her instead of that round-faced man!” he asserts.
I press my forehead wearily. “How could she…”
With a concerned look, Jack suggests, “Why not rest while I have a conversation with Sam?”
“I don’t want to sleep alone.”
His expression changes. “Wait for me in the bedroom. I won’t be long.”
Why do I sense he’s not comfortable with the idea of sharing a bed with me?
I speak hesitantly, “Jack, you don’t have to?—”
“I won’t be long, okay?” His head whips around as if trying to hide the fact that he’s terrified.