CHAPTER SEVEN #2
I glance at Dread, whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. He’s pushing ninety on the highway, weaving around cars like he’s Mario Andretti.
“Want me to connect your phone to the truck?” he asks, noticing me watching him. “So you can talk to your boy easier?”
I shake my head. “No. I can see him on the screen. It’s FaceTime.”
“It’s 240, Mom,” Tommy says, back in view of the camera.
That’s higher than I’d like. “Okay, sweetie. That’s not too bad. Did you give him some water?”
“Yes.”
God, my eight-year-old shouldn’t have to know how to do these things. He should be playing video games and riding bikes, not managing his brother’s medical condition because their father is an irresponsible jerk.
“You’re doing such a good job, Tommy. You’re the best big brother ever.”
“When will you be here?” His voice is small.
“Soon, baby. Very soon.” I look at the GPS. “About an hour, okay?”
“Okay.” He sniffles.
“Hey, Tommy?” Dread says, glancing over at my phone’s screen.
“Yes?” Tommy sounds surprised.
“You like motorcycles, right?”
Tommy’s face brightens slightly. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about what kind of bike you want when you’re old enough.”
As Tommy starts talking about wanting a Harley like Dread’s, I shoot him a grateful look. He’s distracting my son from his fear, giving him something else to focus on.
The conversation flows, Dread asking questions about Tommy’s favorite colors for a bike, whether he’d want chrome or blacked-out parts. Before long, Tommy’s telling Dread all about the puppy he’s been driving me crazy about wanting.
“Maybe Santa will bring you a dog for Christmas,” Dread suggests.
I shoot him a look, and he has the decency to look sheepish. The last thing I need right now is another mouth to feed. Dogs are expensive, and my budget is already stretched thin.
But I can’t be too annoyed. He’s been amazing through all of this, taking charge and calming my son down.
The miles fly by beneath us. I don’t even want to know how fast he’s driving, but I’m grateful for every second it shaves off our journey.
We pass the “Welcome to Daytona” sign in what feels like no time at all.
“Tommy, we’re getting close.” I glance at the GPS. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“Dad’s iPad is about to die,” Tommy panics.
“It’s okay, sweetie. We’re almost there. Just stay put, and—”
Beep, beep, beep.
The line goes dead.
“Tommy? Tommy!”
“The iPad probably died,” Dread says calmly. “We’ll be there in five minutes tops.”
As we get closer to Pine Creek Drive, I notice the neighborhood is getting progressively worse.
“This ain’t a safe place for kids to be alone,” Dread grumbles, echoing my thoughts.
Guilt crashes over me. How could I not have known exactly where my boys were staying? What kind of mother doesn’t check these things?
“I should have insisted on seeing where they were going to be,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes. “I should have—”
“Babe.” Dread takes one hand off the wheel to grab mine, threading our fingers together. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”
At his reassurance, the tears start to fall. “What kind of mother doesn’t know exactly where her boys are staying? Or let’s them leave without a way to call for help?” I sob.
“That’s bullshit,” he snaps.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, shocked by his tone.
“You’re a kickass mom who trusted an asshole to do his part as their father,” he continues, voice firm. “This ain’t on you. It’s on him.”
I take a deep breath, considering his words.
He’s right. I did everything I could to prepare the boys for their weekend with Eddie.
I packed their bags with everything they might need.
I made sure Tommy knew how to help with Jackson’s diabetes in an emergency.
I even wrote out detailed instructions for Eddie, which were obviously pointless since he wasn’t around.
No. This isn’t my fault. It’s Eddie’s. And he’s going to hear about it.
The GPS announces that we’ve arrived at our destination. The house is small and yellow, just as Tommy described, with a large oak tree in the front yard.
Dread barely has the truck in park before I’m jumping out and dashing toward the front door. I bang on it with my fist.
“Tommy! It’s Mom!”
The door flies open, and Tommy launches himself into my arms. He’s shaking, and I hold him close, my eyes closing in relief.
“I was so scared,” he whispers against my neck.
I lean back to look at him. “It’s okay now, baby. Where’s Jackson?”
Tommy points over his shoulder, then takes my hand and leads me into the house. The interior is almost completely bare.
I tell myself not to judge—my own place is pretty bare too, since we just moved in—but this is ridiculous. There are empty beer cans on the counter and cigarette burns in the carpet.
In one of the bedrooms, there’s a mattress on the floor with Jackson sound asleep in the middle of it. I kneel down beside him and feel his forehead. He feels normal, not feverish.
“He fell asleep after I gave him his shot,” Tommy says, hovering anxiously beside me.
I force a smile. “You did good, sweetie. Really good.”
Tommy’s eyes shift to something behind me. “Hi, Dread.”
I turn to Dread’s standing in the doorway.
“Hey, kid,” he says, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it.
Tommy looks up at me with pleading eyes. “Can we go home? Please?”
“Yes, baby. We’re going home right now. I’m not leaving you here another second.” I silently vow that Eddie will be lucky if I ever let him see the boys again after this.
Dread steps further into the room. “Get the boys’ stuff. I’ll carry Jackson to the truck.”
I nod, watching as this big, strong badass covered in tattoos gently scoops my sleeping six-year-old into his arms. Jackson doesn’t even stir, just snuggles against Dread’s broad chest.
He’s an enigma, I think, watching them. I judged him at first because of his appearance, because of what I thought I knew about bikers. On paper, Eddie would look like the better man, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Shaking off those thoughts, I turn to Tommy. “Grab your bag and slip on your shoes, okay?”
He nods and hurries to do as I’ve asked.
I grab Jackson’s bag from the corner of the room and head to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator to get Jackson’s insulin pens, my heart sinks when I see that the only thing inside is my son’s medication. No food, not even a bottle of water.
Before I can burst into tears, Dread comes into the kitchen and reaches for Jackson’s bag.
“The boys are in the truck. Jackson’s still asleep,” he says.
“He’s a hard sleeper,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “Always has been.”
Dread looks down at me, his green eyes filled with concern. “You okay?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak without crying.
Without hesitation, he pulls me into a hug, his strong arms enveloping me. “It’ll be okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got all of you.”
I let myself sink into his embrace for a moment, drawing strength from his solid presence. “Thank you,” I whisper against his chest.
“Ain’t no thing, but a chicken wing,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest.
I can’t help but laugh despite the situation. “You’re a strange man, Dread.”
“Call me Caleb,” he says, pulling back to look at me.
“Caleb.” I smile up at him. “It suits you.”
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agree.
As we’re coming out the front door, a red Mustang pulls up to the curb, and my stomach drops. Eddie steps out, and he’s not alone. There’s a busty blonde in a too-tight dress who rounds the front of his car and clings to his arm.
Eddie’s face contorts with rage. He storms over, the blonde stumbling behind him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he shouts, his words slurring together.
Dread puts up a hand, keeping Eddie from getting in my face. But even with the space between us, I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“You’re not taking my sons anywhere!”
My jaw drops to the floor. “You left our boys alone so you could go get drunk!” I run my hands through my hair. “Jesus, Eddie. Do you know what could have happened?”
The blonde in the short red dress stumbles closer. “Eddie, baby, who’s this?” Her words are as slurred as his.
Why am I not surprised that they’re both plastered?
“This bitch is trying to steal my kids,” Eddie snarls, pulling his hand back to strike.
It happens so fast. Eddie tries to slap me, but Dread catches his wrist. Then, with a deafening rumble from his chest, he rears back his fist and delivers a devastating punch to Eddie’s nose.
Eddie drops like a sack of potatoes, holding his face as blood pours between his fingers.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, looking at Dread with wide eyes.
Dread shakes out his hand. “You don’t put your hands on women. Ever.” His voice is lethal, and his eyes are blazing with fury. “Get in the truck, Honey.”
I hurry over to the black truck, and just like when we left the clubhouse, Dread opens the door and waits until I’m buckled in before closing it.
Tommy wedges his little body between the front seats, his hands on the console. His eyes are wide, and he’s got a grin on his face. “Whoa. That was awesome,” he says in awe as we watch Dread round the front of the truck.
“It’s not okay to hit people,” I say automatically, though I’m not so sure I believe that anymore.
“He stopped Dad from hitting you,” Tommy points out.
I sigh. “Yeah, he did.”
Dread opens the driver’s door and hops in. “Got your seatbelt on, kid?”
Tommy sits back in his seat and buckles up.
As we pull away from the curb, I glance back to see Eddie still on the ground, the blonde kneeling beside him. I know Eddie well enough to know that he won’t let this slide. He’ll retaliate somehow, and the thought makes my stomach churn.
But right now, with Dread beside me and my boys safe in the backseat, I can’t bring myself to care.