Chapter 28
Aspen
I'm sobbing so hard I can hardly breathe, and this time Nolan's touch isn't enough.
What kind of man puts a gun to a child's head?
I knew Damien was capable of many heinous things, but could he possibly hurt a child?
The reminder of the grave Nolan mentioned sneaks up, and I have to gasp for air. I still don't manage enough to keep my eyes from swimming from lack of oxygen.
"She's having a panic attack," one of the guys in the room says.
"Aspen. Aspen! ASPEN!"
I don't know whose voice it is, but blackness coats the outer rim of my vision and I can't see a damn thing with my eyes wide open.
"Peach! You have to breathe, baby. Deep breath in, slow breath out."
My entire body trembles, but somehow I'm warm. To keep from floating, I cling to whatever I can manage to grip in my hands. I hold tightly, my mind counting along with whoever is counting near me.
"That's it, baby. Deep breath in. Slow breath out."
My vision begins to return, but the tears don't stop. I don't know that they ever will so long as my son is at the mercy of that evil bastard.
"He's going to kill him if I don't go to him," I manage. "I have to go."
"We already have a team gearing up. He gave us twenty-four hours, Peach."
I look up realizing that not only am I in Nolan's arms, but he's sitting at the conference table and all but fully wrapped around me.
"The summer house, that's the one in Virginia, right? Peach?"
I look up at him, his eyes filled with as much fear as I feel.
"The summer house, Peach?" he asks. "It's the one in Virginia, right?"
I have a huge decision to make. It's not that I don't trust that these men will do their damnedest. I honestly think they'd lay down their lives to protect a child, but that sacrifice might not even be possible because Damien doesn't lose.
I can tell by the rage in his eyes that no one walks away from this alive.
It's possible that I can distract Damien long enough, taking enough of his anger onto my own shoulders, for Eli to slip away. It's the only shot I have.
"Virginia," I say, nodding.
I knew the second Damien mentioned the summer house, he was talking about the place we planned to buy after we first got married. We stayed there twice as a rental property before I went into labor with Eli. We visited when he didn't hate me as much as he does now, and he was still trying to impress my father. We had long conversations about staying there in the summer because it was less crowded than Boston.
The house he's speaking of isn't in Virginia. It's in Connecticut, in a sleepy little town near Bridgeport. I didn't realize until he mentioned it in the video that he must've bought it at some point, although we've never been back since. He never told me he bought it, and I wonder why he'd bother adding it to his holdings to begin with. The man doesn't do anything for others, ever. It's possible he bought it this damn week just so he can taunt me with it.
As I cling to Nolan, the men talk, making it even more obvious that they don't realize Damien is speaking in code. He had to have known they would be listening and telling me to go to one place and expecting me to arrive in a different place is purposeful. It also makes it very clear that the expectation is to arrive alone, and there will be hell to pay if they even know about the alternate location.
When I begin to tremble harder, Nolan holds me tighter, but it doesn't bring the same relief as it once did. It feels smothering, and I'm already having a hard enough time barely keeping it together.
I press against his chest, ignoring the disappointed look on his face from the distance I've created.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice full of sadness.
"I just need a minute," I tell him as I climb out of his lap.
How can he ask such a question? I'm not okay. How could I ever be okay in a situation like this?
Maybe things are different for moms than dads. Maybe he doesn't have the same connection with Eli as I do because he's never met him. Does that make the need to save him less?
I can't imagine it does for him, but I can't take that chance. I know if they go and storm the place where Damien is, it will only end in tragedy. Going to him alone is the only shot I have at keeping my son safe.
"I'm going to go back up to my room," I whisper when there's a break in the conversation.
Nolan locks his eyes on me, and I swear he can read my mind and knows what I'm planning, but I can't let that suspicion stop me.
"We're going to bring him home," he assures me. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he truly believes he's capable of that, but he doesn't know Damien the way I do.
My husband is sadistic, and he can never be wrong. His pride won't allow it. I think Damien would be more willing to kill a hundred people than have people think someone got the better of him. There's a very real chance he has things in place to do ultimate damage to who knows how many people if someone had the ability to take him down.
"Let's get something to eat first," Nolan says, standing instead of letting me leave the room alone.
"I'm not—" The growl of my stomach interrupts, betraying the lie I was about to tell.
The thought of eating right now makes my stomach turn, but I also know I'll need my strength for the journey ahead.
We don't go into the kitchen and just throw together a sandwich or something. Nolan pulls out pots and pans and some ground beef from the fridge.
He spends the next hour putting together some enchiladas with rice and beans as sides. As he toils in the kitchen, I feel my frustration and anger grow by leaps and bounds.
Even if I didn't have an alternate plan from theirs, this would still get on my nerves. He just saw a deranged psycho put a gun to our son's head, and he thinks cooking is the best use of his time.
I force myself to eat when he places a plate in front of me, and I'm sure the sour taste burning the back of my throat is from my situation and not his food.
I yawn several times during the meal, trying to make it as believable as possible so that when we're done eating, he won't question my need for a nap. I slept nearly all damn day already, but when I tell him I'm going to go to bed early, he doesn't argue.
I'm livid when he grabs my hand and walks up the stairs with me. I don't need an escort, and I'm at the point where I feel like a child being babysat. It grates on my nerves.
"Aren't you going to go help with Eli?"
His cheek flexes, his jaw tightening.
"They have it under control," he assures me as we step into the bedroom.
I turn to face him, wanting to tell him the truth. I try to convince myself that the help would be better, that Nolan has more skills that could end Damien's terror forever, but I just can't compromise Eli.
"You'll wake me if there are any updates?"
"Of course, Peach," he says, cupping my cheek.
I fight the urge to lean into his touch. I can't get lost in him ever again.
"Thank you," I whisper as I take a step back.
His hand falls to his side, and I kick off the slip-on shoes Zara gave me to use before climbing into the bed.
He stands there, watching me until I pull the blankets up to my shoulder.
I wish life were simpler. If lying down and forgetting actually solved problems, I'd stay here for the rest of my life, but things just don't work that way.
For the longest time, I still feel him in the room with me. I know he's staring down at my form in the bed, probably wondering what he can say to ease my mind, but his silence is telling. It means he knows there's nothing that can be said to make this better. Getting Eli away from Damien is the only thing that would improve this situation. Then there's no telling what kind of psychological damage has been done to him, not just these last few days but in the last two years that he's been away.
I don't know that I trusted Damien to keep him safe, but I figured Eli was better not being at the house where he would witness his mother getting injured or risk being used as a pawn to hurt me.
Now, I have to wonder what he's been through and the lasting effects of that.
Silent tears drip from my eyes, running toward my temple and soaking into the pillowcase. Tears don't help. They rarely ever do, and these tears aren't even cathartic. They fix nothing. They ease nothing inside of me, yet I still can't seem to make them stop.
"I'll bring him home," Nolan whispers, and then a second later, the bedroom door opens and he leaves.
The air in the room feels thinner, almost as if it's too thin for decent breaths. It forces me to sit up, wishing he was still here, although I need him gone to do what I need to do. It's not a good sign how easily I've let myself depend on him and the comfort he provides. It'll be one more thing that I have to work through losing when the dust settles with this situation.
I sit and listen, wondering if he's standing right outside of the door, waiting for me to pull a stunt, but I can't let the fear of that stop me.
I climb out of bed, and go straight to his closet, pulling clothes from hangers and layering them on top of the clothes I'm already wearing. It's freezing outside, and I know I won't make it far with only what Zara provided for me.
I stare down at the row of boots on the small rack tucked into the back of the closet, but they're not optimal at all. They're twice my size and will only slow me down. Remembering the roll of trash bags I found under the sink when looking for a toothbrush earlier, I rush in there and grab two, placing a bag over each foot before putting on more socks. It makes it a tight fit for the slip-on shoes Zara lent me, but it'll have to do.
I press my ear to the door, and when I hear nothing, I slowly open it, doing my best not to make a sound. I didn't exactly sneak around my father's house in Boston, but it was always better to not draw attention to yourself, so I became an expert in staying in the shadows and going unnoticed.
Somehow, fate works out for me and I manage to make it down the stairs and out the front door without anyone noticing me. A part of my mind whispers that it's a trap, but then I have to remind myself that Nolan and Damien are nothing alike. Nolan would prefer I stay in the bedroom, warm and safe. Damien is the one who would let me get frostbite before tracking me down and hurting me more.
I pull the cords of the hooded jacket I swiped from Nolan's closet tighter, but the bite of the frigid air still manages to seep inside my clothes.
The sound of a car coming draws all my attention, but I know I can't just stand out here and pray that someone who saw a woman struggling to walk along the snow-covered shoulder of the road won't stop. This is the South, and manners dictate that they must help a person in need. But also, there's the off chance that someone is out looking for trouble, and I don't want to be on the receiving end of that attention either. I know that anyone I come in contact with could easily end up on the wrong side of Damien. He wants me there in twenty-four hours or less, but he also wants me to struggle in every way possible to make that happen.
Instead of waiting to see what the people in the vehicle might do upon seeing me, I duck into the gully beside the road, clinging to ice-covered rocks, my head just below the road line. Darkness crept in so quickly. Sunset isn't until later, but it's already dipped behind the ridge of the mountains the property is situated between, leaving me in a hazy, frigid darkness that makes me wonder if leaving was the right choice.
The car drives by, every rotation of the tires keeping me fearful that they'll slip off the road and run me over. That would be my freaking luck to be taken out that way.