Chapter 7
Seven
Melissa
One note.
Just one line scribbled on paper.
That's all it took to shatter my illusion of safety.
My ears ring and my hands shake as I stare down at the paper in my hand. When I woke up this morning, the sheet of paper was laying on the kitchen counter right in the open for me to see.
I know I didn't leave it there. Light never came inside the house.
The only people here are myself and Tyler.
Tyler would never do something like this.
My eyes water as I read over the one line again.
"You have something I want. Don't make me kill you for it."
Whoever left this here managed to sneak into my house while I was sleeping and put it here.
I don't remember the last time I've felt so violated and vulnerable. That bastard could have killed me right then and there, or worse they could've hurt Tyler.
"Mom?" Tyler calls out sleepily from his room.
I quickly wipe my eyes and take in a few deep breaths. My son is incredibly intuitive, he'll no something is wrong if I don't get myself together quickly. I don't want him having to worry about this. I don't want him to be afraid.
"Yeah, baby. I'll be right there."
Quickly, I fold the letter up and slip it into one of the kitchen draws to keep it away from Tyler. Forcing a soft smile on my face I make my way to the back where his room is. I can't stop my eyes from scanning the space just to make sure there are no other surprises for me to find.
Tyler sits up in the bed and I perch myself on the edge of it to give him some space. "I feel good today, do we have to do the therapy this morning?"
I sigh and scoot over a little so I can rub his leg. I know it's difficult for him but if we don't do the therapy diligently day and night he'll end up all clogged up and we'll have to go to the emergency room. It's just not worth it.
"I'm sorry buddy. We have to." My heart fractures a little more when I watch his head drop and his shoulders slump."We’ll get it over with quick, I promise," I add, trying to keep my tone light.
Tyler sighs dramatically, slumping back against his pillows like I just sentenced him to life in prison.
"You’re so mean," he grumbles, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
I grin and reach out, ruffling his hair. "Tough love, kiddo. You know the drill."
Together, we move through the morning routine we’ve built into our lives like a second religion. I help him swing his legs over the edge of the bed, careful to move slow so he doesn’t get dizzy. His arms wrap around my neck without hesitation, and I lift him up with a small grunt, setting him gently on the mat we keep rolled up at the foot of his bed.
"Okay, arms up," I say, raising my own arms like I’m a trainer in a boxing ring.
Tyler mirrors me, stretching as high as he can, his little fingers wiggling toward the ceiling. We move through a few simple stretches, loosening his joints, getting his muscles warm.
He makes a big show of groaning and wobbling dramatically with each movement.
"Are you sure you’re not trying to break me, woman?" he whines.
I laugh. "No promises, old man. Stretch those hamstrings."
Tyler snickers and obeys, bending forward until his fingers barely graze his toes. The sight makes my heart ache and swell all at once. He tries so hard to be strong.
Once the stretching is done, I help him back into the chair beside the nightstand and prep the nebulizer.
The familiar buzz fills the air, and I hand him the mouthpiece.
"Alright, Darth Vader. You ready to join the Dark Side?"
He gives me an exaggerated eye roll but lets out a muffled laugh through the mask.
The medication mist curls into the air around him, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. I sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him, making funny faces until he’s giggling around the mouthpiece.
"Stop," he wheezes between breaths, trying not to spill the nebulizer fluid. "You’re gonna make me snort medicine out my nose."
I hold my hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, you need all the power you can get. What if you turn into a superhero after this? Huh? Super Tyler, the mist monster."
His eyes crinkle with silent laughter.
When the timer on the machine buzzes, I set the mouthpiece aside and grab the vibrating vest for chest physiotherapy. Tyler helps me strap him in, his small fingers working the Velcro with stubborn determination.
"You’re getting too good at this," I tease. "You sure you even need me anymore?"
He shoots me a side-eyed look. "Who else would make me laugh through the torture?"
I grin and turn the machine on. The vest kicks into motion, shaking his little frame gently but firmly, helping to loosen the stubborn mucus in his lungs.
While it runs, we talk about nonsense. About the cartoon he wants to watch, the cereal he hopes I’ll make, how he thinks he’s ready to start "training" for baseball even though the most exercise he gets is during our therapy sessions.
I pretend to be scandalized when he tells me he wants to eat marshmallows for breakfast and he pretends to be shocked when I threaten to ground him from cartoons for even suggesting it.
For a few precious minutes, it feels normal. Light. The heaviness of the letter in the kitchen drawer fades into the background.
When the therapy cycle finishes, Tyler pops the vest off with a triumphant grin.
"Freeeeedom!" he shouts dramatically, flinging his arms wide and darting out of the room in socked feet, heading for the living room like the cartoons might disappear if he doesn’t get there fast enough.
I stay kneeling on the floor for a second, just watching him go.
I wipe at the corner of my eye before the tear can fully fall.
One more morning. One more victory.
Dragging myself up, I head toward the kitchen. It’s time to get breakfast started.
He might want marshmallows, but he’s getting eggs and toast.
At least for today.
***
The day went by quickly.
Tyler and I went through his homeschooling studies. He chatted with some of his online friends. He tried to explain yet another one of his anime shows to me. All in all it was a good day.
The threatening letter, the last thing on my mind.
But now that the sun is setting it's all I can think about.
I don't want Tyler to be afraid but I also don't know how to protect him without letting him know there's something for me to protect him from.
I hate Deke. I hate that he just won't get the hell out of my life. I regret ever meeting him.
My fingers absent mindedly play with the frayed edges of the throw blanket I have draped over my lap while I sit on the couch next to Tyler. He's completely engrossed in his show and I'm grateful for the quiet time. I didn't want to waste the money on getting the gun but now that I know Deke and his men have access to inside my home I don't think I have much of a choice. I'll just pull the extra funds I need from the grocery budget. Tyler will just have to do with not have his snacks for a little while. I can get more canned food from the food pantry in town. I'll make it work.
"Oh, your friend is back." Tyler says in a sing song tone breaking me out of my daydream.
"What?" I question.
In that moment, I hear the sound of a motorcycle coming down the street. It could be anyone but my body starts to tingle and my heartbeat ticks up. It's Light.
"He's not my friend, just an annoying neighbor."I grumble but still quickly get up from the couch.
Tyler looks up at me with a big grin on his face, "Sure, Mom."
Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. Her doesn't know what he's talking about. He's just a little kid. He doesn't know.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and make my way to the front door, trying not to look as eager as I feel. Light's bike roars closer before quieting into a soft rumble right outside the house.
I don't even ask myself why he's here. I don't have the energy to lie to myself tonight.
And maybe, maybe part of me is just glad he's here.
I pull the door open before he can knock. Light is standing there with a cocky grin and two gas station plastic bags dangling from his hands like he’s Santa Claus in biker boots.
He holds up the bags proudly. "I come bearing gifts."
I eye the colorful logo peeking out from the bags, then narrow my gaze at him suspiciously. "You brought sugar to a child with breathing issues?"
He looks almost offended. "It’s the low sugar kind. I even got apple, not grape. That’s the responsible flavor, right?"
I bite my lip to hide the laugh threatening to slip out. His face is just so serious about it, like he really thought this through.
"You really think that’s going to impress me?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
Light nods, smug and unrepentant. "That, and the fact that I didn’t sleep with the cashier at the gas station this time."
I snort before I can stop myself, the noise popping out embarrassingly loud. God help me, he’s impossible to deal with.
"Congratulations," I deadpan. "You want a cookie?"
Light leans in a little, close enough that I catch the faint scent of soap and leather clinging to him. "Only if you feed it to me. Slowly."
My whole body heats up so fast it’s like standing in front of a blast furnace. He’s too close. Too handsome. Too much.
I turn quickly on my heel, putting a few steps between us before I say something stupid. Over my shoulder, I toss, "You know for an electrician, I thought you'd be smarter."
Behind me, Light lets out a fake, wounded gasp. "Ouch. You wound me."
"Good," I smirk as I head toward the kitchen. "Then maybe you’ll stop coming around like you’re on a campaign trail."
Light follows me inside, the bags rustling as he walks. "Campaign trail? Sweetheart, you act like I’m knocking on doors with a clipboard."
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, fighting another smile. His broad frame somehow makes my small kitchen look even smaller, and the easy way he moves around in my space, like he belongs there, sets my nerves on fire.
"You basically are," I say, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. "Only difference is, politicians usually come bearing empty promises. You bring juice and bad decisions."
Light chuckles low and easy as he sets the bags down on the counter. "Stick with me, beautiful. I'll keep the juice flowing and the bad decisions interesting."
I shake my head, pretending to be unimpressed. But inside, I can feel my heart doing backflips like a teenage girl at her first dance.
Tyler peeks his head around the corner from the living room, eyeing the bags like a cat eyeing a mouse. "Hey! Did you bring chips?"
Light points a finger at him like they’re co-conspirators. "Got two kinds, little man. BBQ and plain. Because I’m not a total monster."
Tyler throws his arms up in a victorious cheer and dives back into the living room.
I lean my hip against the counter, watching Light as he unloads the loot.
I should ask him why he's here. I should tell him he can't keep doing this, showing up unannounced, bringing chaos and candy into my carefully managed life.
But I don't.
Because for the first time in a long time, with Light in the kitchen and Tyler laughing from the couch, the house feels a little less heavy.
A little less haunted.
And I’m not ready to let that go.
Not yet.
The lightness in the air instantly evaporates when I see Light reaching for a draw. The same draw I hid the letter.
Moving way to fast, I slam my hand against the draw so he can't open it.
"What the hell? Why can't I go in there?" His eyes squint in confusion.
"Oh, there's nothing in there. What do you need? I'll get it?"
Light cocks his head to the side, his eyes dropping to the draw before coming back to rest on mine.
"Now I know there's something in there. What are you hiding? Don't tell me you keep your vibrator in the kitchen. I thought you ladies keep those things in the bedroom." He gives me a half smirk and I fight my desire to laugh at his ridiculousness.
"There's no vibrator in there. I just don't want you going through my things. It's called privacy, maybe you've heard of it?" I snap at him.
"Privacy of a kitchen drawer. No, I've never heard of that." He crosses his arms over his wide chest and peers down at me. He takes a step forward getting way too close. I want to lean into him. It's been so long since I've been this close to a man who's had my hormones going crazy. I miss it. A lot.
He sighs and all traces of his joking nature is wiped off his face, "Melissa, what's in the drawer?"
My breathing trembles as I look up at him. I could tell him another lie. Keep what I found this morning to myself but I'm smart enough to know I need help.
I don't know much about the biker club down the road but all of the men who were the vests like Light seem to be able to handle themselves. There was even rumors floating around a few weeks ago that one of the members saved his woman from a notorious gang. They are all in one piece.
If they can do that maybe Light can help me with Deke.
I hate asking for help but if it means keeping Tyler safe I'll swallow my pride.
Letting out a deep sigh, I reach down and open the drawer. Slowly I pull the paper out and give it to Light.
He unfolds it and I watch, completely tense, as he reads it. The rage on his face is frightening.
"What the hell is this? When did you get it? How?" His voice is deeper. He's quiet probably to keep Tyler from hearing him.
"It was here this morning."
"Wait, here? As in, in the house, here?"
"Yeah, someone must have slipped in while I was sleeping last night and put it here." I shrug as if it's not that big a deal but even as I feel the shiver race down my spine.
"What the fuck. Did you call the police? Do you know who did it?" His questions are all valid.
"No." I don't tell him that I suspect it's Deke. The last thing I want right now is for him to get it in his mind that he's going to go looking for him. Or even force me to go to the cops. The cops aren't going to be able to do anything about Deke. They never do.
Light looks down at the letter again before he folds it back up and slips it into his pocket. "What are you going to do?"
I'm at a loss. I've been asking myself that same question for hours but I still haven't come up with an answer, "I don't know. Nothing. I mean I don't know what they could possibly want from me. I don't have any money. Nothing of value."
"Shit..." Light curses and props his hands on his hips while he looks down to the floor. "I'm going to stay."
I blink at him a few times. How the hell did we get here. "What? What do you mean you're going to stay?"
"Here for the night. If you're not going to go to the cops. Someone has to be here just in case these assholes decide to come back."
Shaking my head wildly, "No. No way. This isn't your problem. I'll figure this out."
"Melissa, I'm not giving you a choice. Either you let me stay in the house where it's warm or I'm going to stay on my bike outside your door all night in the cold. Either way I'm not leaving."
I open my mouth to argue. To tell him that he's crazy. I mean I barely know him. Yet I can't. Just knowing he's going to be nearby takes a huge weight off my shoulder. He may act like an idiot most times but I can't deny Light makes me feel safe.
"Fine...just fine. You need to figure out something to tell Tyler. I don't want him to know anything about this. He'll worry." I eye Light, doing my best to show him I mean business.
"What do you know, my bike is broken. I can't ride home tonight." Light flips his hand and takes a little bow as if he just came up with the best idea in the world.
I scoff and roll my eyes. "Whatever. I'll set you up on the couch after dinner."
"Sounds like a plan." He nods and goes out into the living room with the juice and the snacks for him and Tyler to share.
***
Dinner was easy and loud. Light cracked jokes like he was auditioning for a stand-up show and Tyler laughed so hard at one point he had to clutch his side and beg for mercy.
It was strange, having someone else at the table. Strange, but not bad.
Light didn’t hover, didn’t act like he needed to insert himself into everything. He just was. Sitting back in the chair too big for him, tossing a grape at Tyler across the table and pretending not to notice when it hit him in the forehead.
I let myself laugh too, and for the first time all day, the heaviness in my chest loosened a little.
After dinner, the routine kicked in without even having to say anything. Tyler knew the drill. So did I.
I guide him through the motions, helping him stretch out the stiffness in his legs, then setting up his nebulizer and chest physiotherapy.
Light sits quietly through the whole thing, watching everything like he’s memorizing it.
At first it makes me nervous, but the longer it goes, the easier it feels to have him there. Another set of eyes. Another set of hands if I need them.
Tyler finishes his treatments and gets ready for bed. His cheeks are pink and flushed from the therapy, but he’s smiling. That’s what matters.
Tyler wiggles under the covers, his body small against the mattress.
"Goodnight, buddy," I said, smoothing his hair back.
"Night, Ma. Night, Light!"
"Night, little man," Light called back, giving a lazy salute.
We leave the door cracked just the way Tyler liked it, a soft strip of light pouring in to chase away the shadows.
I watch him for a few minutes longer before I start setting up the couch for Light to sleep on. I yank the cushions into place, drag out the spare blanket and a clean pillow from the hall closet.
I feel him behind me before I hear him. His heat. His attention.
"You know," Light says, his voice quieter now, "I never asked. What’s wrong with him?"
I pause with the blanket half-folded in my hands.
Turning, I meet his gaze. There’s no pity in his eyes. No judgment. Just a rough kind of curiosity.
"Tyler has PCD," I say softly. "Primary Ciliary Dyskinesia."
Light frowns. "That’s a mouthful. What is it?"
"It’s a genetic disorder," I explain. "The little hair-like structures in his lungs, the cilia, they don’t work like they’re supposed to. Which means he can’t clear mucus out of his lungs. Makes him prone to infections. Breathing issues. That kind of thing."
Light’s brows pinch together. "Is it... is it gonna get better?"
I shake my head. "No. There’s no cure. It’s just... management. Day by day. Treatment by treatment."
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He just keeps standing there, absorbing it all.
"He’s tough," Light says finally.
My throat tightens. "He is. Tougher than me most days."
Light steps closer. Not touching me. Not yet. Just close enough that I can smell the leather and soap again. That I can feel the low, humming heat coming off him.
"You're tough too, Melissa," he says. His voice is so rough, so low, that it feels like a caress along my skin. "Most women would've folded already. You’re still standing."
I hate the way my heart jumps in my chest. Hate it because it’s dangerous. Because it’s stupid. Because I know better.
But standing there in the low light of my living room, watching the way Light looks at me like I'm something worth protecting, I can't make myself move away.
I tuck the blanket tightly onto the couch, giving myself something to do. Something to focus on.
"You’re not sleeping outside," I mutter.
Light grins, slow and easy. "Didn’t plan to."
I roll my eyes. "You're lucky I’m too tired to throw you out."
He chuckles, that low, delicious sound that makes my toes curl in my socks.
"You sure you don’t want me to sleep in your bed?" he teases lightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
I whip around and toss the pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.
He catches it, laughing under his breath.
"You’re incorrigible," I grumble, but I can’t stop the smile pulling at my lips.
He watches me, eyes darker now, the joking fading just enough that the air between us thickens.
"Goodnight, Light," I say quickly, before I do something stupid.
"Goodnight, beautiful," he says, voice rough, warm, full of something dangerous I can’t afford to touch.
I rush toward my bedroom without looking back.
If I looked at him for one more second, I knew I would do something stupid.
Like ask him to follow me down the hall.