Chapter 12
Sayla
R oque came home two days later.
The second I saw him, my heart stopped. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the moment he’d left. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red, his face pale and drawn. His shoulders sagged like the weight of the world had finally broken him. There was a hollowness in his expression I’d never seen before—like something inside him had been stripped away, piece by piece.
There was so much I wanted to say. Why didn’t you answer your phone? Where the hell were you? Are you okay? But none of those questions mattered in the face of what I saw in front of me, so I just opened my arms.
He didn’t say a word as he stepped into them. He wrapped me up in a hug so tight I could barely breathe, lifting me right off the ground like he needed to physically anchor himself to something before he came undone.
And I let him.
I didn’t speak, didn’t ask, didn’t prod. I just held on, giving him the space to feel what he needed to feel, knowing that words would come when they were ready.
And then, after a long silence, I felt his breath stutter against my neck. His voice was raw, wrecked, broken into something unrecognizable.
“They’re gone. Kemble and Aislinn, they’re dead.”
My eyes stung immediately, and I gripped him tighter as he slowly set me back down on the floor. I didn’t let go of his hand as I guided him to the couch, and when he sat down, I climbed into his lap, straddling him so he couldn’t hide from the safety I was offering. His hands went instinctively to my hips, but there was no tension in them—just the tremble of a man holding himself together with whatever scraps he had left.
That was when he broke.
He dropped his head, burying his face against my chest as the first sob tore out of him. He cried like I hadn’t seen someone cry in a long time—shoulders shaking, breath catching, everything raw and unfiltered. And all I could do was hold him and let my tears fall silently into his hair.
My heart ached for him. For the pain he was drowning in. For the friend he’d lost and the way he’d lost him.
Then he started talking, his words coming out sounding painful through the tightness in his throat, his body still shaking as he held back his tears. It was a tragedy that should never have happened. So preventable and so devastating.
I didn’t even realize I was speaking until the words whispered past my lips. “The kids… Roque, what about the kids?”
His head tilted back slowly. His face was wet with tears, and when he rested it against the back of the couch, he looked like he’d aged ten years over his current thirty-six in the last forty-eight hours.
“They made me their guardian,” he said hoarsely. “They had the paperwork on the wall, framed. CPS confirmed it a couple of days ago. I wanted to call you, but I forgot my charger, and I lost track of time while I was sitting next to their beds.”
My breath caught. My eyes stung even harder. “Oh, Roque…”
He nodded, rubbing at his face before letting his hands fall to my sides. His touch was gentle as his thumbs moved up and down, grounding himself in the motion.
“Kairo’s almost three,” he said softly. “He’s a quiet kid. Smooth and observant. He doesn’t say much, but when he does , it lands. An old soul in a little body. And Kaida… Jesus, that girl’s got fire. Eighteen months and already taking over every room she’s in. Loud. Laughing. All personality.”
I smiled through the tears, the images forming clearly in my mind. Roque had shown me pictures during the storm and told me stories that painted them so vividly that it felt like I already knew them. Even in their tiny bodies, there’d be echoes forever of their parents—little reflections of Kemble and Aislinn, living on in the smallest expressions, personalities, and gestures.
“They were groggy when I got there,” he continued. “Sluggish and scared. But the doctors said the blankets probably saved them. The tests came back decent, considering. But they’re improving and will be released in a few days once the levels in their blood normalize.”
He looked up at me then, tired eyes searching mine. “I need to bring them home. Soon. But I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t know if the house is right or if my life is right for this. The job, the hours, the shit I deal with…”
His hands squeezed gently at my waist.
“And then there’s you.” His voice cracked. “How do you feel about all this?”
I didn’t answer right away, I couldn’t. My heart was a mess—twisted with grief for him, aching for those kids who’d never get to grow up with their parents, and spinning with the reality of what this all meant.
“They’re never going to remember the little things,” I whispered. “Not really. Not the way they should. Bedtime routines, and birthday candles. Hearing their parents laugh from another room. Making those memories that last for a lifetime. They’ve lost all of that before they even knew what they had.”
I looked at my house across the street, my brain already making plans. “You’ve got the space, you just need beds, bedding, and some of their clothes and toys to make it feel familiar. That’s the start.”
He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What about us?”
My brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“This is my house,” he said quietly. “They need a safe, stable place. A home . Not confusion.”
“I’m not going to confuse them, Roque,” I said softly. “But I think I should move back to my place or stay with my parents for a little while to give you space to settle them in. The bath’s been removed from my living room, and the electricity’s back on. They’re coming to start on the plumbing tomorrow before they fix what needs to be done structurally. It’s been fast, but I hit gold with my insurance company, and the contractors started immediately. I’ll be okay over there, and if not, there’s always my parents’ or Heidi’s.”
His expression dropped—like that thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Youdon’twant me to go,” I guessed.
“I hate the idea,” he admitted. “I need you. I just… I didn’t think that would meanlosingyou, even temporarily.”
“You’re not losing me.” I brushed my fingers across his cheek. “I’ll still be here, Roque. I’ll help with everything—getting the house ready, settling the kids, whatever you need. But they’ve been through hell. Bringing them home to a stranger living under the same roof might be too much and too soon. It doesn’t have to be forever, just until they know they’re safe.”
He nodded slowly, and I saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes for the first time. This wasn’t about us falling apart, it was about giving those kids a chance to heal, and I’d do whatever it took to ensure they got that.
Even if it meant stepping back for just a little while.
I’d taken a few days off from the salon—something I rarely did—to monitor the work happening at my house. Between the plumbing repairs and the water damage, there was enough to keep the contractors busy for a couple of days, which meant I finally had time to do something useful at Roque’s.
Right now, I was sitting cross-legged in one of his spare rooms, surrounded by half-opened boxes and scattered packing paper, wondering how the hell one man could have so many coffee mugs and hoodies. The room was a mess—organized chaos, really. The kind that said someone had started unpacking, gotten distracted by something more important, and just never circled back.
It wasn’t his fault, we’d all been distracted. A snowstorm, structural damage, us, grief, and now, two little ones coming to live in this house that still smelled like wood polish and bachelorhood.
Thankfully, most of the boxes were easy. It was mostly books, kitchen gadgets, and random clothing items that just needed to be folded and stored. Nothing sentimental. Nothing heavy. It was the kind of mundane domestic stuff I could sort without getting pulled under emotionally. I’d promised Roque I’d take care of it while the contractors were busy at mine, and I intended to follow through.
Besides, it needed to be done—especially if Kaida was going to have her own room, given that Kairo’s hadn’t had anything in it anymore as we’d already unpacked it all.
The moving company was scheduled to arrive later that afternoon, bringing the kids’ beds and a few familiar things from their old home. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I wanted them to walk into this house and feel like it could be theirs, even if just a little bit at first.
By noon, I’d emptied the last box, folded the final hoodie, and cleared out the space so Kaida’s room could become something special. The room looked less like a storage space and more like a bedroom now. It made my chest ache and swell at the same time.
Once I’d vacuumed and double-checked the floor for rogue screws or packing tape, I grabbed my keys and headed out. The mall was about half an hour away, but they had a home store with a massive post-storm clearance sale. I was on a tight budget but figured I could stretch it further if I was smart.
It turned out luck was on my side. An extra twenty percent off already marked-down prices, and even better, the kids’ bedding section was included.
For Kaida, I found a soft pink comforter set with a ballerina pig on the front—twirling in a tutu, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world. It felt right. For Kairo, a fireman puppy with wide eyes and floppy ears, the kind of thing a little boy could clutch while trying to feel brave. I even found matching beanbags in their favorite colors—at least, according to what Roque had told me—and a couple of soft cushions that matched the bedding.
As I was about to leave, I spotted an Aurora Borealis projector on the clearance shelf. I grabbed two. If they were going to sleep in unfamiliar rooms, maybe a little Northern Lights magic could help.
I left the store feeling productive, if not a little worn out. My arms were full of bags, and my brain was still mentally checking off lists. I was already picturing where to put the beanbags, where the projector would be best placed, and whether we’d need nightlights, too.
I didn’t notice them until I was halfway out of the store—two men standing by the mall’s sliding doors. Both were in thick black coats, black skull caps pulled low over their brows, and hands shoved into their pockets.
At first, I thought they were just cold, waiting for a ride or lingering after shopping, but they didn’t move as I approached. They just stood there, watching me.
“Excuse me.” I kept my voice steady and polite.
Neither of them said a word or moved, they just looked me up and down like I was something they were trying to figure out. I shifted the bags in my arms and repeated it, sharper this time. Eventually, one stepped to the side, and the other followed, just a second too slow.
I walked past without looking back, but my skin prickled the whole way to the car, where I quickly went to the back and started loading the bags into the trunk, still mentally arranging the kids’ room in my head. The bedding would need to go straight into the wash as soon as I got back. I wanted everything to smell clean and feel soft when they curled up in their beds.
It suddenly hit me: the projector could go on the dressers, angled toward the ceiling. Maybe I’d grab some little wall decals next week—stars, animals, or something cozy once I’d gotten to know their likes and dislikes. And I still needed to pick up some storage bins for toys. If I had time, I’d run back out again tomorrow or this afternoon.
I was so focused on running through my to-do list that I didn’t even think to look at my car as I got into it. Thankfully, it had one of those systems that alerted you to an issue, which it did as soon as I turned the engine on, showing me there was an issue with the pressure in the rear right tire.
Cursing, I got out and checked on it, hoping the system was wrong. Sadly, it was as flat as my chest in eighth grade.
Pulling my phone out, I figured it was time to use the AAA membership I paid so much for. To be fair, the car hadn’t come kitted out with a spare. That’d been extra, which I wasn’t paying on top of AAA, which would come in more useful in the long run. It wasn’t just tires that went kaput in cars.
Twenty minutes later, with the AAA guy crouched beside my car, I heard a low whistle. “Well, this didn’t happen on its own,” he muttered.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag, and gestured for me to come over. “There’s a knife in your back tire. Like… in it. Someone jammed it in clean.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve seen a few like this, but never one just left sticking out. Like they wanted you to know .”
My pulse kicked up, but my phone started buzzing in my coat pocket before I could process that fully.
Roque.
I answered immediately. “Hey.”
“Where are you?” His voice was tight but not angry, just concerned. “I just stopped by the house on my lunch break, and you’re not there.”
“I went to the mall to get some stuff for the kids,” I explained, glancing at the AAA guy. Before he could admonish me for spending money, which he absolutely was going to do, I finished as quickly as I could, “And I was just about to leave when I found out one of my tires is flat. AAA’s here now, but apparently, there’s… a knife in the tire.”
Roque went quiet for a beat. “A what ?”
“A knife. The guy just found it.”
“Don’t let him take it out,” Roque said sharply. “Tell him to leave it. Put it in the trunk, handle out if he has to touch it. I want to see it myself.”
I relayed the message to the tech, who gave a slow nod and said he could manage that.
But then Roque spoke again, his tone shifting. “Actually, don’t move it. I’m sending someone from work to come get it. We might be able to pull a print or something.”
“Do you think someone did this on purpose?” I asked, my voice quieter now, the question already hanging in my chest.
“That’s what I need to find out.” He paused. “Do you know anyone who’d do that to you?”
I frowned, heart pounding. “No… No one I can think of.”
Then I thought back to what had just happened.
“The only weird thing I can think of were the two guys who stood in my way not long ago,” I said slowly. “When I was leaving the store. They were dressed in black coats and skull caps, standing by the door. They didn’t say anything when I asked them to move, just stared. One of them stepped aside eventually, but it was weird.”
“Can you describe them?” he asked immediately, all business now.
I did, trying to recall every detail I could: their height, build, the color of their coats, and the way they carried themselves.
“I doubt they did anything, they were just acting weird.”
However, Roque was already moving. “I’m on it,” he said, then the line went dead.
The AAA guy worked quickly, replacing the tire with practiced ease while I stood off to the side, arms crossed against the cold and nerves twisting in my gut. He didn’t say much after the knife comment, just kept to his task, his movements efficient and careful.
A few minutes later, a plain black SUV pulled up, and a man in dark jeans and a Piersville P.D. windbreaker stepped out. He looked like the kind of guy who never said more than he had to. Quiet eyes, no-nonsense energy. I figured this was the tech Roque had mentioned.
He didn’t introduce himself, just gave me a small nod before walking straight to the tire with the knife still lodged in it.
Eyes moving to the AAA guy, he asked, “You wear gloves the whole time?’
The man held up his hands, covered by thick black gloves, and wiggled his fingers. “Sure did. Got eczema, so the less stuff I get in it, the cleaner and comfier it is.”
The tech guy pulled on his own gloves and crouched to examine the tire, his eyes scanning every inch like he was mentally cataloging details. Then, he retrieved a heavy-duty evidence box from the back of his vehicle, lifted the tire carefully—the knife still intact—and lowered it into the container like it was fragile glass.
I watched as he filled out a form on a clipboard, jotting down notes in tight, blocky handwriting. When he was done, he peeled off a sticker from the form and affixed it to the outside of the box, sealing it with one last firm press.
The AAA guy wrapped up around the same time, scribbling something on his paperwork before handing me a copy and offering a polite smile. The tech gave my car one last slow sweep with his eyes, then, without a word, turned and walked into the mall.
Like it never happened.
My phone rang again, and I didn’t need to check to know who it was.
“Hey,” I answered, already walking to the front of the car.
“Is the tire swapped?” Roque asked.
“Yeah, and your guy picked up the one with the knife. Didn’t say much, just boxed it up and took off into the store.”
“Good,” he said. His voice was steady but low as if he were juggling too many thoughts at once. “Go home, okay? Just go home.”
I didn’t argue.
The drive back was quiet, a little eerie, but I kept my focus on the road, watching the way the snow was finally melting away at the edges. I didn’t let my thoughts spiral—I wouldn’t let myself fall into the trap of trying to explain what couldn’t be explained just yet.
When I pulled into Roque’s driveway, the moving truck was parked at the curb, and the hazard lights were blinking.
The moment the back doors rolled up, any lingering unease from the mall vanished. I barely had time to think about what had happened. My mind was consumed with sorting boxes, directing the movers, and ensuring everything the kids needed was in the right room.
Kaida’s ballerina pig comforter went into the wash, and Kairo’s fireman puppy set was next. I laid out their beanbags by the window, tested the aurora projector on the ceiling, and stuffed soft star-shaped cushions onto each pillow.
I wasn’t just setting up rooms. I was building a haven, one soft thing at a time.
And whatever had happened in that parking lot, it could wait.
The kids were coming home, and that was the only thing that mattered.