Chapter 18
Sayla
I stood outside Roque’s door, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, clutching the box of cupcakes like it was something fragile and sacred. My sister had outdone herself again with bright-colored sprinkles scattered across swirls of pastel icing, this time bubblegum-flavored because Kaida had declared it herfavorite after a particularly animated conversation about candy.
I'd brought gifts too—Shrek wall decals for Kaida, the kind that peels off without damage because her love for that ogre apparently knew no bounds now. And for Kairo, I’d gotten bright, shiny decals of race cars. Roque had mentioned he was into them, so I went all in—flames, checkered flags, and even a pit crew decal. I hoped they’d like them.
This was the first proper dinner I’d have with them. It wasn’t an emergency meal or a late-night stop to drop something off. It was a real dinner, and it felt big.
I raised my hand to knock, my heart tapping a rhythm against my ribs, but before my knuckles made contact, the door burst open with a dramaticclick.
“Saylaaa!” Kaida shrieked, bouncing in place like a human pogo stick.
The sudden rush of movement triggered the alarm, which started blaring instantly, echoing around the doorway.
“Oh, oh,” Kaida whispered, then giggled, unbothered by the siren, as she launched herself at me, arms wide.
Behind her, Kairo hovered, offering a shy smile that made something warm settle low in my chest. Roque appeared a second later, jaw tight as he reset the alarm with a practiced press of buttons. He took one look at the cupcake box in my hands and let out a dramatic sigh.
“Sugar high incoming,” he muttered, grabbing the box like it was a live grenade. “You’re evil.”
“Blame my sister,” I said, laughing as Kaida grabbed my hand and tugged me inside.
After the usual greetings to the pets—two of which had already flopped dramatically at my feet for affection—we went to the kitchen. It smelled like garlic and warmth and the kind of comfort that came from food made with skill.
Roque was at the stove, sleeves pushed up, a wooden spoon in hand, stirring something in a deep pan. I spotted the cans of crushed tomatoes on the counter, the diced onions in a bowl, and fresh basil next to a parmesan block.
No jar sauce. No shortcuts.
“You’re actually making spaghetti,” I said, half-surprised, half-impressed.
He didn’t look up. “What, did I seem like a jar kind of guy?”
I remembered Cody telling me how he’d consistently burned his toast, then turned his scrambled egg brown the one time he’d made it for him.
“I did that once , ” Roque groaned, reading my twitching lips and raised eyebrow correctly. “My sister has a big mouth.”
“It was your nephew who ratted on you.” I leaned against the counter and smiled, the nerves slowly unraveling into something lighter, something steadier.
After dinner was left to simmer, I handed over the bag with the wall decals. Kaida’s chubby hands grabbed at it immediately, fingers twitching with excitement. Her eyes lit up like fireworks, and she let out a high-pitched squeal.
“Shwek!” she babbled, bouncing on her toes. “Shwek, Shwek, Shwek!”
Before I could respond, she grabbed my hand in her tiny, sticky one and tugged. “Come!” she demanded.
She half-led, half-dragged me down the hallway to her room, and pointed proudly at the blank wall. “Dere,” she said, her face serious. “Shwek dere!”
I laughed, set the bag down, and started with the castle decal. She watched with wide eyes and an open mouth, occasionally clapping her hands and saying, “Wowww,” in that long, breathy way toddlers do when the world is just so big and exciting.
I stuck the onion carriage next to it, then laid the green rolling hills along the baseboard. She toddled back and forth behind me, trailing a stuffed bear and narrating quietly in her own language, somewhere between words and sounds.
Then, it was time for the big one—Shrek himself. I peeled back the backing, my arms stretched awkwardly around the giant green ogre.
“Roque?” I called out, laughing. “Gonna need back up here!”
He appeared moments later, sleeves rolled up and hands slightly damp from whatever pasta operation he’d left in the kitchen. “This him?” he asked, taking half the decal.
“Yep. Kaida says he livesright there,” I said, pointing to the space above her toy shelf.
“Of course he does,” Roque muttered with a smile.
Together, we stuck him up, smoothing him across the wall. As soon as he was in place, Kaida toddled over and threw her arms across Shrek’s legs.
“Shwek hug!” she giggled, cheek pressed to the wall.
I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up.Note to self: find Shrek bedding.
Roque gave her a gentle pat on the back, then looked at me. “I’m gonna help Kairo with his decals.”
“Go,” I urged, already reaching for Donkey and Fiona. “We’ve got this.”
Once they were on the wall, I stepped back and looked around. A handful of characters were still left in the pack, but we still had space for them. I hadn’t realized howmanyor howhuge they’d be, but the room looked like a storybook now.
As I reached for the next one, I heard a squeal from down the hall.
I wandered over to Kairo’s room and stopped in the doorway. Half his car decals were already up, winding like a racetrack across the wall. Bright reds, shiny blues, and sleek blacks zoomed across the imaginary pavement.
Kairo was sitting on his bed with his small hands in his lap and an excited smile on his face.
“Fank you,” he said shyly, glancing up at me and making my heart melt.
“You’re very welcome, sweetheart. Is there anything else you want?”
He looked down, his shoulders dipping. He didn’t answer, just shook his head a little. That look, that quiet sadness, settled deep in my chest. I glanced at Roque, and he met my eyes. I could see it in his face, too—that ache of knowing and not being able to fix what hurt.
Roque stepped forward and scooped Kairo up, one arm wrapped around him like he was something precious. “We’ll finish the rest later,” he said softly. “But hey—wanna help me make the pasta?”
Kairo perked up instantly and nodded, eyes wide with excitement. “Please!”
I smiled and turned to Kaida, who’d wandered in behind me, still dragging her stuffed bear. “Hey, Kaida, do you like cheese on your spaghetti?”
She gave a very solemn nod. “Cheese.”
“Would you like to help me get it ready?”
“Yah!” she said, bouncing once, which was basically a toddler fist pump.
We all ended up in the kitchen together—Kairo standing on a stool next to Roque, stirring with careful concentration under Roque’s watchful eye, and Kaida in my arms as I showed her how to sprinkle shredded cheese into a bowl. She got more on the counter than in the bowl, but that was part of the magic.
And somehow, the chaos felt normal. Natural.
I looked across the kitchen and caught Roque’s eyes. He smiled at me—soft and full of something unspoken. Then he mouthed, Thank you.
I smiled back, and this time, it reached all the way to my heart.
Getting the kids down had been a mission—spaghetti, cupcakes, a bath that somehow soaked half the bathroom floor, and a slow descent into yawns and storybooks. But eventually, the house quieted.
I was honestly impressed. Kaida, at eighteen months, was surprisingly neat for a toddler. My niece at that age had been in a full-body food war every time we fed her—hair, ears, socks, nothing was safe. But Kaida had ended up with just a little icing on her chin and that satisfied, sleepy look only kids could pull off.
I’d read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to her while she curled up with a stuffed frog and jabbed her finger at the pages, babbling happily at every picture. Roque had been with Kairo down the hall, reading something about a monster truck with feelings. I didn’t ask.
Now we were on the couch, finally still, with the soft white noise of the baby monitor in the background and his fingers gently moving through my hair like it was second nature.
“You being here…” he murmured, “it makes it easier.”
I smiled and leaned in closer, just a little. “Glad I can help.”
He shifted, letting out a small breath. “Usually, I have to put them both in Kairo’s room and read two different books every night. One for each of them. Then I wait until Kaida’s asleep and carry her to bed.”
“That’s adorable,” I said, teasing gently.
He gave a tired chuckle, but it faded quickly. His hand paused in my hair, and I felt his mood shift before he spoke.
“Sayla, I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.” I sat up slightly to look at him.
“Be careful while you’re out. I don’t care if it’s the grocery store, work, or even getting gas—just be aware. And when you get home at night, I want you to call me. Let me hear your voice when you walk through the door.”
I blinked. “What’s going on?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You remember your old neighbor, Ailee?”
How could I forget, she wasn’t the one with the sunhats and hydrangeas.
My answer was short. “Yes.”
“She was found in the woods, five miles from Coopers Supermarket. There were no signs of forced entry to her home, but the autopsy said she’d been sedated and strangled.”
My stomach twisted. “What?”
He nodded slowly. “And then your tire, it wasn’t random, Sayla. The way it was done was targeted, That’s why I’ve put trackers on your stuff, and why I’m asking you to use them.”
I didn’t answer right away. The independent part of me flared up. I’d spent much of my life being self-sufficient, moving my own furniture, and making my own rules. The idea of having someone track me—even someone I cared about—tugged at something stubborn in me.
But then I really looked at him. His shoulders were tight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t just asking—he was bracing like he expected me to say no and wasn’t sure what he’d do if I did.
So I exhaled and nodded. “Okay. If it helps you sleep a little easier, I’ll do it.”
His eyes met mine, and I could see some of the weight lift from his chest.
I leaned back against the couch again and let my eyes wander—and for the first time, I reallysawthe space. I noticed the small cameras in the corners, the blinking light above the shelf, the front door with multiple locks, and two separate panels on the wall nearby.
I frowned. “Roque… what is all this?”
He followed my gaze and gave a quiet sigh. “Just keeping the kids safe from the ugly world outside.”
The way he said it made my chest ache.
I turned back to him, watching the tension still in his body, even as he tried to relax. “Areyouokay?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, his eyes softened, and he gave a small, tired smile. “Now that you’re here? Yeah. I think I am.”
I curled into him, letting his warmth settle over me like a blanket I hadn’t realized I needed. Just being close to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his arm wrapped around me instinctively made everything else fade into the background. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like I had to be on guard.
His fingers brushed along my arm, slow and thoughtful, and when I tilted my head up to look at him, his eyes were already on me—dark, steady, and full of that familiar intensity that always made my breath catch.
The kiss was inevitable.
Soft at first, just a whisper of mouths meeting like a question. But it deepened quickly, his hand sliding into my hair again as I leaned into him, hungry for more. The way he kissed me made it impossible to think—like he needed me just as badly as I needed him.
I wanted him. God, I wanted him so much it made my skin feel too tight like I didn’t quite fit in my body anymore. Every cell in me pulled toward him.
But reality, cruel and ever-present, whispered between us.
The soft creak of the baby monitor, the half-heard shuffle from one of the bedrooms. The unmistakable knowledge that two little people were sleeping just down the hall—and that we weren’t alone in this house.
He pulled back with a quiet groan, breathing hard, and rested his forehead against mine.
“This is torture.”
I laughed softly, breathless, my heart thudding so hard I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. “Tell me about it.”
His fingers stayed tangled in my hair as our foreheads touched, neither of us quite ready to move. Neither of us quite able to let go.
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that I wanted him so badly it hurt, that it wasn’t just about need, it was abouteverything. Safety. Comfort. Want. Love.
But I didn’t have to, he already knew.
I’d just gotten home from Roque’s and was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile on my face. The night had been something special. Dinner, the kids, the quiet comfort of just being with him. It felt like something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until I had it.
I shifted under the covers, hugging one of the pillows a little closer. God, I wanted him here in this bed, wrapped around me. But with the kids at his place, it wasn’t the right time. And as much as I craved that connection, I knew we had to be careful.
It didn’t make the ache go away, though.
I closed my eyes, breathing in slowly, trying to hold onto the feeling of his hands in my hair, the sound of his laugh low in his throat, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
Then a cat screamed outside—sharp and sudden, a violent sound that snapped through the night air—and a second later, something shattered.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart thudding so hard it echoed in my ears as I held my breath and strained to listen. There were no footsteps, creaking floorboards, or voices.
Still, I reached across the bed to Roque’s side, where the baseball bat sat leaning against the nightstand. He’d insisted I keep one close, and right now, I was grateful I hadn’t argued.
Bat in hand, I crept out of bed, my bare feet cold against the hardwood as I moved down the hall. My house was quiet, the shadows familiar as I checked the alarm panel was still armed. That little green light stared back at me, steady and reassuring there’d been no break-in.
But I walked through the house anyway, bat raised like I knew what I was doing. I peeked into every room and checked every door.
Still, the adrenaline made my fingers shake.
When I was finally convinced it had been something outside—some clumsy raccoon or a neighbor’s cat knocking over a garden gnome—I headed back upstairs.
On the way to my room, I paused at the doorway to the bathroom and flicked the light on just for a second.
There were all white fixtures and clean glass. The slate tiles underfoot were a deep, moody gray that made the whole space feel like a spa retreat. I loved it. Every inch of the new bathroom had been chosen carefully, and now, even shaken, I could appreciate how far the place had come.
I exhaled, flicked the light off again, and climbed back into bed, but the bat stayed on the sheets beside me this time.
I tried to sleep, but every creak of the floorboards and gust of wind outside the window made my fingers twitch toward it. I’d doze off, only to wake again, heart pounding.
It wasn’t until the sky started to turn gray that I finally slipped into something like real sleep. And even then, I never let go of the bat.
I was so exhausted the next morning that I didn’t notice the missing pane of glass in the rear living room window. If I had, I might’ve realized that whatever Roque had been so worried about had already found its way to my door and warned him.