Round Thirty-Five
MAGGIE
My heart pounds out of control as I lead Jeremy across the yard and up my porch steps.
We move through my front door, and since he’s reasonably confident I don’t boil children in my witchy cauldron anymore, he wanders through happily, staring at the million things still cluttering my grandmother’s house, while I simply shut the door and rest against it.
I close my eyes and press my hand to my chest as pain and nerves thunder ferociously under my palm.
I swallow the ball of dread taking up most of my windpipe, and at the sound of car doors closing outside, I startle. Once, then twice. My entire body trembles as Billy’s engine fires up, and then as gravel crunches and crackles under his tires.
“Did you name your cat yet, Maggie?” Jeremy snickers to himself so the sound echoes back through my house. “Did it used to be a real cat that your grandma had stuffed? And what do they stuff real dead animals with, anyway? Is it like the fluff inside teddies and stuff?”
He left with her.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, itching and scraping just enough to make my breath shudder.
I set him up with the very closest person I could find that would tick all the boxes he’s been looking for.
I dressed her up in the shortest, classiest leg-exposing dress I could find, encouraged her to leave her hair down—he likes that—and even explained how he prefers his woman with a flair of obedience.
Spine and submission. It’s a tough balance to strike.
And then I stared into his friggin’ eyes and told him to have a good night.
Enjoy yourself.
Ugh!
“Maggie? Can you hear me?”
“Yep.” I tip my head back and, as quietly as I can manage, bang it against the door. “I can hear you, honey. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Your soup is bubbling a bit, Maggie.” The scrape of a chair on my wooden floor penetrates the dull thud in the back of my skull. “Do you want me to check it?”
“No, baby. Don’t check it. It’s hot.”
He opens a drawer, the sound of clattering utensils flittering all the way to the front door.
Exhaling a sigh, I push away from my door and start in his direction. “Jeremy. Don’t touch the soup, it’s—”
His peeling scream comes first, then the loud racket and splash of my pot colliding with the floor.
My stomach heaves, and dread floods my veins as I sprint the rest of the way and burst into my kitchen to discover complete chaos.
Jeremy clutches his hand against his belly, his face bright red with tears streaming over his cheeks, while hot soup floods the floor and wafts of steam float into the air.
“Maggie!”
“Jeremy! Oh my gosh!” I skid through the mess and shove the boiling hot pot aside with a brush of my hand. I sweep him off the chair, thrusting him toward the sink and flipping the tap on. “Under the water, sweetheart.”
“It hurts!” He fights my hold, screaming loud enough to make my ears ring. “Maggie! Stop! It hurts.”
“I know it hurts, baby.” Tears flow from my eyes, over my cheeks and onto my lips until the taste of salt penetrates my senses. “Oh gosh, honey. I know it hurts.” My lungs seize and spasm. They hitch and ache. “We have to cool your burn down. Then we’ll go to the hospital.”
“My stomach hurts,” he wails. He scratches my arm, because I hold his burned hand under the water, but then he tugs his shirt up and reveals his belly, marked with red spots. Splashes that got him after the pot fell. “Maggie!”
“Come on.” I whip a towel from the counter and soak it under the tap, then I wrap it around his arm and scoop him up. “We’re going to the hospital right now.”
“It’s literally my job to pay attention to him.
” I exhale a shuddering breath and squeeze my eyes shut as Ollie applies cream to Jeremy’s hand.
If I could, I’d walk my ass out of here and straight onto the nearest freeway.
But I can’t, because Jeremy holds on to me fiercely, his eyes pink and puffy from tears.
Because it hurts.
Because he’s in pain.
Because I was more focused on me and my heartache, than him and his safety.
“Literally, Ollie. That’s my actual job, and I completely failed.”
“These things happen sometimes.” He sits on a rolling chair, his hair still fresh and wet, the comb lines still lining his dirty blond locks.
His white doctor’s coat stretches across broad shoulders, and when my breath hitches, sympathetic blue eyes come up to mine.
“This is a minor burn, Maggie. I’m confident he’ll heal up nice and quick.
No scars, no lasting damage.” He looks to Jeremy, who watches him work in a kind of half-daze, through droopy eyes and with his thick bottom lip popped forward.
“You’re a frequent flyer around here, aren’t you, buddy?
Always getting up to mischief. Always stressing the adults out. ”
“Maggie made us soup for dinner.” His chin wobbles. “It was bubbling, and I thought it might burn or something.”
“And now we have a brand-new life lesson, don’t we?” Ollie’s lips curl into a sweet smile. “Never ever approach a boiling pot unless you have an adult right there with you. Not even when you want to help.”
Jeremy’s eyes spill over with fresh tears. “I wasted all the soup.” He looks to me. “I wasted your soup, Maggie.”
“It doesn’t matter, baby.” I bring our joined hands up and press a kiss to his knuckles. “It’s just soup.”
“I spilled it all over your kitchen. It’s a big mess.”
Another kiss. “It still doesn’t matter. I’ll clean it up later, and tomorrow, it’ll be like it never happened.” Swallowing, I drop my eyes to his burned hand. “It looks like a big burn. Are you sure it’s not—”
“It’s mild,” Ollie insists. “I promise. We’ll get you some ointment to apply over the next few days, and I’ll teach you how to bandage it to keep it nice and clean. Other than that, he’ll have completely forgotten by this time next week.” He peeks up from beneath his lashes. “You called Billy?”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes and remember the flames of his fury. His panicked shout and his gritted snarl. “I called him while you went out to get the cream and stuff.” I rub the back of Jeremy’s hand and exhale a shuddering breath. “He and his date had just sat down to eat. He’s on his way back now.”
“Do you think my dad’s gonna be mad at me?” Jeremy drags his thick bottom lip between his teeth. “Cos he told me to behave myself and I d—”
“No.” I tilt to the side and curl in beside him, laying my head on his pillow and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “He won’t be mad at you, honey. I promise.”
“But I—”
“He’ll be mad at me,” I admit shakily. He already is. “Because it was my job to keep you safe.”
“But if I had listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“If I’d done my job, this wouldn’t have happened.
” I draw a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a sweaty little boy instead of the clinical odor of antiseptic cream and clean hospitals.
“He was really worried about you. Especially because he was so far away. But he promised to come back right away. He should be here any minute, then you’ll see he’s not mad. ”
At you.
“Accidents happen, Maggie.” Ollie glances up from his work, his elbows on the bed, and white gloves smeared with cream wrapped around his hands.
“I know you know this, but I figure I should remind you just in case: don’t let his first reaction get to you.
He’s apt to snap and shout because he never learned the art of emotional regulation.
But all that shouting will be because he’s scared.
Once he sees his son is okay, he’ll calm down and speak to you respectfully again.
Until that point, I need you not to take what he says to heart. ”
“Where is he?” Billy’s voice booms from somewhere in the hall. “Oliver Darling!?”
I close my eyes and will my heart to slow.
“Here he comes,” Ollie murmurs, smearing fresh cream onto his fingers and applying it to a red patch on Jeremy’s wrist. “I’m gonna need you to take big breaths. Both of you.”
“Jeremy Caster! Where are you?”
“Remember,” Ollie adds softly. “He loves you both. Very, very much. He’s just scared.
” Drawing a deep breath, he sits back and peels his gloves off.
Folding them into a ball, he sets the ball on his tray and pushes off his chair.
His long coat hangs to the backs of his knees, his broad shoulders swelling and widening as he approaches the door.
Stopping on the threshold, the calm to Billy’s chaos, he lifts his chin and—obviously—locks eyes with the man he once considered his best friend in the whole world. “We’re in here, Detective.”
“Ollie! Oh, thank G—”
Ollie lifts his hand and plants it square in the middle of Billy’s chest, stopping him before he can steamroll straight in. “I’m gonna need you to cool it down. Jeremy’s okay, but he’s kinda freaking out about the trouble he’s gonna be in, rather than focusing on the fact he got hurt.”
“Get the fuck out of my way.” He slaps Ollie’s arm to the side and barges into the room, all six and a bit feet of brawn and potent rage.
His eyes, bright green and terrified, sweep the length of his son, from his shoes to his ruffled hair, then they come to me and shutter.
“Jeremy.” Exhaling his dismissal, he rushes forward and commandeers Ollie’s rolling seat, stopping with his chest touching the edge of the bed and blinking, blinking, blinking through the moisture in his eyes.
“Scared the crap out of me, buddy.” He studies Jeremy’s reddening arm—I swear, it’s getting worse, not better—then he tilts his head and reads the tube of cream Ollie’s been applying.
Bringing his eyes back to his son’s, he reaches across and takes his unharmed hand for himself.
He takes it away from me, like I don’t exist at all.
“Are you okay?” Billy presses a kiss to the top of Jeremy’s hand. Another to his wrist. “I swear, I was so scared for the whole drive back.”
“Are you mad at me, Dad?” Jeremy’s eyes spill over. “Cos I touched the pot when I wasn’t supposed to.”