Chapter 27 Nina
NINA
The bedroom door flies open like it’s been kicked by a tiny SWAT team.
“Mommy! Can we have pancakes for—”
Austin’s voice cuts off mid-demand, and I’m already rolling out of bed before his brain can fully process what he’s seeing. Years of single motherhood have given me reflexes that would make a ninja jealous.
“Morning, sunshine!” I sweep him into a hug that conveniently turns him away from the man in my bed.
Alessio sits up straighter, running a hand through his hair, clearly as uncertain about this situation as I am.
“Mom?” Austin wiggles in my arms, craning his neck to peer around me. “Why is that man here?”
“Remember my friend Alessio? From the other night?” I keep my voice light, casual, like finding strange men in Mommy’s bed is totally normal. Which it absolutely is not. “He came over early because we’re going to go on an adventure.”
Austin’s forehead wrinkles, an expression so similar to Alessio’s thinking face that it knocks the breath out of me. “An adventure?”
“The best kind.” I glance at Alessio, then back to Austin. “We’re going to stay at Alessio’s place for a while. Like a vacation.”
Alessio moves closer with a careful smile, like he’s approaching a skittish animal.
“Your place?” Austin looks between us, suspicious in that way only six-year-olds can manage. “Why?”
My mind scrambles. How do I explain this to a six-year-old when I haven’t even figured it out myself? We literally just decided this ten minutes ago.
“Because,” I say, sitting on the bed and pulling him onto my lap, “It’ll be fun. Right, Alessio?” I shoot Alessio a look that screams help me out here.
For a man who can make grown men tremble with a look, he seems remarkably nervous about explaining himself to our son.
“Absolutely,” Alessio says, crouching down to Austin’s level. “Because I have something amazing to show you. Have you ever seen a pool on a rooftop?”
Austin’s eyes go wide. “A real pool?”
“A real pool,” Alessio confirms with a grin.
“But I don’t know how to swim.”
“Neither do I,” I admit, and Alessio looks at me like I’ve confessed to not knowing how to breathe.
“Seriously?”
“Not all of us grew up with pools, fancy pants.” I tickle Austin’s ribs, making him giggle. “But Alessio’s going to teach us. Right?”
“Of course I will.” Alessio’s smile grows warmer. “I’ll teach you both. It’ll be fun.”
Austin chews his bottom lip, considering.
“Will I have my own room?” Austin finally asks.
“It’s huge,” Alessio promises. “Big enough for all your Legos and then some.”
“All of them?” Austin’s practically vibrating with excitement now. His current room barely fits his bed and toy chest.
“Every single one.”
“Okay.” Austin nods like he’s closing a business deal. “But you have to make pancakes. Mom always burns them.”
“I do not!” I protest, shoving him gently off my lap. “Go brush your teeth, mister. Then we’ll see who makes better pancakes.”
Austin races off, and the moment the bathroom door closes, I grab my robe from the door.
“Come on,” I say to Alessio. “Let’s see if you can actually cook.”
Turns out Alessio makes excellent pancakes. Of course he does. Is there anything this man isn’t good at, besides respecting personal boundaries?
“These are amazing!” Austin declares through a mouthful of syrup-soaked breakfast. “Way better than Mom’s.”
“Traitor.” I ruffle his hair, but I’m smiling. Watching Alessio and Austin together is surreal. They both eat methodically, cutting their pancakes into perfect squares before taking a bite.
“Hey, buddy,” Alessio says, noticing the plastic hospital bracelet still on Austin’s wrist. “What’s that from?”
My stomach drops. Austin launches into a dramatic retelling of his hospital visit, complete with sound effects for the ambulance. Alessio’s face goes progressively paler with each detail.
“But I’m okay now!” Austin finishes cheerfully. “I take medicine and everything. Mom makes me take five pills every day. She says they’re superhero vitamins.”
“They kind of are,” I say, catching Alessio’s stricken expression. “Speaking of which, time for your morning ones.”
I grab Austin’s pill organizer from the counter—Sunday through Saturday, each compartment carefully filled. While Austin swallows his propranolol with orange juice, I can feel Alessio’s eyes boring into me.
“Go start your cartoons,” I tell Austin once he’s done. “One episode, then we’ll talk about packing.”
The moment he’s gone, Alessio steps closer, his voice urgent. “What’s going on with him?”
“Pulmonary valve stenosis.” I rinse Austin’s plate, needing something to do with my hands. “His heart valve is too narrow. It restricts oxygen flow.”
“How long—”
“We just found out recently. He collapsed at soccer practice.” I turn off the water, gripping the edge of the sink. “Scariest day of my life.”
“Christ, Nina. Is he... will he be okay?” His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can see him struggling to process that his son has been in danger while he didn’t even know he existed.
“His medication helps, but he had an episode yesterday and his cardiologist told me he might need surgery.” I finally look at him, seeing the shock on his face.
Alessio sinks into a kitchen chair. “Surgery.”
I dry my hands on a kitchen towel, my fingers trembling. “I can’t lose him, Alessio.”
“You’ve been dealing with this alone.” His voice is rough, almost broken. I can see him putting the pieces together in his head, realizing I’ve been taking my clothes off for strangers to pay for our son’s medication.
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “His meds are four hundred a month with insurance. The hospital bills...” I trail off, shrugging.
“You won’t strip anymore. I’ll take care of it.”
The audacity. Just because he’s Austin’s father doesn’t mean he gets to control my life.
“That’s not your decision.” I’ve fought too hard to stand on my own to hand over the reins just because he’s here now.
“Nina—”
“Mom!” Austin yells from the living room. “Scooby-Doo is starting!”
I hold Alessio’s gaze. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Two days pass in a blur of texts from Alessio. He’s preparing his apartment, asking about Austin’s favorite foods, what size clothes he wears, whether he’s afraid of the dark. It’s sweet and overwhelming in equal measure.
What’s less sweet is the black SUV parked across from our house.
“What’s with the guy in the car?”
Keshia’s voice cuts through my thoughts as I haul grocery bags from the trunk. She’s come outside to help and has already spotted the vehicle across the street.
Austin’s inside, probably turning his room into a disaster zone while “organizing” his toys.
“He’s... a bodyguard.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Since when do you need a bodyguard?”
“Since Alessio found out about Austin.” I grab two bags and head for the door. “He’s protective. Worried about those bikers from the club maybe trying something.”
To my surprise, Keshia’s expression softens. “Well, at least he gives a damn. Austin deserves a father who actually cares about keeping him safe.”
I’m grateful for her support. When I first told Keshia we were moving in with Alessio, she thought I was rushing things. But once she understood it was about protecting Austin, she came around.
“He’ll be out there while you babysit tonight. Just so you know.”
“Got it. Creepy but protective.”
We carry the groceries inside, the TV providing background noise as we unpack. I’m only half-listening to the news until I hear a name that makes my blood turn to ice.
“The body of Eric Newell was discovered this morning in a vacant lot in what used to be the SunnyGrove suburb just north of Las Vegas...”
The eggs slip from my hand and crash to the floor.
Eric’s face fills the screen. Young, smiling, before the alcohol and anger carved lines into his features. The reporter keeps talking—something about property development and police investigations—but the words blur together as panic floods my system.
“Nina?” Keshia’s blocking the TV now, hands on my shoulders. “Honey, you’re shaking.”
My mind goes blank. The only thing I can process is the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
“Nina, are you okay?”
“Turn it off,” I manage. “Please. I don’t want Austin to see.”
Keshia clicks off the TV and starts cleaning up the eggs while I sink into a kitchen chair.
Eric is dead.
My ex-husband is dead. Which means the past isn’t done with me yet.