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.