Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
MAX
The veil of sleep shatters with a sharp shake, as Sara’s voice slices through the haze like a blade.
“Max! Max, wake up!” Her words are high, frantic, pulling me upright in bed, my heart is already pounding even before my eyes adjust to the dim glow of the bedside lamp.
She’s leaning over me, her blonde hair tousled, her eyes wide with panic.
Her fear jolts me fully awake instantly, and my pulse is a wild beat in my ears.
“What’s wrong?” I rasp as I swing my legs over the bed’s side.
“Jason’s not in his room,” she says, her voice breaking, her hands wringing the hem of her nightgown. “He’s been taken, Max. Someone has come in and kidnapped him. I checked his bed, the bathroom, everywhere—he’s gone!”
The word gone lands like a punch, stealing my breath.
I’m on my feet, adrenaline surging, the room tilting as pure fear takes hold.
“Stay calm,” I say, more to myself than her, grabbing a T-shirt from the chair and pulling it on, the cotton clinging to my skin.
“We’ll find him. He’s probably just wandering around in the kitchen. ”
Sara’s already moving, her bare feet slapping the floor as she heads for the door. “I looked in the den and the kitchen—he’s not there,” she says, her voice rising, cracking. “What if he’s outside? What if—”
“Stop,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant to.
I lay my hand on her arm to steady her. “We’ll check every room.
He’s here, Sara. He has to be. I set the alarm myself.
No one has got in or out.” My tone is firm and sure, but inside, I’m unraveling.
What if someone hacked the system? Even the best systems are not impenetrable to highly sophisticated hackers.
Visions of Jason lost, scared, or worse flash through my mind.
I push them down, forcing clarity, and lead her into the hallway, the light from the sconces casting long shadows across the polished wood.
We move fast, splitting up to cover ground. I take the upstairs, my feet heavy on the runner as I check the guest rooms, the office, the linen closet—every door flung open, every corner scanned.
The house is silent, save for the creak of floorboards and Sara’s distant calls downstairs, her voice echoing through the open foyer.
“Jason? Honey, where are you?” she pleads, and it twists my gut, her desperation mirroring mine. I check his room again, the superhero sheets rumpled, his stuffed bear gone, and my chest tightens. Where the hell is he?
The studio comes to mind—Amelia’s space, where she was painting last night.
Maybe he went there to look at the dragon painting.
I start running towards the studio, my heart racing.
I fling open the doorway and my gaze flies around the room, but it’s empty, the easel standing sentinel in the moonlight, her dragon half-finished.
I pause, my hand on the doorframe, her presence lingering in the scent of turpentine and the soft glow of a left-on lamp. The panic is growing inside me. One last place he could be. Her bedroom is down the hall, and I move toward it, and a new tension coils in my chest.
I knock, my knuckles grazing the door, but there’s no answer.
My pulse spikes, a flicker of fear that she’s gone too, but I push it down and ease the door open, the hinges whispering in the quiet.
Moonlight spills through the purple drapes, bathing the room in a silver haze, and there, on the bed, is Amelia, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow, her face soft in sleep.
Beside her, curled under the duvet, is Jason, his small body tucked close, his bear clutched tight.
Relief crashes over me, so intense it nearly buckles my knees, and I lean against the doorframe, my breath shuddering out. He’s safe. They’re safe.
I step closer, my feet silent on the rug, and take them in—Jason’s dark curls against the pillow, so like mine, his face peaceful, free of the fear that woke us.
Amelia’s arm rests lightly over him, protective, and the sight stirs something deep inside me.
This should have been the sight I see every night.
This should have been my life. I feel protective and possessive.
The warmth battles the relentless guilt I carry.
I want to wake her, to thank her, desperate for any excuse to speak to her alone while it is just us three, but I don’t because I can hear Sara’s footsteps.
I just watch, my heart a tangled mess of love and shame.
Sara’s footsteps approach, quick and uneven, and she appears in the doorway, her gasp soft but sharp. I turn towards her.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispers, her hand on her chest, her eyes glistening with relief. But then her gaze narrows, landing on Amelia, and a flicker of something—irritation, maybe jealousy—crosses her face. “Why is he with her?” she mutters, her voice low, edged with accusation.
The words ignite a spark of hatred in me, hot and sudden.
I turn to her, my jaw tight. “Don’t,” I say, my voice low, but venomous.
It shocks her. I walk over to her. “Don’t be rude to Amelia, Sara,” I whisper.
“It’s not her fault Jason came to her. For whatever reason, he trusts her. That’s not on her—it’s on us.”
Sara blinks, her lips parting in surprise. I know I’ve crossed a line, revealed too much, but I can’t stop, not when it’s Amelia.
Her eyes search mine, hurt and confused, but I can’t face her, can’t explain the storm inside me.
I turn away, my chest tight, and stride away, my bare feet thudding in the hallway.
My study door closes quietly behind me, the sound echoing in the silent house, and I lean against it, my breath ragged.
The innocent image of Amelia and Jason fast asleep together is burned into my mind. She cares for my son.
God, I love that woman.