12. Enya
ENYA
I wake to gray light filtering through the curtains and the immediate awareness that something's different.
It takes me a second to place it. Then I remember: day off. No shift at O'Hara's. No early morning rush to get Warren ready and myself out the door.
Just... quiet.
I lie still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the familiar panic to hit. The tight chest, the racing heart, the need to check every lock and window before I can even think about getting up.
It comes, but softer than usual. Duller around the edges.
I slept. Not perfectly. Not deeply. But I slept more than a few scattered hours punctuated by nightmares and hyper vigilance.
And I know why.
Tank's voice echoes in my head, low and steady and certain as he walked me home last night from work. Declan's not touching you again. He's not touching your son.
The memory of his arm around me. Solid. Safe. Letting me break without trying to fix me.
I hate that it helped. Hate that thinking about him now, lying here in the gray morning, makes my chest feel less tight.
Hate that I'm starting to need him.
But I can't deny it anymore. I can't keep pretending I'm fine handling this alone.
I drag myself out of bed, pull on a cardigan over my pajamas, and move through the flat checking locks. Front door, windows, back door. Everything is secure.
The ritual calms me. Just slightly. Enough to breathe properly.
In the kitchen, I put the kettle on and stand at the window watching the street below. Empty. Just parked cars and a few early risers heading to work. Normal.
But Declan's out there somewhere. Watching. Waiting.
The thought should terrify me. Does terrify me. But underneath the fear, there's something else now. Something new.
I'm not alone anymore.
Tank knows. And he's not running. Not backing away. Not telling me it's too much or I'm too damaged or he can't handle my mess.
He's staying.
The kettle clicks off. I make tea, wrap my hands around the warm mug, and let myself have this one quiet moment before the day starts.
I hear Warren before I see him. Small feet padding down the hallway, door creaking open, his sleepy voice calling, "Mam?"
I turn. He's standing in the kitchen doorway in his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up everywhere, rubbing his eyes.
"Morning, love."
"Morning." He pads over and climbs onto a chair. "Are you working today?"
"No. Day off."
His face lights up. "Can we do something fun?"
"Of course we can. What do you want to do?"
"Park? With Gran?"
I smile despite everything. "Yeah. We can do that."
He grins, gap-toothed and beautiful, and my chest aches. This is why I left Declan. This right here. So Warren could have mornings like this. Safe. Happy. Normal.
And I'll be damned if I let Declan take it away.
"Can we have pancakes?" Warren asks hopefully.
"Special pancakes. With chocolate spread and everything."
"Yes!"
I move to the cupboard, pulling out flour and eggs, and Warren chatters beside me about his favorite dinosaurs and what he wants to do at the park.
But part of my mind is elsewhere. Scanning. Planning. Making sure today stays safe.
We're halfway through making the batter when Mam appears in the doorway. Dressing gown, slippers, mug of tea already in hand. She takes one look at me and raises an eyebrow.
"You look a bit more human today."
"Thanks, Mam."
"Better than the ghost you've been the last week." She moves to the table and sits down. "Sleep alright?"
"Better."
She studies my face, eyes too knowing. "What's changed?"
"Nothing. I was just tired before."
"Right." She doesn't believe me. I can see it in the way she's watching me, weighing what to say. "You sure that's all it is?"
I focus on pouring batter into the pan. "Yeah."
Mam's quiet for a moment. Then she says, carefully, "If Declan has been back, you’d tell me, wouldn't you?"
My hands still on the spatula. "Course I would."
She doesn't push. Just sips her tea and watches me work.
We take Warren to the park around eleven. It's cold out, but the sun's trying to break through the clouds, and Warren's bouncing with excitement.
The park's busy. Families everywhere. Just a normal Saturday morning.
But I can't relax.
My eyes scan constantly. Every man who's the right height. Every parked car that looks familiar. Every sound that's too sharp or too close.
Warren runs ahead toward the playground. Mam follows at a slower pace, settling onto a bench with a good view. I stand nearby, arms crossed, watching.
"Go play with him," Mam says. "You're making yourself anxious just standing there."
"I'm fine."
"Enya." Her voice is gentle but firm. "Go. I'll watch."
I hesitate, then move toward the swings where Warren's already climbing on. I push him gently, listening to his delighted squeals, trying to focus on this. On him. On normal.
But my eyes keep drifting, scanning faces, checking exits, looking for threats.
A car door slams nearby. I jump, heart racing, spinning toward the sound.
It’s just someone getting out of their car. Normal. Fine.
I force myself to breathe.
"Mam, higher!" Warren calls.
I push harder, watching him fly forward, hair whipping back. He's laughing. Safe. Happy.
This is what matters. Not my fear. Not Declan. Just this.
After twenty minutes, Warren runs off to the climbing frame. I move back to the bench where Mam's sitting, sinking down beside her.
She doesn't look at me. Just says quietly, "You're jumpy, honey."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You've checked over your shoulder five times in the last minute. And you nearly jumped out of your skin when that car door closed." She turns to face me now. "He’s not stopped, has he? He’s still watching you, isn’t he?"
My stomach drops. "Mam..."
"Don't lie to me, Enya." Her voice is soft but steel underneath. "I'm your mother. I know when something's wrong. And I know fear when I see it. He’s not gone, is he?"
I'm quiet for a long moment, watching Warren climb, listening to the sounds of the park around us.
Then I say quietly, "No, he isn’t."
Mam goes very still. "What’s he doing, Enya?"
I don't answer.
"Enya…"
"It doesn't matter. I'm handling it."
"Like hell you are. You're terrified. I can see it." Her hand finds mine, squeezes tight. "Tell me."
I tell her about everything, how he’s watching me, or paying someone to do so. About the fear I have felt since he’s been back. I tell her how I had hoped he’d disappear but he hasn’t.
Mam's face goes pale then floods with fury. "That bastard. After three years, he’s back and still a big of a bastard as ever. God, why on earth—"
"Mam, keep your voice down."
"I'll do no such thing. If he's back, if he's threatening you, we need to tell the guards. Get a safety order. Something."
"It won't work. You know it won't. He's too clever for that."
"Then what? You just let him terrorize you? Let him watch you and Warren and wait for him to make a move?"
"I'm not letting him do anything. I'm..." I stop, trying to find words. "I'm handling it. And I'm not alone."
Mam's eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"
"It means I have help. Someone's looking out for me."
"Who? Is this the same one who you trust?"
I hesitate. "Just... someone."
"Enya Marie, don't you dare be vague with me. Who is helping you?"
"Someone from work. It's fine, Mam. I'm fine."
She studies my face for a long moment. I can see her working through it. Deciding whether to push or let it go.
Finally, she says, "You're not fighting this alone, do you hear me? Whatever you need. Whatever it takes. We're family. We protect each other."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"And this person helping you, do they know what Declan's like? What he's capable of?"
"Yeah. I told him."
"Him." Mam's eyebrows go up slightly. "Is this the same him who's had you distracted the last few weeks?"
"Mam..."
"Just asking." But there's a hint of a smile now. Small. Worried. But there.
I don't answer. I just turn back to watching Warren, who's now hanging upside down from the monkey bars.
But I feel Mam's worry, sharp and protective and impossible to escape.
We head home around one. Warren's exhausted and happy, chattering about the park. Mam walks beside me, quiet now, but I can feel her watching. Making sure I'm okay.
At the flat, she starts on dinner while I help Warren with some coloring at the kitchen table. Normal domestic sounds; pots clanging, water running, Warren humming while he colors.
It should feel peaceful.
Instead, I feel like I'm waiting. For something to break. For Declan to shatter this fragile normalcy.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting... I don't know what. Another blocked number. Another threat.
But it's Tank, I gave him my number earlier when he asked, even though I wasn’t sure if I should have or not. .
You home?
My heart does something stupid in my chest, racing and settling at the same time.
I stare at the message for a long moment, then type: Yeah. With Warren and Mam.
The response comes almost immediately.
Good. I'm around if you need anything.
Simple words. Nothing dramatic. But they land like a promise.
Like he's keeping watch even when I can't see him.
"Who's that?" Warren asks, looking up from his coloring.
"Just someone from work."
"Is it the man from the pub? The big one with the bike?"
My stomach flips. "How do you know about him?"
"Gran told me. She said you have a friend who looks scary but isn't."
I glance at Mam. She's at the stove, back to me, but I can see her shoulders shaking slightly. She’s trying not to laugh.
"He's not scary," I say finally.
"Gran said he has a motorcycle. Can I meet him?"
"Maybe. Someday."
Warren goes back to coloring, satisfied. But my mind's racing.
Tank's becoming real. Not just someone watching from a distance, but someone Warren knows about. Someone Mam's noticed.
Someone who might actually be part of our lives.
The thought terrifies and comforts me in equal measure.
* * *
I sit on the edge of Warren's bed, reading about dragons and knights, and he's asleep before I finish the second page. I smooth his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead.
"Love you so much," I whisper.
In the sitting room, Mam's settled with her tea and the telly on low. I join her, curling into the corner of the couch, exhausted but wired.
"You alright?" Mam asks without looking away from the screen.
"Yeah."
"You thinking about him? The man helping you?"
I don't answer. Don't need to.
Mam just nods. "He good to you?"
"Yeah. He is."
"Good. You deserve that."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, then Mam stands, announces she's heading to bed, and kisses the top of my head on her way past.
"Lock up properly," she says. "And if you need me, you shout."
"I will."
She disappears down the hallway, and I'm alone with the flickering telly and my thoughts.
I think about Tank. About the way he held me yesterday. The fury in his voice when I told him about Declan. The promise he made.
And for the first time in three years, I let myself imagine what it might be like. To have someone solid in my corner. Someone who doesn't run when things get dark.
Someone who stays.
The thought makes my chest ache. Want and fear tangle so tight I can't separate them.
I stand, turn off the telly, and move through the flat doing my nightly routine. Lights off. Doors locked. Windows checked.
In the sitting room, I pass by the window and something outside catches my eye.
Movement. Or a shape. Hard to tell in the darkness.
I pull the curtain back just a fraction.
There, under the streetlamp across the road. A figure. Tall. Still. Just standing there.
My heart stops.
Is that him? Declan?
I blink, and the figure shifts, moving deeper into the shadows before disappearing entirely.
I can't tell if it was real or my imagination playing tricks, but the effect is the same. Cold fear flooding through me, making my hands shake, my breath come too fast.
I step back from the window. Lock it even though it's already locked. Pull the curtain tight.
Then I stand there in the dark, heart pounding, trying to breathe.
Declan's still out there. Watching. Waiting.
And I can't keep pretending I can face him alone.
I pull out my phone and stare at Tank's last message. I'm around if you need anything.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I should tell him. I should let him know Declan might've been outside tonight.
But the words won't come.
Instead, I just stand there, phone clutched in my hand, curtains drawn tight, feeling the weight of everything pressing down.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I'll tell him.
Because I'm done carrying this alone.
I'm done pretending I don't need him.
Declan's still out there.
But so is Tank.
And for the first time, I think maybe that's enough to keep me standing.