Chapter 16 – Liam
Movement detected in Molly’s Home — Front Porch.
I’d been getting notifications like this ever since they installed the security system.
It was five o’clock, which meant she was probably just getting home from work.
I never opened the notifications when they popped up on my phone, because I didn’t want to invade Molly’s privacy.
If there were an emergency, she’d push the panic button.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, picked up the paint roller, and continued rolling fresh paint onto the newly hung Sheetrock. I’d made a lot of progress in the last few weeks. Instead of a gutted, abandoned house, it was finally starting to look like a home.
Before I hung the Sheetrock, I’d had a company come in to sand down the floors. They’d be back in a couple of weeks to reseal them and bring them back to their original color. I’d installed new light fixtures in every room and finished stapling the trim everywhere except the kitchen.
Picking out paint colors had probably been the hardest part so far.
I was terrible at matching and coordinating things.
Which color would Molly like best—Cracked Pepper or Butter Beige?
I’d stood at the paint counter in the hardware store for nearly an hour before finally settling on a shade called Ever Better Beige.
It felt neutral enough to work with whatever décor Molly chose.
And if all else failed, I could always repaint the walls for her later if she asked me to.
As I added more paint to the roller, I glanced at the ultrasound pictures I’d pinned to the kitchen wall—the ones Molly had given me during her last doctor’s visit. This is all for you, little buddy, I thought.
If there was anything I wanted to give my son, it was a place to land at the end of each day that didn’t feel hollow and grey like the home I’d grown up in.
I wanted it to be the warm, inviting place he thought of when someone asked where home was.
Somewhere he and Molly could make memories together. Not just a house—but a home.
As I continued painting, my phone dinged in my back pocket. I put the roller down, checking the notification.
Movement detected in Molly’s Home — Kitchen.
I tried swiping the notification away, but instead, I accidentally tapped it open, pulling up the live camera feed.
My blood pressure immediately skyrocketed as I watched the movement that had tripped the camera’s motion sensors. Molly was standing on her kitchen island with her arms stretched overhead, messing with the light fixture, one bare foot dangerously close to the edge.
“Jesus,” I muttered, my body temperature rising.
I hit the button to speak through the camera.
“Molly McKinley,” I said, keeping my voice calm even as panic flared. “Get down. Right now.”
She startled, pulling out one of the ear buds she had in and spinning slightly as she searched the room.
“Where is that coming from?” she asked herself.
“Up here,” I said, more urgent this time.
She lifted her eyes to the camera. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked casually, like she wasn’t one bad step away from cracking her skull open.
“Long enough to know you’re scaring the hell out of me,” I said. “If you fall from there, you won’t be able brush it off, Molly. You’ll get seriously hurt.”
She gestured toward the chandelier. “The light keeps flickering, and it’s driving me insane.”
“I don’t care if it’s strobing like a damn nightclub,” I said. “Get. Down.”
She hesitated, clearly weighing her options, as my heart continued to beat rapidly.
“Molly, please.”
She contemplated my orders for another second before squatting on the kitchen island and carefully sliding off the side of the countertop with both bare feet landing safely on the ground.
“Happy?” she asked the camera.
“Just peachy.”
“The kitchen light, the one in my bathroom, and the one on the front porch are all flickering,” she explained in an annoyed tone.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes to fix them all,” I said. “Keep both feet planted firmly on the ground until I get there. Do you understand?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, drill sergeant.”
I grabbed a couple packages of light bulbs off the kitchen counter, leftovers from when I’d replaced the fixtures last week. Painting would have to wait until tomorrow. Getting to Molly’s and changing her light bulbs before she landed herself in the ER took priority.
It was summer in Silver Creek, which meant the weather was nice enough to take the top off my Jeep. This was my favorite time of year.
Before heading out, I pushed the button to roll the top back. I enjoyed the warm wind moving through my hair as I cruised down the road in the summer heat.
In the rearview mirror, I glanced at the empty back seat, thinking about how one day I could have someone to ride with me. Something as simple as driving around with the top off was one of the small things I was excited to do with my son—things my dad had never done with me but meant so much.
In the beginning, I’d been scared of becoming a father. Eventually, I realized that in order to be a good one, all I needed to do was think about all the things my dad had never done with me and make sure I gave those memories to my son.
Playing baseball in the front yard, teaching him how to ride a bike, having him hold the flashlight while we worked on something in the garage, those were all things I wanted to check off my list someday.
When I rolled into Molly’s driveway, I immediately noticed the flickering front porch light she’d mentioned. I grabbed the light bulbs and tool kit from my Jeep and headed toward the front steps.
As I walked up her driveway, her chickens meandered through her yard, pecking at the grass.
Molly probably had close to twenty chickens.
As I made my way up the steps, I came face-to-face with one walking along her front porch.
I hoped it wouldn’t get feisty and attack me.
I stepped around it slowly, like two men on the battlefield calling a silent truce.
Through the front window, I spotted Molly curled up on the couch reading a book. I knocked gently on the door, looking down at the chicken for any signs of aggression.
“Handyman Liam has arrived,” Molly said as she opened the door, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Come in. Make yourself at home. Not like you don’t already have security cameras on every inch of the place.”
She caught me side-eyeing the chicken.
“Is big, bad Liam Carson debating whether he needs to tuck tail and run from a little ol’ chicken?” she said sarcastically. She was clearly enjoying my discomfort, like she always had given the opportunity—and there were many.
She bent down and scooped it up, tucking it against her hip like she’d just rescued a lost puppy from the side of the road—not a wild animal with feathers and zero regard for personal space.
“It’s just a chicken,” she said.
“It’s a wild animal,” I pointed out.
She rolled her eyes at me. “It can’t kill you.”
“Says you.”
She walked down the porch steps and gently set the chicken in the grass, completely unbothered, while I stayed put. The more distance between me and the chicken, the better.
As Molly set the chicken down, I couldn’t help but notice the gentle curve of her baby bump. She was far enough along that there was no mistaking it—clearly pregnant—but not so far that it looked uncomfortable.
She wore a fitted shirt that hugged her belly perfectly with jean shorts that showed off skin more sun-kissed than the last time I’d seen her. The tan made her honey-blonde hair glow even more.
Pregnancy looked good on her.
No—pregnancy looked beautiful on her.
People always said pregnant women looked like they were glowing, and for the first time, because of Molly, I truly understood what that meant.
“I promise, until today, I never watched your cameras,” I said, stepping inside her house. “I clicked the notification by accident. Good thing I did though.”
She rolled her eyes before her gaze dropped to the supplies I carried. “Do you just drive around with extra light bulbs and a tool kit for fun, or…?”
I stalled for half a second, searching for something believable to say—anything that didn’t involve telling her the real reason I had all these things so easily accessible.
“I was doing some maintenance at the police station the other day,” I lied. “Never took the stuff out. Lucky timing, I guess.”
“I’d show you where all the rooms are, but you already know from the last time you were here, so help yourself,” she joked as she made her way to the kitchen.
I pushed out an awkward laugh, because I did remember the layout of Molly’s house. The memory was burned into my brain with everything else that had happened that night. I glanced at her couch, and without warning, the memory of her straddling my lap flashed through my mind.
I brushed the thought away as I headed toward her bedroom, but it was useless.
The second I saw her bed, it all came rushing back even faster—everything we’d done there, the couch included, only intensified.
This was where we’d conceived a child. An accident at the time, sure—but one that permanently tied Molly and me together in a way that belonged only to us.
Standing in front of her vanity, I rose onto my tiptoes and unscrewed the old light bulb that had been bothering her.
I set it gently on the bathroom counter, making sure not to shatter it and add broken glass to my list of to-dos.
I grabbed a new bulb from the box, reached up, and twisted it into place.
After a few turns, it flickered to life, flooding the small space with light.
My thoughts drifted to the master bathroom of the house I was remodeling for Molly. This one barely had room for a shower, toilet, and sink. The other one was much larger, complete with a clawfoot tub, walk-in shower, and double vanity.
She’d have so much more space in her new house—plenty of room for her and a wild toddler to run around, the kind of space that would probably make his momma want to pull her hair out on a daily basis.
If he turned out to be anything like me, he’d be adventurous.
At least, that’s how I was in the beginning.
I was determined to do everything in my power to make sure my son never experienced the kind of trauma I did.
All I wanted was for him to grow up knowing, without a doubt, how deeply his parents loved him and how far we’d go for him.
And if, for some reason, we couldn’t make it happen on our own, there was a line of people out the door ready to step in.
Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Grandparents—at least on his mom’s side—all ready to hand him the world just as quickly as we would.
The one thing I wished for most of all though was to be able to take back what I’d said in the beginning to Molly. It would probably go down as my biggest regret in life.
As I grabbed my toolbox off Molly’s bathroom counter, the screwdriver I’d left sitting on top slipped and clattered into her slightly open vanity drawer.
I sighed, sliding the drawer open and reaching inside.
The moment I looked down, the back of my neck went hot.
Not only had I retrieved my screwdriver, I’d also found Molly’s purple vibrator.
“Oh shit,” I whispered.
I snatched my tool and slammed the drawer shut, pretending I hadn’t just discovered the thing Molly used to pleasure herself.
Pull it together, Carson. It’s a vibrator.
Every girl has one. That plan went to hell almost immediately, because my brain betrayed me, flashing images I had no business imagining of Molly leaned back on her bed, getting herself off.
She wouldn’t need that if she had you, my mind whispered. You could do things that vibrator never could.
The front of my jeans tightened in a way that made me curse myself.
Fuck me.
“Do you need help?” Molly called from the other side of the house.
Yeah… just not with the light bulb. Something way more dangerous. Her growing stomach was proof of just how dangerous.