5. Chapter 5 - Minnie
I’m not the least bit surprised when the pigeon on my bed shifts into Danny Stravinsky. Or Damien Starr. Or whatever I call the rock star on my bed.
I knew it was him before I ever looked out the window and found him staring back at me. Kind of hard to miss with the pink fiery magic pointing from my chest to his like an arrow.
At least this explains why I kept seeing flashes of pink on the way home. I was starting to think Formula M had a hidden ‘disco’ feature no one told me about. That, or the stress finally caught up with me and I started hallucinating.
On the one hand, I’m glad I’m not going insane. And that Damien survived his fall from the windowsill. Seeing him lying limp on the sidewalk freaked me out a lot more than I’d like to admit.
And despite the Formula M still left in my system, I’m also pissed. How dare he follow me home and try to peek through my window like some feathered peeping Tom? Scratch that. How dare he try to force himself into my life after all this time? Hasn’t he hurt me enough?
Before I can react—if Formula M would even let me react, which is a toss up this late at night—Natty juts out his lower lip and bursts into tears.
And just like that, I forget all about the rock star on my bed.
“Oh, Natty. It’s okay, baby.” I scoop him up and hold him to my chest. “You’re okay. Danny isn’t going to hurt us.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake. Damien. I should have said Damien.
Danny was the boy who’d put on music, grab my hands, and spin us around and around until we got so dizzy we fell onto the floor in peals of laughter.
Danny wouldn’t get the least bit embarrassed when I flapped my arms so I could talk to a bird or lie flat on my stomach in the middle of the sidewalk to talk to a worm.
Danny used to belt out the lyrics to our favorite songs while pretending to be on stage. He was good. So good.
I’m not surprised he became a famous rock star—I always knew he would do great things—I just never imagined he’d leave me behind.
Natty keeps wailing against my shoulder, and I hug him tighter. Damien scrambles off my bed and backs up clear across the room. He moves quickly for someone who fell from a second-story window, so at least I don’t have to worry about any serious injuries.
And lucky for him, Snow is still at Zoe’s. Otherwise, the fuzzy would definitely try to bite his foot off.
He holds up his arms, palms out to show us he’s harmless. Except he’s anything but. He broke my heart once, and I won’t let my guard down around him again.
“Natty, Damien’s not going to hurt you, baby,” I say softly. He only wants to hurt me, and I’m not going to let him.
I rub circles on Natty’s back until he finally stops sobbing and turns to look at the rock star.
“Hey there, Natty,” Damien says softly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
His words, coupled with that comforting tone, take me back to the day my mother told me I’d be leaving for Everness Academy.
He found me sobbing in his treehouse. And he’d said everything would be okay then, too. But it wasn’t okay. It was his chance to realize he was better off without me. And I won’t fall for his lies again.
I scowl at him—well, try to, anyway. Since Formula M starts to wear off around dinnertime, it doesn’t have as strong a hold on me, but there’s enough in my system that I manage a small frown.
“What are you doing here, Damien?” I demand. I wish I could sound angry, but I sound bored.
The rock star reaches into the pocket of his black, distressed jeans and pulls out the plastic bag with the dreaded piece of paper inside.
“Can I see?” Natty squeals, reaching his hand out.
Damien quickly pockets the paper, and Natty bursts into tears again.
In Damien’s defense, the boy’s extra cranky because it’s late. Usually, I’d have him in his PJs and tucked into bed by now, instead of dealing with an uncoordinated man-pigeon who can’t stick a landing on a windowsill.
Damien doesn’t know any of that though, and he takes another step back. He’s clearly got no experience with three-year-olds—especially crying three-year-olds—and a part of me wants to put him at ease. Another part of me wants to punch him in the face.
I’m angry about the past, and I’m angry at him for upsetting my boy. Very mama-bear of me, even though I’m not a mama… just a temporary guardian to a boy whose dad will eventually get custody and take him away.
I suddenly want to burst into tears right along with Natty. And even though I feel some Formula M calm, enough of the potion is out of my system that I’m worried it shows on my face.
“You need to leave,” I tell Damien. “You’re upsetting Natty.”
There’s just one problem. He knows where I live. He could tell people where I live. But what else can I do? Rob a bank so I can rent an apartment? Find a new place to squat?
I shouldn’t have brought Damien up here. No, scratch that. I should have realized he was following me, and taken a detour. By the time he got that look through my window, it was already too late. And bringing him up here was better than leaving him outside to cause a scene.
And he could have been seriously hurt!
I shove the last thought aside and settle on the bed with Natty cradled on my lap. He presses his tear-stained face against my chest, and I never, ever want to let go.
“I want mousie,” the boy whimpers.
“Tiptoe’s staying with Latte,” I remind him. “Puppy needs him.”
And Julian’s got another spell he wants to try to remove the pesky jingling collar.
“I want mousie,” Natty repeats.
“I know you do.” I hold him tight until he finally quiets down.
Then, Damien—who’s clearly never had to soothe a crying child in his life—clears his throat. “We need to talk.”