5. Gabriella
Gabriella
So this is my life now.
Work all day at The Joint slinging burgers and fries.
Then, four nights a week, I bartend at Dick’s under the glowing gold gaze of the most infuriating Wolf I have ever met.
Seriously.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
It’s been two weeks of me busting my ass to make ends meet, and Havoc has been snipping at my heels the entire time.
Okay, fine.
That isn’t exactly true.
Snipping would imply he actually does something.
He doesn’t.
That might be worse.
Every night I work, Rowan “Havoc” Cross walks through the door sometime after dark looking like some freaking Viking god wandered down from the mountain because Valhalla ran out of beer.
He gives me a nod.
Orders one beer.
One.
Then sits there nursing the damn thing for hours.
Watching.
Not in a creepy way.
Okay. Maybe a little creepy.
But mostly he watches the room.
The customers.
Me.
Definitely me.
Especially me.
I feel those golden eyes every time I bend over to grab something from beneath the bar.
And yes, I am very aware of what my ass looks like in these jeans. Which I absolutely do not think about when he’s sitting there.
Nope. Not even a little.
Liar.
Anyway, when my shift ends?
He leaves.
No propositions.
No asking for my number.
No offering to walk me home.
Nothing.
Just a huge freaking bill sitting beneath his mostly empty glass.
Every.
Damn.
Time.
A beer on tap is six seventy-five.
Six dollars and seventy-five freaking cents.
Do you know what that means when the jerk leaves a hundred-dollar bill?
Ninety-three dollars and twenty-five cents.
As a tip.
For opening a tap.
It’s ridiculous.
I can’t keep taking his money. Except apparently I can, because I have.
But only because I earned it.
Sort of.
I mean, I’m not forcing him to leave it.
I’ve tried giving it back.
He growled at me.
Literally.
So technically, I’m just respecting cultural differences.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Besides, the extra money has made a difference. A huge one.
I paid Nando for last month. And this month.
Already.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m ahead.
Which means today? Today I get to do something normal. Something a regular mother does with her regular little boy.
I’m taking Matteo shopping for new sneakers. And my baby is so excited you’d think I told him we were going to Disney World.
Treats like this have been few and far between for my little guy.
Usually, new sneakers happen because his toes are pushing against the ends of the old ones, and I spend three days calculating whether I can move money from groceries or put off the electric bill until my next paycheck.
Not today.
Today, my kid gets to choose.
Any sneakers he wants.
Well, within reason.
I’m still not made of freaking money.
I walk outside Mrs. Donnelly’s place toward my ancient car and immediately grimace at the sky.
It’s October, but somebody apparently forgot to tell Montana. The air is thick and muggy today, pressing against my skin with the weird heaviness that usually means a storm is brewing somewhere over the mountains.
My supernatural senses don’t particularly like it either.
Everything feels... charged.
Restless.
I understand the feeling. I climb behind the wheel, shove my key into the ignition, and turn it.
Click.
Sputter.
Nothing.
“No.”
I try again.
The engine coughs like a ninety-year-old chain-smoker.
“Come on, please.”
Another turn.
Another pathetic sputter.
Then silence.
“Shit.”
I drop my forehead against the steering wheel.
Of course.
Of freaking course.
Because why would Gabriella Santos ever get one normal afternoon? Why would I possibly think I could take my son shopping without the universe reminding me that my entire life is held together with duct tape, caffeine, and increasingly questionable financial decisions?
“Mommy! Mommy!”
I straighten immediately.
Matteo comes running out of the little place we rent with his little backpack bouncing against his shoulders.
And my heart cracks. Because I know what’s inside that backpack.
His favorite dinosaur.
The battered little action figure missing one arm.
His coloring book.
A handful of crayons.
Two small toy cars.
The things he considers most precious. He takes them almost everywhere.
I used to think it was cute. Then I realized why he did it.
My son knows what it means to run. There have been times when Ethan and his sick minions from the Suicide Cliff Wake came too close.
Times when Nando sent one message.
Go.
And we went.
No packing.
No planning.
No goodbyes.
Just whatever we could carry and however far I could get us before somebody found our trail again.
Matteo learned young that if something matters, you keep it close. Just in case Mommy says it’s time to leave.
And that? That is my fault.
My eyes burn.
Fuck.
No.
Not today.
Today is sneakers.
Today is cool snacks if he wants one.
Today, my son gets to be a kid.
“Mommy! I’m ready!”
I blink quickly, plaster a bright smile across my face, and climb out of the car.
“Hey, baby.”
He stops. His little face immediately scrunches.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Nothing.”
His gaze slides toward the car.
Smart kid.
Too damn smart sometimes.
“Is the car broke again?”
“Um...”
The engine chooses that moment to make an ominous clicking sound.
Traitor.
I brighten my smile.
“How about we have an adventure and take the bus to the mall?”
Matteo looks at me.
I know my false cheerfulness doesn’t fool him. That hurts too. But my sweet boy only grins.
“It’s okay, Mommy. The bus sounds fun.”
I could cry. Instead, I kiss the top of his head.
“The bus it is.”
It takes a few minutes to pull up the pickup location and get the public transportation schedule, but we find it just fine.
And really? Matteo makes everything better. Even riding the overcrowded bus.
We sit side by side while the bus winds through Ember Hollow, playing I Spy like there’s some kind of championship trophy waiting at the end.
“I spy something... red.”
“That truck.”
“Nope.”
“The sign.”
“Nope.”
“Your backpack?”
“My backpack is blue, Mommy.”
“I knew that.”
He giggles.
God, I live for that sound.
We’re halfway through an intense debate over whether burgundy technically counts as red when the bus passes the local elementary school.
Matteo goes quiet. I notice immediately. Kids race around outside.
Backpacks. Bright clothes. A few parents walking toward parked cars.
Matteo presses closer to the window. His eyes go round.
“Mommy?”
“Hmm?”
“When can I go to school?”
Oh.
Fuck.
My heart sinks.
School has already started. Weeks ago.
He’d be late enrolling. That’s the excuse I’ve been giving myself anyway.
The truth? I’ve been afraid.
Matteo isn’t like those children.
I don't know exactly how different he is yet. But I know my son.
I’ve seen things. Tiny things. Things I can pretend are normal if I don’t examine them too closely.
What if something happens at school?
What if whatever is inside him decides to come out?
What if somebody recognizes it?
What if the wrong supernatural scents him?
What if Ethan finds him?
What if—
“Mommy?”
I look down. Matteo is still staring out the window.
“Do you want to go?”
His head whips toward me.
“Oh, Mommy, I really do!”
Shit.
His whole face lights up.
“I could have friends! And recess. And maybe they have art. Do you think they have art?”
My throat closes. What kind of mother am I? I’ve been so focused on keeping him alive that maybe I forgot he needs to live.
“Yeah, baby. I bet they have art.”
“And lunch?”
“Pretty sure schools still do lunch.”
“And a library?”
“Probably.”
“Can I go?”
There it is. The question I’m terrified to answer. I take his little hand.
“We’ll see. I’ll look into it later. Okay?”
It isn’t a promise.
Not quite.
But it’s as close as I can get.
Matteo accepts it anyway.
“Okay! Thank you, Mommy.”
I exhale slowly as the bus pulls away from the school.
One problem at a time, Gabby.
Today?
Sneakers.