9. Gabriella
Gabriella
“Matteo, make sure you pack your clean pajamas!”
“I did!”
“And underwear!”
A pause.
Too long.
I close my eyes.
“Matteo?”
“I’m getting them!”
I press a hand to my chest and exhale.
Lord, help me.
I’m more nervous about this than he is.
Then again, my six-year-old has apparently decided that attending his first sleepover is the greatest thing that has ever happened to him.
Possibly greater than starting school.
Possibly even greater than giant mall cookies.
My traitorous brain immediately supplies the image of a huge blond Wolf sitting across from Matteo with a chocolate chip cookie in his hand.
No.
We are not thinking about Havoc.
I walk into Matteo’s bedroom and find him stuffing approximately half his worldly possessions into the little dinosaur backpack we bought for school.
“Baby, you don't need all that.”
“I need Rex.”
“Okay.”
“And Captain.”
“Fine.”
“And my cars.”
“All four?”
He looks horrified that I would even ask.
“Yes.”
“Obviously. What was I thinking?”
He grins.
My heart squeezes.
“Mommy, will Luke like the present we got him?”
“What’s not to like?” I ask, smiling as he grabs the dinosaur truck he picked out for his new friend.
The wrapping paper is wrinkled and there’s tape everywhere, but he wanted to do it himself. And I’m so proud I could cry.
He started school Monday.
It’s Friday now, and somehow my baby has already been invited to a sleepover for Mrs. Donnelly’s grandson’s birthday party.
Four nights ago, I could barely sleep because he was going to school.
Tonight, I’m voluntarily allowing him to sleep somewhere that isn't under the same roof as me.
Look at me growing and shit.
Of course, the only reason this is happening is because the sleepover is at Mrs. Donnelly’s house.
And I trust my landlady.
She's a good woman. Better than good. She’s been kinder to Matteo and me than she ever needed to be, and she adores my son.
Still...
A sleepover.
Without me.
Please God, let this go well.
I rub my palms down the front of my jeans. He’s never been so excited. The day I finally told him he could start school, the kid went wild.
Actually, wild.
Jumping.
Screaming.
Running around the little garage apartment we rent.
“Really, Mommy?”
“Yes, really.”
“I can go?”
“You can go.”
“Tomorrow?”
I laughed.
“Not tomorrow.”
That part almost killed him.
We had paperwork to fill out. Records to arrange. Questions I didn't necessarily want anyone asking.
But I managed.
Because I had to.
Because Havoc was right.
Fuck.
I hate admitting that.
But he was.
I’ve spent so much of Matteo’s life keeping him safe that somewhere along the way I stopped asking myself whether I was letting him live.
So we went shopping.
Pencils.
Crayons.
Folders.
A little dinosaur backpack and matching lunch box he absolutely had to have.
New clothes.
He picked them all out himself. And after? My baby strutted around the store like he’d been given the keys to a Ferrari.
And Monday morning? I walked him into that school with my heart lodged so far up my throat I could barely breathe.
I watched him disappear into his classroom.
Then I sat in my car and cried for twenty freaking minutes.
Not because I was sad.
Well, maybe a little.
Mostly because I was terrified. Every instinct I possess told me to run inside, grab him, and disappear again.
That's what I know.
Run.
Hide.
Protect.
Except Matteo deserves more than a childhood spent running from the Suicide Cliff Wake.
What’s the point of getting him away if he never gets to have a life?
So I let him go. A little.
Mrs. Donnelly picks him up every afternoon because my shift at The Joint overlaps dismissal. I pay her, despite the fact that she tried refusing the money three separate times.
I won.
Mostly because I threatened to find someone else. She called me a stubborn pain in the ass.
Takes one to know one.
And school? School has been great.
His teacher seems to adore him. She was surprised by how well he reads.
That irritated me a little.
Okay.
It irritated me a lot.
I might be a waitress. I might sling burgers during the day and beers at night. I might live above somebody else's garage and drive a car that sounds like it needs last rites every time I turn the key.
But I’m not stupid. And neither is my son.
I taught Matteo to read. I taught him to write his name before kindergarten age.
We read together every night we can.
Books were always the easiest things to carry when we moved. Stories gave us somewhere else to go when our real life felt too frightening.
Dragons.
Knights.
Dinosaurs.
Pirates.
Faraway planets.
Places where monsters could be defeated and good people usually won.
I hope I gave him that love of stories. I hope I gave him something besides fear.
That thought catches somewhere inside my chest.
Because there are things I know I gave him that I wish I hadn't.
The backpack packed with everything precious. The way he asks if we're coming back whenever we leave for more than a day. The fact that he knows how to get dressed quickly when I tell him to.
Things a six-year-old shouldn't have learned. But he’s learning other things now, too.
Friends.
School.
Birthday parties.
Sleepovers.
Normal.
And no, this has absolutely nothing to do with anything Havoc Cross said to me.
Nothing.
Zero.
Not a damn thing.
I stare at myself in the bedroom mirror.
“Liar.”
Yeah.
Fine.
Maybe it has a little to do with that man. For some reason, that Wolf gets under my skin. Even thinking about him makes the other part of me stir.
Feathers practically bristle beneath my skin. My hidden nature stretches against the cage I’ve kept it in for too long. Way too long.
The sensation makes me rub absently at my collarbone.
She wants out.
Sometimes I dream about letting her free. About going somewhere so remote that nobody could possibly see and finally allowing the transformation I’ve denied myself for years.
Wings.
Wind.
Sky.
Freedom.
But I can't.
It isn't safe.
Not for me.
Definitely not for Matteo.
I learned a long time ago that freedom is a luxury people like us can't always afford.
So I keep her hidden.
Keep us hidden.
And I keep moving.
I've been scared for so fucking long that sometimes I forget what it feels like not to be.
Except, well, Ember Hollow feels different. Safe. Like this might be our home.
Home.
Christ, the word terrifies me almost as much as it tempts me.
Because I want that. I want this little Montana town to be home for Matteo and me. I want him to have friends. I want to complain about school pickup and permission slips and soccer practice or whatever the hell normal mothers complain about.
I want to know where we’ll be next Christmas.
Next summer.
Next year.
I want to stop running.
But I am not going to let some foul-mouthed, Viking-looking Wolf Shifter make me forget exactly what I'm fighting for. Or who I'm running from.
I need to be more careful now. Not less.
Especially because Havoc makes me want things. Dangerous things.
Like when no one is looking, I catch myself wanting things I have no business wanting.
Wanting to trust him.
Wanting to touch him.
Wanting to know what that hard, growling mouth would feel like against mine.
Wanting to believe him when he looked at me in that park like I was more than some passing attraction and growled, "You feel like more than that to me, Gabby.”
My stomach flips.
“Stop.”
“Stop what, Mommy?”
I jump.
Matteo stands in the doorway, wearing his backpack.
“Nothing!”
He gives me the kind of look only a child can give an adult who is obviously full of shit.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay, baby. Come on.”
Mrs. Donnelly lives right next door, but I hold Matteo’s hand the entire way.
Because apparently I’m insane.
We walk up her front steps, and the second she opens the door, Matteo gasps.
Her entire living room has been transformed into an archaeological dig.
Brown paper covers part of the floor. Plastic dinosaur bones stick out of fake sand pits. Little brushes and excavation tools are scattered around, and a huge banner reads: DIGGING INTO SEVEN!
Okay. That's just adorable.
“Whoa!”
Matteo forgets I exist.
There are five other little boys already inside, and one of them yells his name.
“Matteo!”
My son lights up.
“Mommy, look! That's Ben!”
“I see.”
“Come on!” Ben shouts. “We’re digging for fossils!”
Matteo drops my hand.
Just like that.
No hesitation. No fear.
He runs into the living room.
I stand there. My empty hand hangs stupidly at my side. And something inside me breaks in the best possible way.
He has a friend.
My baby has a freaking friend. Mrs. Donnelly nudges my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
My voice cracks. She smiles knowingly.
“Sure you are.”
I clear my throat.
“So, his pajamas are in the front pocket. His toothbrush is on the side. He has his favorite stuffed animal—”
“Gabby.”
“And my number is programmed into your phone, but I wrote it down too just in case. Dick’s number is on there, and if he gets scared or upset or feels sick—”
“Gabby.”
“—or if he just changes his mind, please call me. I don't care what time it is. I'll leave work. I’ll come right back.”
She takes my hands.
“Gabriella.”
I finally stop talking.
“I raised three children.”
“I know.”
“And survived.”
“Technically.”
She snorts.
“I also have four grandchildren.”
“I know.”
“And Matteo practically lives over here already.”
“I know.”
“He'll be fine.”
I look past her. Matteo is kneeling beside his new friend, brushing fake dirt away from a plastic dinosaur bone.
Laughing.
Happy.
Safe.
My eyes sting.
“I know.”
Mrs. Donnelly squeezes my fingers.
“And if he isn't, I'll call you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I nod.
“Okay.”
“Now go to work.”
“I’m going.”
I don't move.
“Gabby.”
“Right. Going.”
“Mommy!”
Matteo comes racing back. My heart leaps.
“Changed your mind?”
He throws his arms around my waist.
“No. I forgot a hug.”
Oh. Fuck me.
I crouch and squeeze him tight. Probably too tight.
“Have fun.”
“I will.”
“Brush your teeth.”
“I will.”
“Listen to Mrs. Donnelly.”
“I will.”
“Don't eat so much cake you puke.”
“Okay.”
Mrs. Donnelly laughs.
I kiss his forehead.
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Mommy.”
Then he's gone again.
I make it all the way outside before I have to stop and breathe.
He's okay.
I'm okay.
This is good.
This is what I wanted.
A life.
I glance back through the window and see my son laughing with the other boys.
Yeah.
This is exactly what I've been fighting for.