Chapter 9 #3
“They won’t.” Glenna pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I promise you, they won’t.”
Kelsey didn’t look convinced. “How do you know?”
Glenna hesitated. She couldn’t tell her the truth—that there were men here, dangerous men, who would make sure of it.
Men like Tyrone, Gunnar, and the others.
She couldn’t explain that the world Kelsey had been pulled into was one where promises like that were backed by good men who weren’t afraid to do bad things to bad people so the ones they protected could sleep safely in their beds at night.
So she lied.
“Because I’m your mom,” she said, forcing a smile. “And moms always know everything.”
Kelsey sniffled, her small hands clutching at Glenna’s shirt. “Can we sleep in your bed? Just for tonight?”
Glenna’s heart cracked. “We can sleep in my bed every night if you want.”
Kelsey’s breath hitched, as if she’d been braced for her to say ‘big girls sleep in their own beds.’
Glenna stood, cradling Kelsey against her chest. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”
The walk to the bedroom was short, but Kelsey’s weight was welcome after being missing for so long.
Glenna pulled back the covers, tucking them both in, and Kelsey curled against her side as she used to when she was little.
The mattress dipped under their combined weight, the sheets still warm from where Glenna had been sleeping earlier.
Kelsey’s fingers found Glenna’s, twining them together. “Mommy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Uncle Zorro said Daddy was his friend.”
Glenna’s breath caught.
Uncle Zorro.
Tyrone. She hadn’t even had time to process that—that Kelsey had already claimed him, already trusted him.
“He was,” Glenna said carefully. “They used to work together.”
Kelsey was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: “Do you think Daddy would’ve liked it here?”
The question was a knife twist to the very depths of her soul, and Glenna swallowed hard, blinking back the burn in her eyes. “Yeah, baby. I think he would’ve loved it.”
Kelsey nestled closer, her breathing slowly evening out. Glenna stroked her hair, her mind racing. She should attempt to go back to sleep. But that felt impossible now, her thoughts a tangled mess of relief and fear and the ghost of Dwight’s laugh.
Outside, the fountain kept its steady rhythm.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, the sound carrying through the open window.
Glenna stared at the ceiling, listening to Kelsey’s breathing grow deeper, slower.
She didn’t know how long she lay there before a soft knock sounded at the door.
She quickly got out of bed and hurried down the hall in case it woke Kelsey.
Tyrone stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the courtyard. He didn’t speak, just held up a small, battery-operated lantern.
“What’s that for?”
“Nightlight,” he murmured, stepping inside. “In case Kelsey wakes up again.”
Glenna watched him, her throat tight. “You didn’t have to?—”
Tyrone’s fingers brushed hers as she took the lantern. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she froze. So did he.
The air between them thickened, charged with something she could barely comprehend, never mind name. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her breath hitched. For a heartbeat—just one—she thought he might lean in.
She should’ve stepped back. Should’ve said thank you and shut the door in his face.
She didn’t.
Neither did he.
Then, like a switch flipping, he jerked away, his jaw tight. “Goodnight, Glenna.”
The door clicked shut behind him before she could even blink.
She stood there, stupid and breathless, with the lantern in her hand.
What the hell was that?
She blew out a breath and shook her head.
Nothing. It was nothing.
Just exhaustion and adrenaline and the lingering ghost of Dwight’s memory making her imagine things.
She carried the lantern back to the bedroom.
Kelsey hadn’t stirred, her small form curled under the blankets, one arm flung above her head.
Glenna set the lantern on the nightstand and slid back into bed, careful not to jostle the mattress.
Kelsey murmured in her sleep, rolling closer, her warm breath puffing against Glenna’s shoulder.
Focus on her.
Only her.
She’s all that matters.
She wrapped an arm around her daughter, pulling her in tight. The weight of Kelsey’s trust, her fragile little body pressed against hers, was the only thing that mattered.
Not some almost-kiss with a man I barely know.
Not the way he’d make a nun reconsider all those vows she took.
And I definitely shouldn’t be thinking of how his voice went all growly when he said my name.
She was an idiot. A tired, emotional idiot. Dwight had been gone for a long time, and here she was, letting some fleeting moment with a near-stranger mess with her head.
Get it together, Glenna.
She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. Because she already knew that tomorrow, she’d be all kinds of flustered, and she just knew he’d think she was a complete and utter dork.
Stupid.
That’s what I am, first in the class of stupid. Ugh.