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Friday dawned, cool and dreary. Rain lashing the windows matched the pounding in Annie's head. She'd lain awake most of the night. Wondering was she the problem? For so long, she'd been strong. She'd acted brave—when reality terrified her. She'd protected her sons at all cost because—that's what mothers did?
Her heart suddenly galloping, she pressed her fingers to her chest. For the first time, she acknowledged the lie she'd been telling herself. She glanced to the boys' bed—only feet away. Still deeply asleep, she listened to the sound of their breathing. Tears trickled from her eyes, puddling on her pillow before being absorbed.
"I didn't leave soon enough." Now, with the chance to right all the wrongs she'd caused them—she resisted. She'd found a man so unlike her ex, she had difficulty believing he could be true. Had difficulty believing someone like her—could deserve him. Was worthy of Hank. She was a mother who'd allowed her sons to be abused. Who'd stayed with a monster—exposing them to his wrath. Then, forcing them to leave their home. Kept them on the run for two years. Living in a series of shelters. Yanking Tommy from the stability he craved. Three schools this year.
The tears flowing freely now, she buried her sobs in the blanket. The boys still had another hour of sleep. Was it pride holding her back? Determination? Or knowledge- "You're not good enough for him."
Since escaping Phil, she'd been determined not to play the role of victim. To own her terrible mistakes. To plod forward. Work hard and love her kids. To someday earn her way back to happiness. But, she'd never stopped running long enough to figure out when someday would arrive. When she'd finally accept the past—and forgive herself. When she would embrace happiness if she were fortunate enough to discover it.
Drying her eyes on the sheet, Annie rolled from the bed. Head pounding, she gathered her shower caddy and slipped quietly from the room. Another long day ahead of her.
***
FOUR HOURS LATER, ANNIE slogged through another baton class. Her arm burning. Ready to fall off. The pain feeling almost . . . good. She sliced. She attacked. Her feet moving without direction from her brain. On automatic pilot, she responded to Candace's direction. Her brain still listless. No closer to an answer. Yet, nudging further from Henry.
He'd avoided her that morning. And she'd been too afraid to trail down the corridor to bring him coffee. Not knowing what she would read in his eyes. Hope? Or the resignation she'd seen the previous night. Too afraid to start a conversation when she was no closer to an answer.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned downstairs, grateful for the mindless task of prepping for lunch. Moving her cart through an endless sea of tables in the nearly empty dining room.
"Hey—I stopped by earlier, but they said you were in a class."
Joy coursed through her, heating the endlessly cold place inside. She turned to Hank, a smile on her face. "I missed you at breakfast."
"I had a conference call—some of the interior finishes are going to be delayed."
Heart pounding, her brain was too distracted to hear the rest of his words. Grateful eyes noted his smile. The familiar one she loved. She hadn't lost him—yet.
"Annie? Are you okay?"
She glanced up, thoughts scattering. "I-I'm fine."
"I'll be offsite with the roofer for the rest of the day." He paused. "And tomorrow, I've got to get some work done at the farm."
Did he not want them to come out? Why was she suddenly hesitant to ask? "Okay."
"Nelson knocked down another post." He shook his head. "Sometimes, I wonder why I keep them." He grabbed his briefcase from the table. "Why don't we talk later about whether you can spend the weekend."
Relief flooded her. "Right. I'll . . . ask Sharon if we can-" Leave her prison sanctuary. Spend a weekend with the man she loved. Experience a normal life for twenty-four hours. "It should be fine, but I'll double check."
He brushed her cheek with a kiss before his phone began vibrating. "Okay. Talk to you later."
***
FIVE O'CLOCK CAME AND went. Six. Annie frowned at her watch. She'd called him four times. Each time, it had gone to voicemail. The un-Henry-like silence gnawed at her stomach. It wasn't like him. In the past hour, she'd poured over their conversation from the previous night. She'd been so shocked when he'd raised the idea of getting Phil to give up his rights—she'd neglected to ask any questions. Like—how did Henry know a revocation was possible? And how did he know Phil would agree to sign it? She'd focused only on the insulting part—that she needed a co-sponsor on the document.
Had he—found Phil? She dialed his number again. Voicemail. Startled, she remembered her conversation with Marisol and Sharon. Sharon had slipped—before catching herself. He might 'a gotten it in his head to go after Phil-
Now, her heart was pounding an erratic beat. Five calls to voicemail. Where had Hank gone earlier in the week? Missing for two days. Errands, he'd said. She hustled down the corridor, hoping to catch Mari before she left for the night. Hector was playing in the daycare center with her boys.
She arrived at her office door, breathless, and suddenly—certain. Henry had gone after Phil. "Mari, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Marisol rose from her chair, reading the expression on her face. "What's wrong, Annie?"
"Did Hank go after Phil this week?"
Her friend took a step back, guilt flashing across her face. "I've heard . . . something like that."
"He's not answering his phone. He's . . . n-never done that." Annie ignored the quaver in her voice. "I can't shake the feeling-" She swallowed around the fear rising in her throat. The sensation she couldn't shake. The whispery terror that crossed her neck . . . whenever Phil was nearby. "I think he's in danger."
Marisol's eyes widened. "I'm sure he's fine."
"I need to go to him."
"Annie—that's not wise. Phil has been here . . . several times."
"Hank won't know what to expect," she whispered. "Marisol, please-" She caught her breath. "I'm begging you. Can y-you take the boys home with you? Can they s-sleep over?" Frantic with the worry assaulting her senses, she flopped into the chair across from her desk. He'd gone after Phil. The two days off—had been about her. His exhaustion when he returned. "If he's fine, I'll—come right back. I'll pick up the boys. I don't want to burden-"
"Annie. Annie-" Marisol came around the desk. "It's okay, hon. I'll take them home. Jeff's coming over. We're going to watch a movie. They'll be safe." She stroked her arm. "Look—I'm sure you'll get out there, and Hank will be fine." She lowered her voice. "So, just stay out there. Have a wonderful night together." She smiled in an attempt to placate her. "You can pick up the boys tomorrow."
Growing more frantic by the minute, Annie nodded. "I'll . . . run and pack a bag for the boys-"
"Don't bother. Hector has five pair of superhero pajamas. I'm sure they'll love dressing alike."
"Thank you." She rose to her feet, her heart thudding with terror. With urgency. With knowing. "I'll go tell the boys." Forcing a smile, she endured the next twenty minutes. Got the boys zipped into jackets. Ran upstairs for a change of clothes. Grabbed her purse. At the door, she turned back. Grabbed her baton from the folding chair and shoved it in her bag. Tried his phone again. Seven o'clock.
Henry wasn't okay.
***
"SHE'S GONNA THROW THAT car in the deal." Phil exulted, watching Annie exit from the storage facility. "I knew she hid it." He'd trailed her from the shelter. Watched her cowering. Afraid of her own shadow. Glancing over her shoulder as she half-walked, half-ran the darkened streets.
Followed her to the highway. Kept her in his sights. Hell, he was only two cars back. "So stupid." When she left the highway at the same exit Hank had used the previous Saturday, he had confirmation. "Stayin' at his place." Maybe he'd pay a little visit later. He owed the bastard a black eye. And a busted nose. Maybe while he was there—he'd stomp the shit out of him. "You want Annie so bad? How much you willin' to pay?"
***
ANNIE USED HER HIGH beams once she left the main road. She'd only been on Henry's driveway once—and she hadn't been driving. The curves and dips made it seem endless . . . especially at night. Her teeth embedded in her bottom lip, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel, she just wanted to get there. Get to him. Find him there, safe. "Maybe he turned off his phone." Or fell asleep. Or was out—having dinner with friends.
The closer she drew to his house, the faster her heart beat. She was either right . . . or crazy. "I'm not crazy." Her grim voice broke the silence thick with panic. Out on the highway, she thought she'd caught a glimpse of Phil. But, the last she'd heard—he didn't have a car. "I don't have time for him right now." She shook off the distraction as she surfaced from the winding drive into the widened parking area. "His truck-" Parked near the house. The darkened house. Why were the lights out?
Feeling her way up the stairs, she pulled out her phone and used the flashlight. Surfacing on the deck, she could hear Bo . . . whining on the other side of the door. She tried the knob, relieved when it opened. Bo stopped for a quick, enthusiastic pat, before bolting down the steps. Why hasn't he been out to pee? Concentrating on light, Annie felt for the wall switch she knew was there . . . somewhere. "Got it." The kitchen, deck and driveway flooded with reassuring light.
"Henry?" Moving through the house, she switched on lamps, each one calming her with the reassuring glow. The living room was empty. No air stirring. No sense of human presence. She dropped her bag on the couch. Bypassing the extra bedrooms, she headed for his room.
The door was cracked . . . as though someone was in there. "He's sleeping." Yet, there was no sense of relief from the pressure valve in her chest. The bed . . . was empty. Henry—wasn't anywhere. "Hank?"
She could hear her own breathing as she flicked the light on. His keys—were on the bureau. Annie crossed the room to the windows. Skimmed over the fields to the woods at the top of the rise. "Oh my God-" How would she ever find him out there?
Hands shaking, she dialed his phone. Waited several seconds. Heard it ring. Somewhere nearby. She closed her eyes. Thank you, God. Following the sound, she entered the bathroom and turned on the light. Discovered his phone, several feet away on the floor. Found Henry . . . on the floor where he'd fallen . . . a thin trickle of blood oozing from the cut on his forehead.
***
"ANNIE?" HANK OPENED his eyes—then squeezed them shut again. "Light." Too bright. His eyes . . . burned. He was so . . . "Cold."
"I'm here, love."
Her hands moved over him. Ran down his legs. Slowly bent his arms. When her cool, fingers touched his face, he flinched, before turning into her palm. "Feel good."
"Henry, you're burning up with fever."
Somehow he knew she'd left his side. Her presence . . . gone. "Annie?"
"Easy, love." She placed a cold washcloth on his forehead. "We need to get you to bed."
Hank smiled—remembering the last time. "Sounds good." Her smothered laughter trickled over him. "Love you. Your laugh."
Her cool lips pressed briefly to his cheek. "I love yours, too." Her fingers moved to his forehead, gently probing the bump.
"Ow."
"You've got quite a bump there. But . . . now that it's cleaned up, I think it'll be okay with some ice." She tugged him into a sitting position.
Hank winced. "The room is spinning."
"I'm going to see what you've got in your medicine cabinet. We need fever reducer. Maybe some flu stuff."
Content to wait, he forced one eye open. Saw her shadow return. She pressed two pills into his hand.
"Take these." A moment later, she raised a glass to his lips. "Sip this. And swallow." He did as he was told and drained the glass.
He was shivering now. "Thirsty. Can I-"
She refilled the glass and returned, dropping to the floor beside him. As he drank it, he realized his eyes had adjusted. He could open both. She handed him a tiny cup of blue medicine. Too tired to ask, he downed it.
"Our next move is to get you on your feet and I'll help you get in bed."
What seemed like several days later, Hank collapsed on his bed, turning his face into the coolness of his pillow. He felt Annie's hands at his throat, unbuttoning his shirt. She tugged it from his shoulders. When the cool air hit his skin, he shivered. Then she went to work on his jeans. "Baby—we may need to wait 'til tomorrow. I'm so . . . tired."
Her hands paused as she smothered her laughter. "I don't know, Hank. You're incredibly sexy like this . . . flat on your back. Defenseless."
Hank mustered a smile, despite the pounding in his head. The aches in his legs that suggested maybe he'd been hit by a truck earlier in the day. "I'll do my best, sweet."
She paused on the second leg. "Bo's at the door."
Hank frowned, trying to remember. "Didn't feed Bo."
His legs felt cold, so she musta got his pants off. Annie tugged the blankets over him. "Sleep, Henry. I'll be back in a little while."
***
ANNIE LET BO BACK INSIDE. Remembering the possible Phil sighting, she glanced out at the deck. At the quiet driveway beyond it. Then closed the door and locked it. Flipped the deadbolt Henry probably never used. She couldn't shake off a strum of expectancy.
"Come here, buddy." She scooped kibble into the empty bowl. Refilled his water dish while Bo ate as though he hadn't seen food in weeks. Knowing that Henry was safe, she should've been able to relax. Heat a can of soup once he awakened. Turn on the TV and enjoy a quiet evening—in a real living room. But, instead-
She paced. Wandered the quiet halls. Checked on Henry. Reassured by his quiet breathing, she returned to the kitchen. Stared out the window at a thick blanket of stars. Texted Marisol with an update—and mention the possible Phil sighting. "Make sure the boys are safe." Mostly, she waited. Curled up on his couch, she tugged a blanket over her shoulders. Checking her baton was on his coffee table, she snuggled into the corner and closed her eyes.
***
BLINKING SLEEP FROM her eyes, Annie checked her watch. Somehow, she'd allowed three hours to drift away. Stretching her neck, she winced at the soreness in her arm. Candace's training. Smiling down at Bo, who'd plopped at her feet, she rose. Slid the baton into her pocket. Entering Henry's room, she shook two more pills from the bottle. Poured another cup of flu medicine. It wouldn't hurt to get another round in before she hunkered down for bed.
Disoriented, but cooperative, Hank woke up enough to take the medicine before flopping back against his pillow.
By the time she returned to the living room, Bo was gone. She heard him slurping water from his bowl in the kitchen. "I need a pillow." She eyed the couch again. It would be closer to Henry than the spare bedrooms. Wandering down the hall, she smiled as she entered the boys' room. Her boys—had a room. He'd opened his heart to them. Made them so welcome. She tugged a pillow from the bed. Back out in the living room, she heard Bo's low growl. Near the door. She froze, a frisson of warning strafing her neck.
Phil. Shaking it off, she crossed the room, tiptoeing as she edged closer to the door. "Easy, Bo."
The Lab was on red alert. Hair standing up. Body rigid. At the moment she heard the soft rattle of the door knob, Bo erupted in a series of barks. Snarling, he attacked the door, his claws scraping the wood, desperate to get outside. Nearly jumping out of her skin, Annie slipped into the pantry to peek out the window. Saw him—three feet away on the deck. Heart pounding, she watched. Waited.
He's afraid of Bo. She read the indecision in his face. Read his body language. Stay and finish? Or skulk away. Only to try again. And again. And again.
By the time she reached the door; carefully snicked back the deadbolt; slowly turned the knob . . . she heard glass breaking at the window around the corner. The boys' room. Fury surged through her. The bastard would not—would never frighten her boys again.
Slipping through the door, she removed the baton from her back pocket. Thwacked it open, the slicing sound reassuring. Bo still by her side, she was surprised he hadn't bolted to round the corner and attack.
Strangely calm, she crept to the corner of the house. Saw her ex . . . trying to lift the sash, shattered glass at his feet. "Hey-" Her voice, loud. Angry. "You looking for me?"