Page 14 of Now or Never

“You keep trying, Ben. I’m just gonna clean up the gardens a bit, then I’ll help you, okay?”

“Kay!” he said, his brow creased in concentration as he stared down his foe.

Chelsea smiled and made her way to the barn. She had questioned her decision to move them into the old house at least a billion times since she inherited the place. It was expensive; itwas huge; it was way too much upkeep. But seeing her boy have room to run and play and knowing he would start at a safe school the next day was enough to reassure her.

Now she just had to make it work. Thankfully, she had a plan. And if that plan failed, she had several backup plans already in the works.

She reached the old barn, which Natalie had warned her was full of bats, and slid the door open fast, ducking, just in case they mounted an attack. She swore to herself in that moment that if she ever wrote and directed a horror film, she would shoot it in this barn, among the sharp, rusted farm equipment and bloodthirsty bats.

Her mind whirled back to the screenplay already written, perfected, printed in her desk drawer, but she shook it off. One day, when the time was right, she’d follow her dreams. Right now, she had to deal with her reality.

She stayed low, creeping through the doorway and into the corner of the barn where a shovel, pruners, and wheelbarrow rested against the wall. As soon as she retrieved them, she darted back out and slid the door closed behind her.

A half hour later, after Ben’s millionth failed attempt to start his bike, Chelsea had the gardens cleaned up and joined him. Her soft white T-shirt and worn black jeans were covered in dirt and sweat, and her hands were sliced up from the thorns on the dead rosebushes she’d ripped out, but it was worth it. The terraced gardens were now a blank slate, ready for a set designer to come put their touches on it.

Hopefully, that would be the case.

“It’s really hard, Mama,” Ben said, wobbling from side to side as Chelsea held him with one hand on the handlebar and one hand on his seat. “My scooter is so much easier.”

“I know, but biking is what you want. Just keep pedalling. You’ll get it.”

She wasn’t sure that was actually true, but what could you say? Maybe she should look up some videos on the best way to teach a kid to ride a bike. They were days into this, and he was no better now than he had been before. He would either steer or pedal. Not both. And he couldn’t stay upright for more than a few milliseconds.

“You gotta keep pedalling, Ben. When you stop, you’ll tip,” she said, picking up her pace to a light jog.

His little legs started pumping faster until he got to the bend in the pavement where the path curved around the corner of the house, then he started turning.

“Yes! Don’t stop pedalling, B—”

The words died in her throat as they came around the corner and saw a person. There wasn’t enough time to process what was happening, and not enough time to stop.

There also wasn’t enough time for the intruder to get out of the way.

The bike crashed directly into the legs of the guy, and the impact threw Chelsea backwards into the grass. It took her a moment to hop back up, but she was too late to reach for the bike. Ben was screaming, latched onto the handles and pedals like a stunned gargoyle as the bike started tipping away from her.

She scrambled for him, but he was going down fast. He had almost hit the ground when a muscled arm shot out and grabbed the frame of the bike, righting it and holding it still with little effort.

Chelsea lunged forward and pulled Ben from the bike, prying his fingers off the handles and setting him on the ground. She reached for the bike, and that’s when she finally saw that the person they’d run down was Adam.

He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, blood gushing down his leg, and papers scattered on the ground all around him.

Chelsea winced. She squatted down next to him, wondering whether he was okay. Maybe she should call someone? He seemed unresponsive. What if he’d hit his head?

She thought for a moment, then made a fist and drilled it into his upper arm, trying to ignore the way his grey T-shirt stretched across his biceps.

“Yo,” she said.

He opened one eye. He was squinting so tight she just barely glimpsed green through thick lashes. “Am I bleeding?”

Chelsea looked down at his body. Between his black gym shorts and running shoes, in the middle of his shin, was a sizable gash, probably from a pedal. Most alarming was the puddle of blood forming below him on the pavement.

She swallowed back a shudder.

“Um, a bit.”

It was more than a bit. She wondered whether they were going to use her property for a splatter film. If not, she’d need to come out and hose off the walkway before tomorrow.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

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