Page 11 of Bear Hunt

The whole ride, I try to figure out what exactly her reaction will be when she finds a big old pile of nothing sitting where my mother’s old home used to be.

Being a man of my word, I ride as slowly as I possibly can without actually putting us in danger, which means we get to our destination a lot later than it would take me in normal circumstances.

Rockford Beach refused to have anything built here and instead turned the lot into a small park, with benches on the outside perimeter and bushes and trees inside. Mostly mothers come here with their children after school and on weekends. People chat and hang out and it’s exactly what my mama would have wanted. A safe space for mothers.

“Why did we stop?” Her voice is muted from the helmet since she still hasn’t flipped open the visor.

“3020 Remington Road. This is it.” The guilt and sorrow is clear in my voice, I’m used to it. Every time I think of my mama and the way she and all of those women lost their lives, it breaks a little piece of my soul.

But this isn’t about me. This is about Amy and her need for… something. Closure? Protection? A life?

“But all I see is a park. That can’t be right.” With a fortifying breath, I flick open the visor and look over my shoulder, wondering for a brief instant how my life got so complicated so fast.

“Baby Girl, that place burned over ten years ago.” When I take my helmet off to make sure she can hear me properly, I catch sight of her shaking head. With the weight of the helmet it looks like she’s bobbing her head out in the ocean, fighting the current that wants to drown her.

“No. No, no, no. That can’t be right. I’m supposed to come here. It’s supposed to be a safe space.” At her admission—I’d betmy life she didn’t mean to let that slip—my protective mode fires up and I’m all engines go.

“Do you think you could trust me for just a little while longer?” I’m using my soothing voice, but on the inside I’m begging her to let me do this for her. Because, yes, I have a safe space for her, even though it’s not the one I grew up knowing.

The green of her eyes catches the sun rays just as she swings her gaze my way and I swear to fuck, something inside me shifts. I can’t explain it. I can’t analyze it. All I can do is feel it and it’s scary as fuck.

“Okay.” It’s just a whisper, but the weight of her trust means everything.

“It’s not far from here and it’s the same type of place you’re looking for.” Without another word, this woman I’ve barely met leans just enough into me for her arms to go around my chest, telling me she’s ready to reach a destination.

It only takes us a few minutes to drive up to Maribel’s safe house, and as soon as we arrive, I feel Amy—why doesn't that name correspond to the woman?—tense all around me. It’s like we’re both experiencing some kind of separation anxiety, although I’m guessing for different reasons.

With one arm spotting her as she swings a leg off the bike, I wait for her to be standing on firm ground before I hop off myself. That’s when I show her how to unhook the chin strap and a satisfied warmth grows inside my chest when she mimics my every move. Soon enough, we’ve both got our helmets off and it almost feels like a bonding moment, which is fucking absurd, yet here we are.

“This is Maribel’s home. She has rooms available for women seeking shelter. We trust her, no questions asked.” I nod to cement my words but also to reassure her that I have no doubts about her safety here.

They were supposed to be safe at mama’s house too.

Banishing the agonizing thoughts that always seem to taunt me whenever I think of that night, I flash Amy my most dazzling smile and wink at her. “Hope you’re not afraid of being taken care of. Maribel is a force of nature with a lot of love to give.”

To my horror, Amy’s eyes fill with unshed tears, and before I can see them fall, she turns and looks at the house.

There’s nothing extraordinary about it when looking at it from the outside with its typical craftsman-style build, like so many others around here. Inside, though, it’s so much more.

Maribel turned this house into a home just by being her kind self.

And speak of the angel and she will appear.

“Brock Howell, as I live and breathe!” I grin at Maribel’s greeting and use of my full name.

“Miss Maribel, it’s good to see you.” Just as she reaches me, the tiny woman opens her arms for me to pick her up and spin her around like she weighs nothing. Because she barely does.

“I swear you keep getting taller.” I’m not, but I’m not telling her that.

“Guess they’re feeding me well at the club over there.” And that’s no lie. The way Sabrina and Darlene keep our bellies full should be illegal.

“I guess so.” Her eyes swing over to Amy and the light conversation turns suddenly heavy with concern. “And who do we have here?” I have no doubt that Maribel can sense something, maybe even recognizes herself in Amy, but she says nothing to that effect.

“She was looking for Mama’s old place.” My words are soft, meant only for Maribel, but the weight of Amy’s gaze has me looking back at her.

“Right, right. Well, you did good bringing her here.” I could kiss this woman for saying that to me. Doubt is a bitch on any day.

“You got a room for her?” As soon as the words fly out of my mouth, I hold my breath, hoping I’ll like the answer.

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