Page 1 of Viper's Single Mom
CHAPTER 1
TARA
The lunch rush at Bea's Diner hit like a thunderstorm—sudden, overwhelming, and leaving everyone slightly damp from exertion. I balanced three plates along my left arm while refilling coffee with my right, muscle memory from four months of slinging hash in Pike Creek guiding my movements. Table six wanted extra napkins. The couple in the corner booth needed their check. The trucker at the counter kept trying to catch my eye for a refill.
Normal Tuesday chaos. Exactly what I needed.
"Order up!" Bea called from the kitchen, her voice cutting through the clatter of dishes and conversation.
I spun toward the pass-through window, already calculating my next five moves, when my phone buzzed against my hip. I ignored it. Tips were better when the service was fast, and God knew I needed every dollar.
The buzz came again. Insistent.
"Honey, you gonna get those burgers to table four before they grow legs and walk themselves over?" Bea's weathered face appeared in the window, one gray eyebrow raised.
"On it." I grabbed the plates, but the phone buzzed a third time. Three texts in a row meant Izzy's school. My stomachclenched as I delivered the burgers with a practiced smile, then ducked behind the coffee station to check my messages.
Unknown number.
My hands stilled on the screen. I'd blocked Harrison's number months ago, but he always found new ones. Burner phones. Friends' cells. Once, memorably, his law firm's fax line converted to text.
The first message loaded.
I know where you are.
The diner sounds faded to white noise. My finger hovered over the delete button, but the second message appeared.
Pike Creek is smaller than Milwaukee. Smaller than Cheyenne. Definitely smaller than Spokane.
Every town I'd fled. In order.
The third message made my knees weak.
Isabelle looks happy at Mountain View Elementary. See you soon.
"Tara?" Bea's voice sounded distant. "You alright back there?"
I wasn't alright. I was drowning in the middle of a crowded diner, lungs refusing to draw air. Harrison had found us. Again. After four months of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at every unexpected sound, of watching Izzy finally start to smile again—he'd found us.
"Just need a minute," I managed, voice steady through pure will.
The rest of my shift passed in a blur. Automatic movements, automatic smiles, automatic responses. My mind raced through the familiar spiral: how much money did I have saved? Enough for gas to the next town? The next state? How would I explain to Izzy that we were leaving again? What lie would soften the blow this time?
Eight hundred forty-three dollars. That's what four months of double shifts and scrimping had saved. Not enough for first month, last month, and security deposit anywhere else. Barely enough for gas and motel rooms if I stretched it.
We were trapped.
By the time my shift ended at three, my hands had developed a persistent tremor. I'd dropped two cups and a plate, earning concerned looks from Bea and irritated ones from the cook. The September afternoon sun felt too bright as I stepped onto Main Street, everything too exposed.
The hardware store sat three blocks down, its faded sign promising "Everything You Need Since 1952." What I needed was a miracle, but I'd settle for new deadbolts. The ones in our rental were ancient, probably installed when Eisenhower was president.
Elmer Simmons looked up from his newspaper as the bell chimed my entrance. "Afternoon, Tara. How's that little one of yours?"
"She's good." The lie came easily. Izzy was having nightmares again, had wet the bed twice this week, but Pike Creek didn't need to know that. "I need new locks. Deadbolts. The strongest you have."
His weathered face shifted, reading something in my expression. "Again? Didn't you just change them when you moved in?"
"The landlord wants better ones." Another lie. I'd changed them myself that first night, Izzy sleeping beside me because was scared.
