Page 5 of From the Ashes
Anyways, three years of weekly therapy had helped me to understand the words boundaries and empathy. Not to say that I had become a saint, but I was finally feeling more like a human than a machine. And for that, I was glad to have put the work into it. I nodded to my prez and watched him leave for his office. Saturday is my day off, and Ash is on duty. I’d only come if Mia was going to a big event with more risk. So I have the whole day to myself to think about the one thing that’s pulsing under my forehead.
The obsession I know I can’t erase even if I try.
The indisputable fact that I need to see her again.
But how?
LANA
I tried journalingagain. Sitting at the edge of my bed, I stared at the blank page, trying to put into words how I felt after what happened this morning. A therapist I saw a few times last year, before it got too expensive and I had to stop, once told me journaling might help. That it could release some of the mental weight and maybe even bring clarity when I’m overwhelmed. I’m trying. I really am. But it’s not easy. The blank page stares backat me, silent and empty, like it’s daring me to be honest. Noah’s little voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
“And Ava said I could have the dino but Chloé—” Noah is so excited about his morning with his cousins, he can’t stop bouncing on his little feet, his nose scrunching adorably each time he smiles. Despite being four years old, my little man is as curious and talkative as a full-grown adult. He needs to question and investigate everything he sees, understand why the water is coming from the shower drill, and why the sky is blue like his favorite T-shirt. Although I’d enjoyed my time alone at home this morning, it was never truly complete without my Noah running around and filling the room with his golden laughter.
“That’s great, Noah. Alright, now go wash your hands. Lunch is almost ready,” I say as I finish making his tuna sandwich, ortwunishas he would call it two years ago when his language skills were just starting to form.
“It’s already clean, Mama. I did it at Autie’s!” he shouts, hurrying to climb on the dining room chair, fidgeting impatiently.
“Promise?” I arch a brow and try not to fall for the toddler trap.
“Pinky promise, Mama. Now, can I have it,please?” he pleads, putting his little hands into a prayer under his chin.
I shake my head with a smile and put the plate in front of him, noticing the little dirt from my sister’s garden under his nails. Whatever, it’s not that important. Since becoming a single mom, I’ve learned that my energy is limited, so I pick my battles, and this one isn’t worth the drama. I take the seat in front of him, eating the same sandwich and thinking of that strange morning.
Why did Ben think he could burst into my life like that? And who was this man who had come to rescue me?
Noah and I ate and talked about bouncy castles and why we absolutely needed one in our garden. We played for a while before I put him down for his nap. Even as I cleaned up the dishes and tidied the living room, my mind kept circling back to that tall blond man. He had the face of a Greek God and the eyes of someone who’d seen too much, like a prisoner on death row. There was something unsettling in the way he carried both elegance and danger, like he didn’t quite belong in the daylight.
He scared me.
That’s the truth.
But any sane woman in my situation would have been. The first thing I did after he left was make the appointment to have the locks changed. After what happened in my marriage with Ben, I’d always have to be cautious. I’d always have to keep my guard up and my walls high.
I’m not naive. I can’t afford to be. But what unsettles me most is…I was curious, too. He didn’t feel like a threat. Not really. In fact, something about him felt protective, almost purposeful. Like he had shown up for a reason. He felt like a walking contradiction.
Now, sitting at the living room table with my coloring book and pencils, I’m sketching absentmindedly. Flowers spirals, little patterns, anything to soften the tension still coiled in my chest. Watching Ben force his way into my space this morning left a bitter taste behind. And when I compare that to the quiet intensity of the stranger… It’s night and day.
It was a strange encounter, no doubt about that.
And still…a part of me hopes to see him again.
But how?
3
CARTER
I don’t knowhow to make small talk and it sucks. I can’t figure out if someone is genuine or fake based on the way they talk, and I don’t have a clue as to what type of gift is acceptable for people or which amount of stalking is considered morally gray.
Perhaps any kind of stalking is morally gray.
Not sure.
Since I can’t talk, eat, or even fucking breathe since I saw her last, I decide to go back and figure this puzzle out. I don’t want to scare her, though. Ares said no gift. Vox told me to give her physical space ’cause I’m a giant scary hulk, as he puts it. And Shadow, well, Shadow narrowed his eyes into slits and barked that whatever I wanted to do, I needed to make sure she was comfortable.
I take all their advice and mount my black Harley before driving to her home. I think I can at least tell her who I am, that she can call me if he decides to come back. I want more with her, but more is out of the question for guys like me. So protecting her is the only thing I can offer. And I hope, I fucking hope she accepts it.
She spots my bike as soon as I park it in front of her house, but the door stays shut. Smart. Not opening to strangers is rulenumber one in the book of staying alive. I walk slowly, giving her time, letting her choose whether or not she wants to talk to me. She’s at the living room window, her long chestnut hair falling over her shoulders like it was this morning.Stunning.She’s scanning me, sizing me up.Is he a threat?That’s what she’s asking herself. And she’s right to wonder because Iamone. Just…not to her.
