Page 44 of One Little Kiss
WINNIE
The door handle rattles as I slip inside of the cold shed. I take a minute to dump the trash in the proper bin, place the baby monitor on the workstation in the corner, then sit on the stool against the wall.
Pulling tissues from my jacket pocket, I don’t know where the tears stop or the blood starts, but I put the wad of balled up tissue paper to my forehead.
Who makes children’s toy trains out of solid wood, anyway?
Poor Weston.
A sob escapes, and I welcome it. In here, I can let go. In here, I hide. In here, I survive.
“Why did you leave me, Mom? Why?” Snot rolls down my lip, and I use the back of my sleeve to wipe it away. “You,” I choke on a painful cry. “You were the only one I could count on. I-I’m failing everyone. Wh-Who do I turn to now?”
My body shakes uncontrollably. I don’t even know if it’s from crying or the cold, but it doesn’t matter. This is my safe space. Tomorrow I’ll be strong. Tomorrow I’ll do better for Wes.
Encircling my left wrist with my right hand, I turn it back and forth. I’m not sure when the habit started, but I’ve rubbed the skin raw there so many times the skin is leathered with thin scars. Over and over I twist as my mind runs rampant with my next steps. Plans to save money. Ways to help Wes. Always Wes. He’s the one bright spot in my life.
“You weren’t supposed to die, Mom,” I yell with a hoarse voice. “We had a plan. We had this all figured out. Now what am I supposed to do?”
The metallic taste of blood mixes with my tears and reminds me of the cut on my eyebrow. “God, Mom. What do I—”
The shed door wrenches open and Colton barrels through, scanning the small space. Tension flows from his body and his jerky movements cause my cried plea to freeze on my tongue.
“Winnie? What the hell happened to you? Are you okay?” He’s frantic, but I’m too confused to move. “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on? Why? Holy shit. Why are you bleeding?”
He spins in place, searching every crevice for something. He moves so fast I have whiplash and have to hang onto the stool to keep my balance.
“Winnie?” he barks. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What happened?”
My mouth moves, but no words come. I feel my eyes blinking rapidly, but it only makes my vision blur more.
“Jesus Christ, Winnie.”
My head sways as he tears at his coat. In slow motion, or an out-of-body experience, I watch as he lifts his kelly green spandex shirt over his head. Next comes his undershirt, and before I can figure out his next move, he’s pressing it to my forehead as he replaces his Peter Pan costume.
“Baby? Is Weston here? GG said he lives with you? Is he okay?”
He’s asking about Weston?
“Oh God. What time is it?” I finally find my voice.
“It’s a few minutes after nine. What happened? Why do you have a cut on your face?”
I shake my head, but it makes me feel nauseous. “H-He didn’t mean to hurt me. It was an accident.”
“He?” Colton growls as his face contorts into rage fueled by emotions I can’t understand. His body radiates with it as he glances from me to the door behind him. “Someone did this to you? On purpose?”
“No. Yes. I mean, no, he didn’t mean it. I swear. You don’t understand. You don’t understand him. No one understands him.” I sob because that’s the most truthful thing I’ve said in months.
“No. One. Gets. To. Put. Their. Hands. On. You.” His words are staccato. Held together by a quickly slipping control.
No, he doesn’t understand. Open your mouth, Winnie. Say something.
But I’m frozen. I’m frozen in the vortex of Colton Westbrook as he glares at me with thinly veiled hate. Yet, somehow I know it’s not me he’s angry with.
Oh, shit. He thinks it’s—
“Stay here,” he commands. If this were any other situation, I’d be scared to disobey him, but as he bolts from the shed, every protective instinct I have takes hold and I rush out after him.
