Page 102 of One More Chance
She was referring to when the kids were born. The Old Me was too embarrassed to be seen crying, because, "Real men don't cry," or whatever macho-bullshit I had always told myself. Yet after bothbirths, I had snuck off to find a secluded place to weep joyful tears in private.
Both times Dawn had found me. She never said anything either time, just pretended that she needed a candy bar at that exact moment.
Convinced Dawn had everything at the house handled, I sped back to the hospital and rushed up to room 317. The world outside was quiet, washed in gray-violet. Sloane slept, her chest rising steadily.
I sat in the hard plastic chair beside her bed, the armrest jabbing my ribs. Every few hours, a nurse checked her vitals, rustling curtains and murmuring politely, startling me awake. Each time, I'd blink toward Sloane, confirming she was still there, that she was okay.
Eventually, she stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the sterile light. I sat up as she turned to me, the smallest smile touching her lips. In her hospital gown, she looked oddly radiant… fragile but resilient.
She whispered, "You look like hell."
Sloane echoed the same words her sister, making me laugh.
"So I've been told," I said with a smile.
She asked about the kids and I put her mind at ease, explaining Dawn had the house under control. I brought her up to speed with my conversation with Detective Harlan and there was a determination that settled over her while I spoke.
A different doctor came by, though she looked no less tired than the one I'd spoken to yesterday. She reiterated to us what the previous doctor said and that Sloane could go home.
Discharge took time; the paperwork, whispered instructions, the nurse side-eyeing me when I asked to carry Sloane to my truck. She refused, and instead rolled Sloane out in a wheelchair while I pulled my truck around.
As we drove home, Sloane stared out the window.
"You okay?" I asked gently.
She nodded without looking at me. "I think so. I'm... absorbing it all. I keep waiting to wake up… like this is still part of a nightmare. But I'm not asleep. This is just life now."
I gripped the steering wheel. "It won't be this way forever. Hell, Sloane, it won't be this way for much longer."
"I don't want to live in fear," she said suddenly. "Not of her. Not of the past. Not of us."
"You won't have to," I said. "They are going to catch her, and we won't have anything to fear from her again." I took a breath before I added, "You are not alone. We do this together, okay?"
She turned to me, something fragile and fierce in her eyes. "Then let's fight for this. You and me. Not for what we used to be, but for whatever comes next."
I reached across and took her hand. "Together," I whispered.
Chapter 35
It was after 10 p.m. as we laid in bed. The house was quiet. Sloane was asleep, her head resting lightly on my chest in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. I hadn’t moved for nearly an hour, not wanting to disturb her.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand and I saw the familiar name that had haunted us: Angie.
Is she this fucking stupid?
A cold spike of dread shot through me. I carefully slid out from under Sloane, grabbed the phone and slipped into the hallway. My thumb hovered over the screen for only a second before I answered.
I didn't say anything. I stood in the silence of the hallway, listening to her breathing through the phone.
Then her voice: thin, saccharine, serpentine. “Leviiiiii, baby.”
Anger flared in my chest, a warm, comforting ember of fury that steeled my resolve. “Leave me the fuck alone, cunt.”
She giggled. “Oh, fuck, baby… I love when you talk dirty to me. I needed to hear your voice. I saw what happened at the clinic. How is our little Sloane?"
I seethed, "She is mine, not ours, and keep her name out of your filthy mouth."
