Page 59 of One More Chance
“You don’t have to hover,” she murmured in a groggy voice.
“Too late,” I said with a smile. I brushed a stray curl from her temple. “I’m officially a hoverer.”
She gave a tired smile and leaned her head against the cushion again. I kissed her forehead and stood to adjust the curtains…
And I froze.
A figure stood across the street, half-shadowed behind the skeletal frame of a dying tree. I knew it was her by the tilt of her head, the way she stood too still, too long. Watching. Waiting. My chest tightened with a bubbling anger.
Fuck you, Angie. You aren't getting to Sloane. Not when she is like this. Not ever.
I glanced over at Rufus. His ears were perked but he didn’t bark. When I looked out again, she was gone.
Fuck me, am I seeing things now?
No, she was there. My gut knew full well she had been. That cold crawl down my back and the wrongness in the air?
“Everything okay?” Sloane asked.
I forced a grin, even though my pulse still thundered in my ears. “Yeah. Everything is going to be okay.”
I didn't lie to her. In that moment, I believed that everythingwasgoing to be okay. I refused to allow anything to happen to my family, to my Sloane. My thoughts were centralized on one thing:You are mine to protect.
Later that night, after I finally coaxed Sloane into bed and she drifted into a restless sleep, I sat in the kitchen and did my deep breathing exercises.
Silence clawed at me, wrapping its fingers around my throat as panic curled in my chest.Could I really protect my family?A vicious, gnawing fear ate at me.
It wasn’t just about me anymore. I could fight Angie on my terms, drag her into the light and tear her apart if I had to. But I knew the costof doing that. That kind of war would leave shrapnel in everything I’d tried to mend with Sloane and the kids. One wrong move, and it could all come crashing down.
Fuck, maybe I need to take one of Sloane's pills for my anxiety.
The thought had me chuckling as I secured the house and headed for bed. I laid there, eyes staring at the ceiling, heart thudding in my chest, unsure if sleep would ever come.
Chapter 20
The nightmare hit around 3 a.m.
I was standing in a delivery room, but there was no sound. Sloane was screaming with no voice. Nurses moved in slow motion. I looked down and my hands were covered in blood.
When I woke up, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, I thought I was still dreaming. Rufus had his chin on the bed, watching me, his big brown eyes like anchors to reality as he made a little huff noise.
"Hey boy. Thanks for watching over me."
I sat on the edge of the bed and put my palms over my face as I tried to stop the tremble in my fingers. This wasn’t sustainable. I needed an outlet. Somewhere for the truth to go that wouldn’t hurt her.
That morning, I bought a leather-bound journal. I didn’t write anything poetic, only the facts. The series of events. The details I didn't want to forget.
Day 47. Angie is watching. I’m losing sleep. Sloane is pregnant. I remember when the miscarriage happens. I’ll fix it this time. I have to.
I slammed the cover shut and hid it in the bottom drawer beneath my undershirts.
The next few days blurred into a quiet rhythm. I focused on Sloane, meals, handling the kids, reminding her of vitamins, long walks with Rufus when she needed space. She was tired but stable, her body adjusting in small, brave ways. Every time she smiled through the nausea or let her hand rest on her belly, I felt both awe and guilt gnawing at me.
I didn’t tell her about Angie or how her shadow had reappeared at least three more times: once near the grocery store, once at the kid's school pickup, and again outside the job site as I reviewed plans with Jose. That fucking psycho stayed distant, making sure to show me that she was always watching.
Truthfully, it felt like it was hard to pin anything on her. She never approached. That was the part that made it worse because I knew she wanted me to wonder when she’d get closer.
Each time I saw her, I wrote it down in the journal. I kept it updated, tucked in the dresser drawer, pages swelling with inked desperation. I snapped pictures of her with my phone anytime I could.
