Page 77 of One More Chance
I saw the concern on her face. She stepped closer then and wrapped her arms around me. I let her. I allowed myself to relish her warmth, her steadiness.
The world outside was crumbling, but at that moment, she was all that mattered. She was the only thing that felt real, the only thing that made me feel real.
Later that evening, I pushed everything down and pretended my worries didn't weigh ten thousand pounds. We all watched a movie together as a family, the kids bickering over the popcorn, the soft sound of their laughter filling the room.
I indulged in some chocolates with Sloane and tried to savor the simple pleasure of the moment, despite the dark clouds lingering at the edge of my mind. I knew the kids sensed something was off after our brief conversation about the vandalized car, but they let it go. For a little while, it felt as if things might be okay. Maybe we could hold onto what little normalcy we had left?
Sloane took my truck to exchange books with her sister Dawn; a quick late-night coffee run and a brief chance to socialize before her late shift. I knew Sloane was excited to get out and see her sister, even if she pretended it wasn't a big deal. It was an escape, even if only a small one.
The rain had just started when it happened. Fat, heavy drops slammed the windows like impatient fists. The house was dim. Quiet. I had finished setting up Violet’s tablet for her virtual class tomorrow morning when I heard the sound.
Glass shattering.
I was down the hall within seconds, adrenaline spiking. Rufus barked from the living room, deep and guttural; this wasn’t a fallen tree limb or debris from the storm.
It was Angie.
I heard the sleepy steps of my kids as they ventured down the stairs. I rushed to the foyer and yelled up, “Stay in your room. Lock the door. Donotcome out!”
I heard Violet burst into tears, Liam's voice comforting her, their receding footsteps as he pulled her into his room, followed by his bedroom door slamming shut.
Good job, son.
I turned the corner from the foyer into the kitchen and saw Angie.
She was stepping through the broken sliding glass door, a jagged edge clinging to her coat. Her eyes were wild, smeared with mascara and rainwater, hair plastered to her face like a drowned ghost. She held a metal rod in her hand, her face filled with a determined fury. But when she saw me, her scowl was replaced with a manic grin.
“You can't hide from me,” she breathed, soaked and panting. “I’ve always known where you live, baby. Always.”
No shit you crazy bitch. You've been stalking us for months.
Before I had a chance to speak, Rufus lunged. His ferocious barking was cut short as Angie swung her metal rod and cracked him in the ribs.
A sickening thud, a pained yelp, my best boy cowering with his tail tucked. I snapped.
I am killing her now.
The finality of that realization should have unnerved me, but I felt nothing other than incandescent rage. I strode over to her. Anger, fear, and a dozen other raw emotions fused into something monstrous, something unrelenting. Something no longer within my control.
Angie must have seen it on my face because her too-wide grin faltered as she took a step away.
“You break intomyhome? You hurtmydog? You threatenedmySloane?” I charged, slamming into her with the full weight of everything I’d buried since this nightmare began. She dropped her metal rod as we crashed through the coffee table, the wood splintering around us. I mounted her amid the wreckage of the shattered table and she clawed at my face.
“You don’t get to erase me, baby,” she shrieked then laughed. I wasn't sure which sounded more horrifying.
Kill her. Break your promise to Sloane and kill her.
I wanted to. Fuck me, I did…
But I didn't.
It took every ounce of restraint for me to wrap my hands around her wrists instead of her throat. I pinned her down, easily overpowering her. Breathing hard, my mind and body were at war between my desire to hurt her and my devotion to keeping my promise to my wife. I took a deep, stuttering breath.
Even if I did decide to kill her, I couldn't do it here; not with my kids upstairs… but, fuck, I wanted to grab a glass shard and ram it into her.
Still laughing, she writhed and bucked under me, gyrating her hips as if this was all twisted foreplay.
I squeezed her wrists as I leaned down and growled, “What in the actual fuck is wrong with you? Did you really think you would get away with this, you crazy psycho bitch?”
