Page 73 of One More Chance
We stood in the dark silence of our kitchen, the situation and all of its implications churning between us, before we looked into each other's eyes. It was a testament to how long we'd been together, how perfect we truly were for one other, that we wore matching grins.
Incredulous, Sloane asked, "The cunt couldn’t have gone for the expensive company car? The one with full coverage?" She shook her head in mock disbelief. "Nooo, she had to go after my piece of shit.”
“So inconsiderate of her," I said with exaggerated seriousness.
"Inconsiderate and illogical. Destroy the most valuable thing you can. Isn't that basic Stalker 101?"
"My love, I don’t think logic was the driving force here.”
She stared at me, deadpan. “Of course it wasn't, Levi. After all, why process your emotions like an adult when you can vent them out on someone’s SUV?"
"Maybe she was attempting to turn it into a modern art piece?”
"I love modern art." Sloane looked thoughtful for a moment. "Is it at least... a good attempt?"
I tried not to smile. “I think she was going for ‘rage graffiti’ as a genre.”
Sloane huffed. “Great. Let me guess. Something real subtle? Like ‘homewrecker’ in spray paint?”
I suppressed a laugh. “It's in lipstick, actually."
"She wrote 'homewrecker' in lipstick?"
"No," I said, "if she'd tried, I bet she would have spelled it wrong. ‘Homwreckur.’”
She closed her eyes and muttered, “She’s out here threatening my life and she doesn't have the decency to use spell check?”
I shrugged. “Unhinged and illiterate. She also broke the glass.”
Her eyes widened and her gaze drilled into me. “Levi, I swear to God, if she touched Violet's Taylor Swift bumper sticker, this is war.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Swift is intact. She must have known better.”
“Damn right she did,” Sloane said as she marched toward the kitchen. “Even psychopaths know there are lines you don’t cross.”
"I don't think the kids woke up thankfully." I followed her, "Sloane?"
Sloane pressed her lips together and exhaled shakily, holding her stomach instinctively. Our moment of levity, of using sarcasm and humor to keep the panic and fear at bay, had passed. The shadows seemed darker and the night felt closer.
“So what now, Levi? That could’ve been me. That could’ve been the kids.”
“It won’t be,” I said. “Detective Harlan said they had enough for a warrant before she went this far. The cameras would have recordedher smashing your window. She just made this so much easier for us, Sloane."
I reached for the kitchen chair and sat down hard. Rufus stayed tense as he paced the kitchen.
Sloane sat across from me, tired and pale. “We need to tell the kids something. They're going to notice the broken windshield.”
“I’ll get it cleaned up before they wake up," I said. "I’ll figure out what to tell them. You rest.”
She didn’t respond right away as she looked at me with an expression that was equal parts relief and dread. “I’m scared, Levi.”
I reached for her hand. “Me too. Get some rest Sloane. You need it.”
She nodded in agreement, "Okay."
Sloane went to bed as I stayed up cleaning the kitchen, anxiety high. Light filtered through the blinds in weak, gray sickly shadows across the kitchen floor.
My phone rang. An unknown number again. I answered on instinct hoping that it wasn't Angie.
