Page 14 of Awakening the Beast
When I get home, I step out of the car, shut the door behind me, and stride toward the front door. My eyes sweep the dark surroundings as I step inside, approving of the mix of light and sombre interior design that Wren chose, but I immediately pick up on the faint sounds of movement coming from a room on my left. With my suspicion raised, I instinctively reach into my pocket, pulling out my knife as I slowly make my way toward the noise.
I slow my steps as I near the kitchen, peeking around the doorway with one eye. What I see makes my brows furrow. There's a man standing at the counter, his back to me, scrubbing down the surfaces like he owns the fucking place.
I stride into the room, coming to a stop a few feet behind him, my knife raised and pointed directly at him.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house, motherfucker?” I bark.
He jumps, spinning around to face me, his eyes wide with shock. I tilt my head to the side in an unnerving manner,narrowing my gaze as I size him up. He looks to be around my age, with dark hair and a pretty lean build.
“Hurry the fuck up, you stupid little cunt, and explain yourself before I cut you ear to ear.” I snarl, letting the blade glint in the light.
His eyes stay locked on the knife, and he quickly raises his hands in surrender, his voice trembling. “I am... I am the cleaner.”
I blink blankly, my confusion deepening. “You're a fucking guy,” I state flatly, the ridiculousness of it making me jerk my head back slightly.
He swallows hard, his shoulders lifting in a nervous shrug. “I am just doing my job for Ms. Hayes, sir,” he replies, clearly trying not to provoke me further.
My brow arches higher, agitation rising like a slow burn as I take a menacing step forward. I stop when I’m close enough to feel his warmth, the tip of my knife hovering dangerously close to his eye. His body starts trembling beneath my gaze, fear radiating off him in waves.
“My fucking wife is Mrs. Hayes to you,” I growl possessively.
His response is immediate, his eyes wide as saucers. “Of course, Mr. Hayes,” he sputters.
I lean in, the blade pressing just a fraction deeper into his skin. “Stay the fuck away from her bras and panties,” I warn, my eyes drilling into his, ensuring he understands every word.
He stares at me, mouth hanging open in shock, but I’m not joking. Not even a little.
“I would never do that, Mr. Hayes.”
When I’m satisfied with his answer, I slowly pull back the knife, flicking it closed with a snap. My brow stays raised, eyes locked on him as I make a sharp head tilt toward the door.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I order coldly.
He nods frantically, his steps quick and stumbling as he rushes for the exit, head lowered. I watch him closely, giving him a hard side-eye as he finally disappears through the door. Still annoyed by the situation, my irritation simmering, I glance around the kitchen.
“A fucking guy?” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my hand over my face in disbelief. Shaking my head, I turn and make my way up the stairs, still grappling with the madness of it all.
After climbing the stairs, I stride down the long corridor, glancing around like I’m in a stranger’s house. The entire place feels foreign. I start opening doors at random, trying to piece together the layout of a life I haven’t been part of. Each room is a mystery; I don’t know where the fuck anything is, don’t know whose room belongs to fucking who.
I finally stop at a door halfway down the hallway. I push it open, stepping into what must be Cree's bedroom, though nothing about it feels familiar. I take it all in, slowly, like I’m seeing it for the first time—because I am.
The room looks so different from what I’d pictured in my head, different from the last memory of our old home. It’s modern with black and white décor, but knowing Wren, she would have asked him what he wanted, and this must have been it. It’s not the little boy’s room I imagined. The decor, the toys, the books—everything screams that Cree’s already grown up more than I got to witness. I wasn’t there to see it happen, and now it feels like a punch to the fucking gut, like I’ve been robbed of watching my own son grow.
I let out a deep huff and sit at the foot of his bed. The mattress feels stiff beneath me, and I glance over my shoulder at the blankets neatly folded at the top of the bed. Reaching for one, I pull it into my lap, the soft fabric slightly wrinkling under my fingers. Then, instinctively, I raise it to my face, closing my eyes as I inhale deeply.
His scent hits me immediately—faint but it’s there. It’s the only familiar thing in this entire house, and I hold onto it like a fucking lifeline. Slowly, I open my eyes, lowering the blanket to my lap.
I’m not sure how Cree will handle seeing me again. I missed so much—too much. I missed his fourth birthday, him starting school. He’s only four, and the last time he saw me must feel like a fucking lifetime ago. I just hope—more than anything—that he can forgive me. That somewhere in that little heart of his, there’s still space for me.
I carefully place the blanket beside me, doing my best to rein in the whirlwind of emotions brewing beneath the surface. Taking a steadying breath, I reach into my pocket and pull-out Wren’s phone. Swiping up, I find my mother’s contact and press the call button. As the line rings, I rise from Cree's bed and head toward the door.
“Wren?” my mom asks through the speaker.
“It's me,” I reply as I step out of the room and start pacing down the hallway, unsure of where I’m going again.
“How did she take it?”
I let out a long breath, the weight of it all pressing down on me as I continue walking. “Badly,” I mutter, “To the point of giving fucking birth.”
