“Good. What are you doing here?” he asked with a grin, his earlier hurt clearly forgotten.
“I’m taking you to school today, but I don’t think you can go in your PJs.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall and bit back another curse. They were going to be late. “Gotta hurry, Charlie Bear. Get changed and brush your teeth. I’ll come help, but I gotta get these in the wash.”
“I’ve got him,” Grae assured me. “You handle the laundry.”
Luke strode toward the door. “Can I wait in your car?”
Grae’s brow furrowed. “Sure. It’s unlocked.”
Luke was out the door without another word or even a backward glance at me. “Is he okay?”
Pain lanced me. “Teenager.”
But I wasn’t so sure that was it anymore. Something was off with Luke, and for the life of me, I couldn’t get him to tell me what it was.
Lately, it felt like I was failing more than I was succeeding with him, and it killed me. But I’d fight with everything I had to make sure my kids were safe, healthy, and whole. I’d battle to the death to ensure I never failed them again.
2
HALLIE
I spread my hand over the comforter, smoothing it. It was a little shabby-looking, fraying at the corners and faded from the sunshine that streamed through the window. If my brother knew where I was staying, he would not be pleased. He’d demand that I change to a nicer, more expensive place.
But I didn’t want that. Emerson and his husband, Adrian, had done more than enough for me over the past five years—more than anyone should have to. And they weren’t exactly rolling in it.
They were both teachers in Chicago. They’d met in grad school and had fallen head over heels for each other. My parents had already been displeased about Em’s career choice, but when he told them he was marrying a man, they’d cut him off completely.
As if I’d summoned evil by simply thinking about it, my phone dinged.
Mother
I called Emerson’s apartment. He said you weren’t there. Where are you, Halston?
I worried my bottom lip as I gripped my arm, my fingers tapping out a beat.
Me
I have a job interview.
Not a lie. I did have an interview. It was just hours away from where she thought I was.
Mother
What kind of job? I thought we agreed that the art world was your future. You know I have connections in several important galleries. That’s where you should be putting your focus.
I stared down at the phone, my vision going a little blurry. My fingertips tingled, a telltale sign I was headed for a panic attack.
No. Not today.
I focused on the space around me. Five things you can see.
“Nightstand. Lamp. Pillow. Book. Water bottle.”
I took a deep breath, and the tingling abated a smidge. Four things you can hear.
I listened carefully, picking up the faint strains of more than a few things. “Traffic. A door. The TV. A faucet dripping.”
Three things you can feel.
“Slippers. Sweater.” I let my hand drop to the bed. “Comforter.”
Two things you can smell.
“Musty.” I strained to smell anything beyond the old motel room. “Pine.”
Something about that hint of wood gave me a sense of peace, pushing back the panic trying to grab hold.
One final long breath escaped my lungs. I stared at the phone. If I got this job, maybe I would finally be brave enough to change my number and be done with her—with them.
My cell rang in my hand, making me jump. I cringed, expecting my mother’s number to flash across the screen. The pressure in my chest eased as I took in Emerson and that familiar Chicago area code.
Panic quickly followed when I saw that it was a video call. I scanned the room, looking for the best place to accept the call, a spot where he wouldn’t instantly be on alert that I was staying somewhere he wouldn’t consider safe.
I sat on the bed, kicking off my slippers. The headboard seemed pretty standard and undamaged.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I forced a bright smile. “Em.”
His familiar face greeted me. His blond hair was a few shades darker than my nearly white locks, but our gray eyes were practically identical. Unfortunately, worry filled his now. “Mom called.”
I winced.
He sighed. “I thought I’d beat her to you.”
One corner of my mouth pulled up. “She wants to know why I’m not going on interviews with the galleries she suggested.”
Emerson groaned. “Maybe because you think the gallery world is as interesting as watching paint dry?”