Page 101 of Redeem Me

The tackboard feels like her, though. Pictures of her best friends and family. There are photos of several people she acted as a benefactor to like Ollie. I even spot a few pictures of me. With the board, my woman’s heart is on display. All she’s missing are photos of the kids. I make a mental note to put a tackboard like this up in our house.

Eventually, after Hector and Jacinda are tucked in their beds, I settle on Natasha’s mattress and enjoy the feel of her warm body. The kids keep standing in their beds to check if their mommy left.

I smile at them when their faces appear. Sometimes, they look worried. Other times, they see me and growl like bears. Eventually, they fall asleep, and the room is quiet long enough for me to rest.

Natasha wakes up near dawn, crying and in pain. The nurse swoops in and increases her meds. The kids and I can only watch and worry. Hector crawls into our bed and sleeps between us. Jacinda stays in her bed for another hour before deciding she’s getting screwed with this arrangement.

Once they’re cuddled between a sleeping Natasha and me, I talk to the kids about dumb stuff. Mostly, I try to convince them how they’re O’Malleys now, not Grovers.

“I am Muppet,” Hector insists. “You are bear.”

I ought to drop the topic. They’re three and dealing with trauma right now. But I just don’t like them viewing themselves as those weird-looking dolls on the show.

“You are a little boy and a little girl. You don’t look anything like Grover.”

“You are a bear. Is this Bear’s fur?” Jacinda asks and rubs my arm.

The stubborn little shits refuse to back down. They giggle at my frustration, finding me harmless. Once I give up, they sit in bed and run their fingers over my tattoos.

“Scary,” Hector says as he sees the skulls.

“But beautiful,” Natasha adds, startling me with her voice.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I had a bad accident,” she replies rather than offer details. “I think I’ll take a shower and join the family for breakfast.”

“Do we have to?” I ask, grumpy from the lack of sleep and being in this extravagant fucking place.

“The kids can’t spend all day in this room.”

I glance over my shoulder at Jacinda and Hector who sit behind me and check out my back tattoos.

After her nurse-supervised shower, Natasha is wheeled to breakfast. She can barely keep her head up or eyes open, but she wants to get out of the room. The kids ride on her lap, whispering to each other before looking up at me.

I feel like we’re a team. The three of us are new to this life with the Kovak family. They grew up poor while I’ve spent years being disagreeable. Now, we have to endure the decadence and submission expected in this mansion.

Katja looks worried when she sees Natasha. The kids explain how their mom had an accident.

“Mommy fell down,” Jacinda tells Maks who sits at the table.

Her uncle never looks away from his phone when he mutters, “You don’t know the half of it, kid.”

Soon, we eat breakfast. Natasha is served oatmeal. The kids are offered mini pancakes with faces made out of whipped cream. I notice how much Natasha perks up when she sees their plates. Her gaze flashes to her parents, thanking them in that shiny way she has when truly happy.

I’m served the same breakfast I had last Sunday at Farmer’s Table. I don’t know whether their staff contacted my people to ask what I like or if they just regularly spy on the club during our meals together. Either way, I enjoy a hearty breakfast.

Natasha becomes more alert during the meal. She doesn’t eat much, but I catch her smiling at the kids. Katja asks her something in Czech. I think they’re speaking about Petra. Natasha gets teary-eyed and nods.

After breakfast, we visit Petra’s room. The sisters start crying as soon as they see each other. They speak in hushed voices in Czech, likely reliving the trauma of nearly drowning in Jefferson River.

I’m glad I can’t understand what they’re saying. Natasha’s fear is palpable enough without all the details.

As Natasha climbs in bed with her sister, I focus on Jacinda and Hector with Laszlo. The kid’s scrawny and seems pale. He looks at me really intense-like after he hears about my skull “cartoons.”

I’m glad the sickly kid will never really know his father. I often wish my parents had died before I was old enough to realize they were assholes. I could walk through life thinking I missed out by not having them in my life. Instead, I’m fully aware my bloodline sucks.

I’m unsure how well Laszlo will do with the Kovak family, but it can’t be worse than living with a man willing to send his mom to a watery grave.

---