Page 123 of Offside Angel

“My job title is ‘bodyguard.’ Idle chit-chat isn’t in the job description.”

“So, let’s skip the chit-chat then. Tell me—” I rap my knuckles on the window. “—are these bulletproof?”

He hesitates for a beat too long before he relents. “Yes, but you’re supposed to be thinking about something else. ‘Healthy diversions,’ right? That’s what the therapist said.”

“The therapist is a hack. What kind of professional tells someone who is being hunted for sport to destress with ‘long walks?’” I snort. “I’ll be sure to savor my trips from the bedroom to the kitchen, since I can’t leave the freaking house!”

It’s not like I even want to. As soon as the bouquet from my brother arrived, our sanctuary in Paradise Valley went on lockdown like Fort Knox.

Sitting in this bulletproof Popemobile is the closest I’ve come to fresh air in a week. Even my therapist’s office has an underground parking garage so I can go straight from the lot to an elevator that takes me to her floor. I’m growing pale like a mole person.

“Your case is… unique. Helping you would be a steep learning curve for any therapist.”

I know he’s right. In all honesty, I liked Dr. Navarro. She’s smart and empathetic. She listened to my story of patricide and woe without any outward judgment. Plus, the breathing exercises she recommended helped me navigate my way out of a panic attack this morning when I woke up and Zane wasn’t in bed next to me.

“Yeah, well,” I grumble, “if I launch myself through the car door when Aiden’s teacher opens it, don’t mind me. It’s just the imprisoned person’s response to finally experiencing fresh air.”

We’re a few minutes later than normal to get Aiden since we came from the therapist’s office, but there’s still a healthy line of cars in the pickup lane.

Zane and Evan both thought I could tag along for this errand without anything too traumatic happening. Though, last time I came to pickup, one of the “Bouncy Hair Moms,” as Jemma likes to call them, invited me to a “Wine & Whine Night” at her house. Apparently, the idea is to get drunk and complain about our children and spouses. I politely declined, because my frontal lobe is still intact.

Now, I’m desperate enough for social interaction that I might take her up on it.

But as we pull through the roundabout, I forget all about the Bouncy Hair Moms. Aiden is nowhere in sight. I see Jalen standing with a few other boys in a group by the doors, but Aiden’s blonde head isn’t there.

“Where is he?”

Evan doesn’t answer. His brows are pinched as he flashes our family’s badge through the window to the teacher on duty. She holds up a finger before she disappears into the building.

“Is this normal?” I ask. Evan’s jaw flexes in a way that tells me it’s not. “He must be waiting inside.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Then I see Aiden through the glass, smiling and chatting to the teacher, and the tension in my chest evaporates. I blow out a ragged breath that would disappoint Dr. Navarro, but I don’t care.

Aiden is okay. That’s all that matters.

The teacher opens the car door and helps Aiden into the backseat. “Sorry about that. It’s school protocol to keep a student inside after an unsuccessful pickup attempt.”

I smile and start to wave her off, ready to forgive anything, since I’m beyond relieved and this is the first conversation that I’m not paying for in a week.

Then I hear her.

Actually hear her.

“‘Unsuccessful pickup attempt’? What does that mean?”

“His uncle.” She smiles, her head tipping to the side like a dog hearing a high-pitched noise. “He said he’d call you and clear it all up. He wasn’t on the list.”

I inhale, count to four.

Exhale, count to seven.

But I think I’m counting too fast. And I’m not actually sure I’m breathing.

“Aiden doesn’t have an uncle,” I rasp.

“But he had your same beautiful dark hair. He must be related to you.” The woman smiles, but there’s an edge of confusion now. “Uncle Dante…?”

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