Page 85 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“Slash,” I say his name slowly, with a tentativeness that I’ve never felt around him before. Once again, he doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t blink. He’s so still that it appears like he isn’t breathing. “Do you need something?” After placing the baby monitor and my half-finished mug on the table, I settle into the seat that Hunter deserted. Slash continues to peer at the tabletop with lifeless eyes as I ask, “What happened to your face? Can you tell me who hurt you?”

Slash’s head snaps upright.

He curls his top lip into a snarl.

I feel my eyes widening, even as I try to hide my shock.

My husband isn’t broken.

He’s dead inside.

As Garrett’s cry erupts through the baby monitor, I have a front-row view to Slash’s soul shrivelling into an empty husk, sucked dry of humanity, care, and love. He scowls. Presses his lips together. Juts his chin.

Emotions flicker in his eyes.

Love.

Pain.

Regret.

Anger.

Hatred.

“Slash...” I whisper. Sliding my hand across the smooth mahogany. “Carter.”

My use of his legal name is his breaking point.

He pitches his mug at the wall behind me.

I flinch when cold coffee splashes me.

The porcelain cup smashes into a dozen pieces.

Shards dust the back of my head and ricochet off my shoulders.

I sit stock-still while he stomps toward the stairs.

Unmoving. Unthinking. Unwanted.

A door is slammed shut on the second storey.

The sound snaps me out of my shock.

“Garrett.”

My son’s safety is my only concern.

“I’ll go,” Nadia tells me.

She dashes up the stairs and I follow at a much more sedate pace. My protruding stomach has changed my centre of gravity, and it’s made me a lot slower. Irritatingly so. My best friend meets me at the top landing as I reach the final step.

Bouncing Garrett, my best friend murmurs, “Hey, hey, little man... Aunty Nadia’s got you.”

“He’s hungry.” I go to touch his face, only to snap back my hand when I realise that I’m shaking. “Can you make him a bottle? I’ll be down to feed him after I’ve showered.”

Nadia nods, wisely remaining silent as she takes in my tenuous grip on my emotions.

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