Page 25 of Single Mom's Firemen

My early evening walk is delightfully pleasant. Heavy traffic hasn’t started yet. It’s between six and eight p.m. where there’s nothing but a river of crimson taillights. For now, however, it’s breezy and relatively quiet, which gives me a moment alone with my thoughts.

I don’t know what the hell happened today but it was wrong on so many levels. It was inappropriate and it makes me feel like some kind of harlot. It’s awkward enough that Eric and I are hitting it off and then some, but to observe the same kind of chemistry with Chase and Wyatt, too… that’s insane.

I am terrified of what will happen when Eric finds out that Chase and I kissed in the same room where only moments before he had given me one hell of an orgasm.

Everything could blow up in my face. What have I done?

I try to shake the thoughts away choosing instead to focus on what’s next on my to-do list. I’ve already filed the appropriate paperwork for a new driver’s license, as well as copies of my birth certificate and passport. Once those items arrive, I’ll need to start planning ahead.

The dazzling scent of Queen of the Night blossoms fills me to the brim, and I smile softly as I turn the corner, passing a couple of familiar faces. I see them jogging every day. The same route, the same neon running gear, the same cadence to their steps—stuck somewhere between speed-walking and light running. I’m in a comfortable zone now and feeling a sense of home, even if it’s just a temporary one.

“You were stupid to let Chase kiss you,” I tell myself. “You just stood there and took it.”

I would’ve taken more.

I shake my head and think of the many things I still need to do tonight. The guys will be hungry. The kids may have gotten an afternoon snack at daycare, but by the time they get home, they’ll be famished, too.

I know I spotted some meat in the freezer, and I specifically remember seeing canned tomatoes and fresh onions and garlic in the pantry. There are several different types of pasta in there, too. I’ll whip up a huge pot of spaghetti and meatballs.

I briefly text Wyatt and ask him to stop by the market for some fresh parm on his way home.

I suddenly spot something out of the corner of my eye. A presence. My instincts immediately flare up and I turn around. There’s nobody there. Who was I expecting to see?

Colby. You were expecting to see Colby.

But he doesn’t know where to find me. My heart is quick to race as I take deep, measured breaths in a bid to regain my self-control. I lost it there for a second; a critical second that too easily threw me off my game. It’s only people, I keep telling myself. Normal people going home or headed to work for their night shifts.

Humans, like me.

Not monsters, like Colby.

Yet the shadow persists. I don’t know if it’s real or imagined, but it is doing a number on my ability to control my impulses. I’m walking faster. Constantly looking over my shoulder. I lose track of where I am for a few seconds. I don’t even register the change from apartment buildings to two-story houses with white picket fences.

By the time I reach the next street corner and turn right, the shadow is looming bigger and heavier than before. I keep looking back to find nobody there yet I am still on edge. My anxiety is reaching new and unbearable levels.

Footsteps.

They’re getting louder.

My heart’s stuck in my throat. Whoever it is, they’re fast approaching. Are they trying to catch up to me?

I glance over my shoulder and see a tall dark figure. I start to run.

My pulse quickens, sweat bursting through my pores as I push past the front gate of the Danson house. I run up the pathway and up the stairs. My feet are so light while my heart flutters in frantic, uneven rhythms that I feel weightless. The front door opens just as I’m about to stick the key in and I yelp.

“For fuck’s sake!”

Eric stares at me with wide, confused eyes. “Halle? What’s wrong?”

I look at him for a moment, bewildered. Of course he got home first, he drove. I walked. I walked for what felt like forever, only to have it end on the razor-sharp edge of a panic attack. I look toward the street to see a lone neighbor walking past the house.

Slowly, I shift my focus back to Eric, panting and sweating bullets. “I’m so sorry—”

“What are you sorry for?” Eric frowns and takes a step back to let me in. “Halle, what happened? You look terrified.”

“I, it’s nothing. Probably just jitters after the diner fire,” I try to brush the whole thing away.

He closes the door behind us and takes a minute to look at me. I catch the cool, marine scent of his shower gel, note his loose shirt and slacks. He’s showered and ready to relax. He smells fantastic. But the shadow I was running away from still has a hold of my chest, its claws clutching and piercing through my very soul.

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