Page 30 of Single Mom's Firemen

Halle

To say that I am mortified would be a gross understatement.

I just want to disappear.

First, however, I need a shower. A hot shower with plenty of orange blossom shower foam. I slather myself with it, letting the hot stream wash everything away—except my shame. That will take much longer to disappear, dammit.

Second, I check the time and call Marie while I rush to put on panties, a cotton bra, and dark blue lounge wear. They can order food tonight, as far as I’m concerned. I’m way too flustered to even face these men right now.

“Hey, Marie, everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, hon, we’re just wrapping up here and getting ready to bring the kids over.”

I can hear Sammy squealing and laughing with his sister.

“Do you mind if I pop by to get them instead?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly. “I need to take a walk and clear my head. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Marie replies after a brief but loaded silence. “Is everything alright over there?”

“Yes, absolutely. Some fresh air just sounds good.”

“Sure thing, hon. We’ll be waiting.”

“Thank you, Marie.”

“If you want, you can grab the bus from outside that flower shop just down the road from the boys’ house. It’ll drop you off closer to the daycare. Within decent walking distance,” she says.

I slowly unlock and open the bedroom door, carefully listening to every sound coming from downstairs.

“That’s not how you make the meatballs,” I hear Chase say. “They’re supposed to be smaller.”

“I’m sorry, are you the one cooking or is it me?” Wyatt snaps back.

I would appreciate this more if it weren’t for the uber-embarrassment from earlier. I hear Eric laughing as he tinkers through the kitchen with what I assume is a variety of pots and pans, likely trying to figure out how else he can help Wyatt. I should go down there to help them, especially since I promised I’d cook dinner tonight. I even bragged about my spaghetti and meatballs, which is what they’re trying to make in my absence.

But I can’t do it. Not after what happened. It’s too much. What I can do, however, is go get my kids from daycare. Go for a walk with my babies. And maybe clear my head a little while I’m at it. Hopefully, I’ll be ready to face Eric and his brothers tomorrow.

I can barely look at myself in the mirror, my core still tingling from all the wonderful and decadent things that Eric did to my body.

“You’re gonna burn it,” Eric warns Wyatt.

“Open that damn bottle and stop nagging me.”

I make my way down the stairs, quiet as a mouse, then sneak out the front door. I’m practically running from the house all the way to the bus stop. The bus arrives a minute later and I hop on, catching my breath as I find a seat.

I register very little on the way. My head’s too busy whipping up all sorts of disastrous scenarios after the day I’ve had. At least it got my focus off the past, off Colby altogether. At this point I can barely remember what the man looks like. It’s what I wanted—to completely forget that he exists. Maybe this was the first step toward achieving that. Letting another man command my heart and my body.

Maybe I’m finally healing.

I get off the bus and walk to the daycare. As I approach the building, a strange feeling comes over me. A familiar and icy claw once again tightening around my throat. What is happening to me? Is this another panic attack?

My pace slows down.

There’s a car parked outside the daycare, right in front of the building, and it immediately catches my attention. I recognize the model, the sleek, dark green color, the chrome jaguar lunging from the hood’s edge. It sends shivers down my spine.

“Oh, God,” I hear myself gasp, then instantly dart behind the nearest tree.

It’s Colby’s car. He’s not even trying to hide. He’s being as ostentatious as can be. I don’t know how he found us but he did. I told him I grew up in Cedar Hill, at least 20 miles away. Why did he come here? Dread forms in my bones and my stomach feels as heavy as a block of lead. I can’t move from this spot. I can barely breathe, the horror I feel filling my veins with ice.

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