Page 2 of Her Faithful Protector

Willem continues grunting, futilely trying to arouse himself. A cry from the adjacent room startles him, prompting him to yell, “For fuck’s sake!” He releases me with a harsh push, my head bouncing against the pillow. “Shut him up, or I will!”

I hurry out of bed, explaining, “That’s what babies do. Cry. He’s only seven months old.”

“You’d better make him a man. I don’t want a wimpy heir.”

Oh, my son will be strong. I’ll ensure he forgets who his father is, and I will never, ever let him become Willem.

Time passes, and Quinton continues to cry in my arms. Something is off. Or rather, something very right is unfolding. By now, Willem should’ve been at the doorway shouting at me, and I would’ve been fighting to keep him away from Quinton.

Finally, my baby falls asleep, and I rush back to Willem. Ialmost forget to breathe. My fiancé has finished the entire mug of tea and is sleeping like a helpless child.

Who’s wimpy now?

But there’s no time to celebrate. I hurry to Quinton’s room, grab his diaper bag, and place him in a cradle. Everything else is waiting for me in another car, hidden in a remote corner of a distant town. Right now, all I need to do is escape from this prison.

I stand frozen in front of Willem’s bedroom door, hearing my own heartbeat. Quinton stirs awake, his cries on the verge of escaping as if sensing his father’s presence. I pull the door handle, letting it latch, closing the view to the most despicable room in the house. Then I whisper in Quinton’s ear, “It’s okay, baby. We’re going to be fine.”

Elmo the dog follows me with unsteady steps, his eyes fixed on me. Despite the wide-open car door, he fails to jump in. Instead, he whimpers and scratches at my shoes. I ignore the dog for now as I secure Quinton in his car seat. The pup tries one more time to climb up by himself, stretching his short legs in vain.

I chuckle. “Easy, Elm. I won’t leave you behind.”

With Quinton buckled up, I scoop Elmo’s butt, pushing him up so he can come aboard. I then let the two cuties sit side by side. That dog is quite comical, but he has taken his role as a protector seriously ever since my baby was born.

The garage door glides open as I press the remote. The metallic hum is swallowed by the rumble of the engine. The vibrations and noise make Quinton burst into tears. “Oh, come on now, Quinton. Please help Mommy.”

I’m driving my own car, a five-year-old SUV that lacks the refined purr of Willem’s Mercedes. At the same time, Quinton’s all-out bawling resonates in the air, heightening my fear of being discovered.

I step out to comfort Quinton, realizing he has lost his favorite toy, a giraffe teether that had traveled all the way from Hawaii. I run my fingers along the back of the seat and locate the familiar texture. His rosy cheeks crease into a wide smile when I present it to him.

Just like everything else in Willem’s mansion, the garage is fitted with high-tech gadgets. The motion sensors detect my presence, and the path ahead illuminates, casting a soft glow on the ground. Adrenaline courses through my veins as the car rolls along the driveway. Every foot feels like an eternity.

A rush of cold sweat blankets me as the twin cast iron gates swing open. The heaviness of the gates, now idle and defeated, affirms that I am truly escaping.

Darkness surrounds me, the only visible lights coming from the streetlamps. The Beverly Hills neighborhood remains undisturbed as if bidding me farewell in silence or perhaps not caring at all.

As I approach the city limits of Los Angeles, I dial my best friend’s number. “Morgie, I’m on my way,” I say, my voice filled with both relief and excitement.

“Ava? Please tell me you’re not joking.”

“No. I’m not. I’ve left L.A., and I have Quinton with me. I’m heading north.”

Morgan’s exuberant cheer echoes through the phone. “Well done, you!”

“I did it, Morgie. I’ll see you in Helena tomorrow.”

“You’d better be on time, or my honeymoon will be history!” she warns.

A wave of joy lifts me, thinking about her. She’s had her fair share of turmoil, but now she’s safe in the arms of her forever love. “I’ll be there, Mrs. Hunt.”

With a contented smile, I steal a glance at Quintonthrough the rearview mirror. He’s still chewing on the giraffe teether, occasionally babbling as if conversing with Elmo.

“We’ll see Aunty Morgie soon.”

Morgan Hunt, my best friend since childhood, would do anything for me. But if circumstances allowed, I would’ve surprised a certain man in Hawaii, taking a chance on love. However, things have changed since our initial connection in Bozeman. He’s a thirty-three-year-old Marine in his prime, hot as sin yet gentle like a dove. Women would throw themselves at him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be involved with a single mother on the run.

I glance once more at Quinton.

Yet—that man cared about my son. The giraffe teether Quinton chews on was a gift from him, even though we lost touch after our brief encounter. It warms me that he knew about Quinton and made an effort to let me know he hadn’t forgotten me.

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