Page 71 of Guarded from Danger

“I just thought about what your old coach used to say,” I blurt out.

Xavier accelerates through the traffic light, taking a left turn onto the street that leads to my parents’ community. “Don’t borrow trouble?”

“Yes.” After a deep breath, I hold it for four, then release it slowly. “I’m already thinking the worst. And I shouldn’t. Not until I have to.”

“Just take it one step at a time,” he replies gently. “And you know I’m with you. Through all of it. No matter what happens.”

A touch of warmth kindles in my chest. “I know.”

As we get closer to my parents’ house, I try to steel myself for whatever comes next. My mom crying. My dad in bed, gaunt and pale, struggling to breathe. Bad news. News I don’t want to hear.

I can do this. If I made it through those days in the cabin, through all the horrible nightmares and flashbacks, and escaping from two men hired to capture me, I can do this. I owe it to my parents to be strong. After supporting me for decades, it’s time for me to do the same.

Xavier stops in front of my parents’ house, and I startle to realize we’re already there. Somehow the trip through the winding roads of their development passed in a blur. And now…

Now I have to suck it up and do this.

He turns off the car and turns towards me, all his features set in a solemn expression. “Are you ready?”

“Not really,” I admit. “But that doesn’t really matter. I need to see my dad.”

“Remember, I’m right here. And if it starts to feel overwhelming, it’s okay to take a break. Just to step outside for a minute. If you need me to make up an excuse, I’ll do it.” His lips lift the tiniest bit. “We can have a code word. So I know you want to step outside. Okay?”

“Okay.” Just for a second, I set everything else aside so I can think about how much I love him. About how thankful I am to have Xavier by my side. “If I call you honey, that’s the code word, alright?”

“Got it.” He kisses me, a tender and comforting caress. “Do you need some more time? Or do you want to go in?”

“Go in.” I move to open the car door, but Xavier touches my arm, stopping me.

“Let me get it,” he says. “Just wait for me to come around.”

Tucked into Xavier’s side, we make our way to the front door, my heart pounding harder and faster with each step. It’s the craziest duality—I want to see my parents, but I’m scared, too. I’m afraid the reality will be even worse than I’m imagining.

I can do this.

Lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders, I punch in the security code and push the heavy door open. Xavier is practically glued to me, his arm wrapped around my waist, in full protection-mode as he scans our surroundings.

But everything appears normal. The large foyer is clean and tidy as usual, no doubt thanks to the cleaning service that comes in once a week. The scent of wood polish lingers in the air, and the antique cherry table by the front door is gleaming. The only thing missing from the picture is the stack of mail that typically sits on the table, brought in by my dad after his morning walk. But he wouldn’t have gone out, not in his condition, and mymom sounded too rattled to think of things like mail and the newspaper.

It’s almost eerily quiet, the only audible sounds the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the next room and the low hum of a lawnmower several houses away. There’s no music drifting from the kitchen—my mom listening to Stevie Nicks or my dad’s favorite, U2—or a burst of laughter from one of the morning shows my parents like to watch.

A lump rises in my throat. Already, a heavy foreboding is settling over me. My stomach wraps around itself again, and the coffee from earlier threatens to make a reappearance.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale slowly. Xavier’s arm tightens around me, and he says, “It’s going to be okay, Luce. We’ll get through this.”

Sagging against him for a moment, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I know.”

Then I straighten and tilt my chin towards the entrance to the living room. “They’re probably upstairs in their bedroom. Unless my mom’s in the kitchen fixing something to eat.”

“Okay.” Xavier’s arm drops from my waist, and he takes my hand. “Lead the way.”

As we move into the living room, I pitch my voice louder as I call, “Mom? I’m here with Xavier. Are you down here?”

There’s no response, not that I was expecting one. Not if she’s upstairs, like I suspect. But I still make a detour to the kitchen, since it’s nearly on the way, stopping in the expansive room to verify that it’s empty.

Like the other rooms so far, it’s immaculate, the granite countertops glinting as the mid-morning sun hits them. There’s no sign of my parents even having been in there—no empty coffee mugs in the sink or the newspaper spread out at the kitchen table, a pencil sitting beside it for when my dad works on the crossword.

My heart squinches into a knot. Is this how it’ll be from now on? My parents’ house still and silent, all the life and laughter sucked out of it?

---