Page 35 of Desperation

Switching off the movie, I went to the couch and slid my arms beneath Hannah’s back and legs, cradling her against my chest. She stirred, and her eyes fluttered open.

“It’s okay. I got you,” I soothed. Her hand lifted, and my breath caught as her warm palm slid over my face. She sighed contentedly, and I held her closer. Carrying her to bed, I laid her down gently and covered her body with a thick blanket. I wanted to crawl in there with her, to hold her close and warm her body with mine. But I couldn’t do that to her. I wouldn’t get in her bed until—unless— she asked me to. She’d had little to no control over her life for so long, and it was time she took back her power. Her needs and wants should be respected; not trampled on like Drake had done to her the past few years.

Satisfied that she was asleep and had enough blankets to keep her warm, I went back for Jameson. I unbuckled the straps keeping him in place and scooped him up, holding him to me. He seemed so tiny in my arms, and that instinct to keep him safe, to protect him at all costs flared to life, growing tenfold as I held him. I laid him gently in his bassinet and covered him with his blanket. He didn’t so much as stir, and my body sagged in relieved triumph.

Exhaustion hit me like a brick wall when I walked into the other bedroom and fell onto the bed. I’d been up for nearly thirty hours straight, having gone directly to Hannah following my shift at the warehouse. It wasn’t that I was unaccustomed to sleep deprivation and going long periods of time without proper rest, but this was more than physical. It was fear, anxiety, anger, and desperation culminating in a bone-deep weariness I doubted I’d escape simply from a full night’s rest.

I didn’t wake until long after the sun was up, fully clothed and sprawled across the covers. Somehow, the air smelled of bacon and cinnamon. Stumbling from the bed, I opened my door, and the scent grew stronger. The TV was on, the low hum of cartoons filling the space. I rounded the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. Hannah was standing at the stove in skin tight yoga pants and a loose sweater with a wide neckline. One shoulder was exposed, the thin strap of her bra peeking out from beneath the soft material. Her hair was piled atop her head in a riotous mass of blonde waves. She was stunning.

She turned my way, removing a skillet from the burner and noticed me standing there. “Oh, hey. You’re up.” She smiled sweetly, and I fought the urge to frown. Her bruises were stark and unsettling in the bright morning sun, the edges already beginning to yellow.

“Yeah, I kinda slept like the dead last night.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.” I opened my mouth to ask why, but she continued, anticipating my question. “I hadn't realized you’d worked all night when I called yesterday morning. You must’ve been exhausted.”

I went to her then, gently grasping her arms so she’d look at me. “Don’t apologize for that. I didn’t care that I worked all night. I wouldn’t care if I’d been up for a week straight. I would’ve come to you no matter what.”

Her features relaxed, and softness filled her eyes as she looked into my face, seeing the sincerity there.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ll never know how grateful I am for you.” I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak past the ball of emotion clogging my throat, so I just nodded and released her, taking a step back.

Turning to the stove, I saw the bacon, and my stomach growled. “Where did you find that?” I asked, motioning to the pan.

“It was in the freezer. I found cinnamon rolls too. Guess we should’ve checked in there last night. There’s all kinds of stuff.”

“I’m glad you thought to look in there.”

“Me too.”

After breakfast, Hannah helped me compile a list of things we needed from the store. I hadn’t broken the news to her yet that I would have to go back home tomorrow night for work. She would be alone up here for a couple of days until I got back. Mark already did me a solid letting me hide her away up here. I wouldn’t expect him to cover my shifts as well. I was also anxious for an update on the person who attacked me and made off with one of the rifles. There’d been no news thus far, but I knew Mark had put feelers out and expected to learn more soon.

It took nearly three hours to get to the store, collect everything on the list, and get back. This cabin was remote and perfect for a safe house, but it wasn’t close to anything at all convenient. There was no way Drake would find us up here. Hell, I barely made it back myself. I’d called my mom while I was out and got an update from her. She’d been to dialysis and was preparing lunch. Hastings was there with her, and I felt a weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying lift from my shoulders. He was a good guy and the person I usually worked warehouse surveillance with. I trusted him to take good care of her.

I broke the news to Hannah over dinner that I was leaving the next afternoon. Her lip trembled, and I instantly wanted to take it back. She held the tears at bay, though, and mumbled her understanding. She was quiet the rest of the evening while we watched a popular singing competition. She sat on one end of the couch and me on the other. I yearned to hold her, to touch, to kiss her, even if it was just on the forehead. But I stayed planted where I was. I didn’t want to make things weird between us or worse, make her uncomfortable, so I kept my distance.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hannah

I laid awake after putting Jameson to bed, unsettled and anxious. Devon would be gone tomorrow night, and I’d be up here alone with my baby. I’d never spent an entire night by myself, even when Drake was hanging out with his friends. He always came home at some point, at least a few hours before the sun came up. Now I had to stay in this cabin alone for two nights in a row while Devon worked.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was antsy.

Devon sent my pulse into a gallop when he was near. My blood burned so hot I thought I might combust. But I couldn’t let him in. I couldn’t let anyone in, at least not yet. My heart had been trampled on, mangled and bruised into something unrecognizable. I couldn’t give it to someone else. Drake wormed his way back in after I thought my defenses were high enough to keep him out, but he broke them down again. He gave me hope. He made me believe in him. And then he shot my dreams out of the sky.

The first slap split my lip. When he grabbed me by the arms, I cried out as he yelled in my face, spittle flying into my eyes. I couldn’t even move my arms to wipe it away, let alone block his next strike. When his knuckles connected with my cheek, I almost lost consciousness, but he wasn’t done with me yet.

My body went cold, and my chest heaved with each ragged breath as I sobbed into my pillow. One day, I would stop reliving that moment. One day, I’d forget how hands that once lovingly caressed my face could strike it with blow after blow, leaving my skin a mess of purple and yellow stains.

One day.

But not today.

I finally fell into a fitful sleep that left me tired and cranky the next morning. Devon gave me a wide berth, sensing my shifting mood. He took care of breakfast, scrambling eggs and preparing buttered toast now that we had fresh groceries. I dreaded him leaving, but I kept those misgivings to myself. He had enough to worry about without me whining over being lonely the next few days.

I bid him goodbye as he stepped out into the cold, flurries swirling around him, landing on the ground, and creating a light dusting of snow. He’d shown me how to use the sat phone this morning in case I needed to call him for anything. I had a list of names and numbers I could reach out to in case of an emergency. I hoped I wouldn’t have to worry about it.

My days spent in the cabin turned out not to be much different than my days at home. It was the evenings that were hard. I fixed dinner for one instead of two and watched my favorite shows alone. There were movies lining the shelves on one side of the fireplace while the other side held books. They were mostly classics—The Count of Monte Cristo, Frankenstein, War and Peace, Wuthering Heights—Wait a minute.Bronte seemed a bit out of place amongst this collection. I pulled it from the shelf and opened it. There was a note written in the front addressed to “Charlie.”

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