Page 145 of Saving Sparrow
“S-sorry,” I said, unsure of what I was sorry for. Everything, I supposed. “My husband didn’t have a good mother. He deserved one like you.” I scanned the open dresser drawers and clothes that had been tossed into the suitcase, unfolded. She seemed to have been in a rush to leave, even though the black lockbox on the nightstand said leaving would’ve been impossible.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m getting my boy outta here, and I won’t let you stop me.” She readjusted her grip on the gun.
“Because you would do anything for him,” I breathed, nodding. “Because you won’t let anyone h-hurt him.”
“No.” A determined glint sparked in her blue gaze. “They’d have to get through me first.”
My back was to the open door now, and I thought about making a run for it, but her finger was already sliding to the trigger.
“No!” I shouted, screwing my eyes shut and using my hands as a shield.
There was no deafening bang, no shock of pain coupled with an explosive force driving me back, just an incessant clicking as she repeatedly pulled the trigger. The gun wasn’t loaded. It was her turn to scream.
“Don’t touch my baby! Stay away from my baby! I’ll kill ya! I’ll cut ya to pieces!”
Adrenaline made my body quake, and I couldn’t get my limbs to obey my internal order to run.
Run!
Run!
Run!
Fucking run!
She scooped up the doll, its blanket and left leg sliding to the floor as she cradled him to her chest. She held a hand out, warding me off as she backed away, screaming for me to stay away. Her movements became sluggish, and so did her words.
“S-stay… a… way… f-from…” Her eyes went distant.
Sparrow was on his way.
Using the wall for support, I ran for the door, stepping into the hall and slamming it closed behind me. I pulled the key from my pocket, dropping it twice before finally getting it locked.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, racing into my bedroom and diving onto the bed. I scrambled under the covers, facing away from the bedroom door.Fuck.The door hadn’t been wide open when I woke up.
Sparrow will notice.
I kicked the blankets off, almost tripping as I hurried to set the door back to its slightly ajar position before clambering into bed again.
I counted to fifty, then down from one hundred, even praying to the God I didn’t believe in when counting didn’t work. Still, my heart raced, and my breathing could be heard over the crackling of the fire.
Time was running out. If I were lucky, Sparrow would change and remove the makeup before hunting me down. If not, he’d be here any second.
Desperate for something that would bring my anxiety level down, I pulled the photo of me, Quentin, and Elliott from under my pillow. I bit down on my fist to hold in my sob after looking at their smiling faces. I slid it under my shirt, holding it near my heart. I couldn’t stop the tears, but I didn’t try to. I had to devote all my energy to getting oxygen.
“Help me,” I whispered.Help me.
By the time the bedroom door creaked open, my nose was stuffy, but I managed to take even breaths through my mouth.
I could feel him watching me from the doorway, and I pressed the photograph tighter against me. Everything from my neck down was hidden beneath the blankets, even my unsteady hands.
I sensed him drawing closer, and I fought not to tense, fought not to react to the predator at my back.
He smelled of her hairspray and alcohol, the kind found in the makeup-removing wipes Elliott used to use.
Sparrow stayed there for a while, likely wondering if I’d been asleep since he left me, probably convincing himself I couldn’t have gotten into her room. His heat at my back was strangely comforting. Maybe because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not anymore. Now, I was simply scared of losing his trust, of losing whatever we were to each other, of losing my only connection to Elliott.
