Page 33 of Hideaway Whirlwind
After cleaning up in the hall bathroom and checking that Kendall and Dustin are still fast asleep, I tiptoe down the hallway and stop at the exit, peeking around the corner. Elliott cuts a peanut butter and jelly sandwich diagonally before setting it in front of Sydney at the kitchen table. He takes the seat beside her with his own sandwich, the two of them eating in comfortable silence beneath the dim light switchedon over the stove.
“Papa?” Sydney asks around a mouthful of peanut butter when she starts in on her second half, jelly sticking to the corners of her lips.
“Hmm?”
“You’re really nice.” Elliott starts to thank her, but then she says, “Quincy was really, really mean to my mommy.”
Guilt and shame and self-loathing flay me alive that I hadn’t been able to hide the damage Quincy inflicted from my children as well as I thought I had.
“Sydney, sweetie…” Elliott turns in his chair.
She sniffles and her little chin quivers as she drops her sandwich on her plate, her messy bed-head hair falling forward to hide her face. “Please don’t turn mean. Please.” Tears roll down her cheeks, and Elliott lifts her from her chair, giving her a bear hug, rubbing her back as she cries on his shoulder, my baby’s heart broken.
I don’t know whether or not to interrupt. I don’t even know if I can since my knees buckle, and I slide down the wall to sit on the floor, listening to Elliott—a man who has just confessed to being a convicted murderer—promise not to be mean to her or Dustin or Kendall or me.
He holds and comforts her until she falls asleep once she’s cried all her tears, and he quietly stands. We make eye contact when he passes me in the hallway, and I listen to the bed frame squeak and shift when he lays her down.
Elliott crouches in front of me afterward and swipes away the tears I didn’t know I’d been crying. He lifts me without a word and carries me into the bedroom next, drawing back both comforters so I can scooch in beside my sweet babies, who deserve so much better than the life I’ve given them. Aftertucking us in, instead of leaving us for the night, Elliott sits on the floor with his back against the wooden frame. He has no idea how much we have in common.
Elliott
My head explodes with static at the first crunch of tires on gravel two evenings later.No, not yet. Please, not yet. We’ve had two separate flickers of power, leading us to believe the grid was back up and running. Both times, however, the power went out and stayed out within twenty minutes—just as I’d hoped. But now, someone is here.
Storm raises her head from her food bowl in the kitchen, the fur on her back standing on end as the vehicle approaches, and a low, threatening growl starts up in her chest.
Birdie’s face is stark white as she wipes crumbs from the table after putting Kendall down early for the night after supper. From the couch, sharing a comic book, Dustin and Sydney both look from me to their mama and back again as I approach the front window and peer through the open blinds.
“Who is it?” Birdie asks, flitting to the couch to stand guard in front of the kids.
“Davis,” I say when his vintage cherry red Ford pickup truck bounces into view, hitting the pot hole, surely making him curse up a storm. My breath lodges in my throat.It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.
Birdie’s color returns to her cheeks now that she knows it isn’t the police or Priscilla, who she’ll never have to worry about.
“Release,” I say to Storm, wondering if, at one point, she was a guard dog and might know the simple command. Either she does, or she reads the intention in my voice, because she relaxes and lowers her head back to her bowl while her puppies paw at her belly.
“Elliott? The door?” Birdie says, motioning toward it when Davis knocks. I stare at her, letting him knock again. Then longer when he bangs his fist against it until she frowns and rushes in front of me to open it.
A blast of frigid air sweeps into the room, not nearly as chilly as the night before, but enough to have Birdie hugging herself when she steps back to let Davis through.
“Hey, there, Teagan. Glad to see you made it to Texas.” Davis takes off his ball cap covering his light golden brown hair, and he slaps it against his dark blue jeans, then leans in as if to give her a one-armed hug. He clicks his tongue when Birdie steps out of reach into my chest while I simultaneously lay a claiming hand on her hip. “Well, I’ll be.”
“You’ll be what?” Birdie asks, pulling away from me, though it takes a beat for me to remove my hand.
“Nothing,” he answers with a lopsided grin as he slides his green-eyed gaze to me, then around the room, crinkling his eyes at Sydney and Dustin in a friendly manner. “Can’t wait to tell Old Freddy about this.”
“Who’s Old Freddy?” Birdie asks.
“You’ll see,” Davis replies with a chuckle.
I eye the unwelcome intruder. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to get Teagan and the kiddos now that we’ve got our pipe patched and water running again, though it’ll take some time to repair the drywall. Found a generator, too.” Davis clicks his tongue again while I imagine beating him six waysto Sunday, then burying him in my woods. “Have to say it was a mighty big surprise to hear from Russell that she ended up staying with you.”
I grit my teeth and fold my arms across my chest to keep from reaching for my gun, trying desperately to figure out how the hell I’m going to stop this without committing another murder.
Birdie tuts impatiently, tilting her head to look out the door. “Is Marigold with you?”
Davis shakes his head and moves away so she can shut the door. “She’s back home with the kids. Lots of downed trees and power lines, but passable enough. Didn’t want to risk them out on the road yet.”
