Page 2 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
Morales doesn’t smile. “From now on, Avalina Guerri and ‘Lina’ Montague don’t exist anymore. You never had a husband. You don’t have a family. You’re a ghost named Ava Haynes. Get comfortable with that.”
It sounds harsh, but honestly, ghost status sounds way better than the life I’m leaving behind.
“I get it,” I say, gripping the duffel’s worn strap tightly.
“You better,” he says. “Because the people you just screwed over aren’t going to forgive and forget.”
“I wasn’t planning on sending Christmas cards,” I quip dryly.
Morales shakes his head, exasperated. “Funny. You won’t be laughing if they catch up to you because you slip up somehow. It was hard enough to get my bosses to agree to this once. If you blow your cover, I can’t guarantee they will help again.”
The dark humor fades. “I won’t let that happen. I have more to lose than just myself now.”
He glances down at my belly, something almost resembling compassion flickering across his face. Almost. “Keep your headdown and your mouth shut. You do exactly what we discussed. No exceptions.”
“Understood,” I tell him firmly.
He gestures to the car, a signal to leave, and I waste no time. Tossing the duffel into the backseat, I slide behind the wheel, heart thumping. Morales leans down, eyes narrowed seriously. “Don’t contact anyone. Especially not your father.”
“Believe me, I won’t.” I haven’t talked to the man in months, and the thought of him now just fills me with disgust.
“Good. The location’s already programmed into the GPS. Drive straight through. No stops.”
He slaps the roof once, stepping back. I start the engine, eyes fixed forward, refusing to look back as I pull away from the curb. Freedom tastes sweeter than I imagined, even as fear coils inside me like barbed wire. I grip the wheel, white-knuckled, breathing deep to calm my nerves.
As the city fades behind me, replaced by open highway and distant stars, I allow myself one single, choked-up sob of relief. My hand trembles as it presses against my stomach again.
“We did it, baby,” I whisper, voice cracking with emotion. “We’re free.”
1
AVA
Five years later…
My eyes blur from staring at the canvas for so long, colors merging together until the painted details become a meaningless smudge. Stretching my arms above my head, the bones in my back crack, protesting loudly after being hunched in front of this painting for hours. I shift back on my stool, flexing my fingers, stiff with drying paint and exhaustion.
I catch my reflection in the window—a mess of brown curls piled in a loose bun, paint streaked across my cheekbone, dark circles beneath my eyes. Witness Protection doesn’t exactly come with spa days.
This commission has taken over my life for the past few days, but I can’t complain. It’ll feed us for three months, maybe more if I budget it right. A family portrait for a wealthy couple’s anniversary isn’t exactly my idea of thrilling art, but it's paying the bills. Thankfully, Eli’s been easy today, keeping himself busy with puzzles and a fortress made entirely out of couch cushions. I can hear him softly narrating a story to himself from the livingroom, his voice rising and falling dramatically with every new twist in his story.
Only child syndrome at its finest. He’s been that way ever since he could sit upright. Most days, it makes things easier, him being content on his own while I scrape together enough paintings to keep us afloat. But more often than not, the quiet hurts. It reminds me of how much I hate the isolation I’ve forced upon him.
I wanted a house filled with noise and chaos once, kids racing down hallways, toys littering every inch of the carpet, the kind of home I’d had when my mother was still alive. Back when family was everything and love was loud. It had felt attainable then before Mom died. Before my father showed me exactly what he thought a daughter was worth. Now, it’s just me and Eli, making do in silence.
My eyes drift involuntarily to the messy crayon drawings taped haphazardly across my studio wall, Eli’s latest masterpieces. It’s not the gallery I once dreamed of, but it’s the one that matters. Eli deserves more. He deserves siblings to chase around, a family bigger than just me and the stray cat who visits once in a while. But you can’t exactly date, let alone get pregnant, in Witness Protection, and the thought of Randy ever touching another child of mine makes bile rise hot in my throat.
I glance at my phone, sitting on the windowsill. It used to buzz incessantly with updates from Morales about Randy’s case, updates that turned my stomach and stole my sleep. I stopped checking after the first few months of his trial. Anxiety kept me wired all night, waiting for Randy’s inevitable victory. Because it would be a victory for him. Men like Randy don’t stay locked away forever, not with lawyers who could buy their way out of Hell if they had to.
But right now, he’s still behind bars. And as long as he stays there, Eli and I are safe. At least, safe enough.
A loud crash from the living room snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. I shoot up from my stool, heart pounding, and rush out into the main room of our tiny cabin. Eli sits on the floor surrounded by a sea of couch cushions and blankets, eyes wide and blinking up at me like he’s innocent. A fallen chair rests beside him.
“Eli, what happened?” I try to keep my voice calm, but my pulse still thuds unevenly in my chest. My nerves fray quicker these days, no matter how many times I remind myself that we’re safe.
“Sorry, Mommy. The castle got attacked by bad guys. Had to defend it.” He holds up a cushion as if it explains everything.
I exhale, tension draining away with the breath. “Bad guys, huh?”
