Page 42 of Reaper
They exchange a look and nod. “Yeah, I guess,” she replies. “But we get to pick the book.”
I regret agreeing to that stipulation when, fifteen minutes later, they're still trying to figure out which Nate the Great book they want me to read. I don’t have the heart to rush them, and I’m not going anywhere anyway, so I let them figure it out on their own.
They settle on the eighth book in the series, and as soon as they’re snuggled into their beds, I begin reading. It doesn’ttake long for them to fall asleep, their soft snores conjuring up memories of Paul and Erica.
At some point in the last two months, I stopped fighting the memories. I welcome them as reminders of a life that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was at the time. I’ve also noticed that by giving up that fight, I’m able to fulfil Skuld’s request for me to try.
Kyra and the twins have made me happy again. I’m not naive enough to think there’s a long-term future there, not with the whole death thing, but I am crazy enough to soak up the time I have and enjoy it.
I quietly set the book on the nightstand they share and make my way out of the room, shutting the door behind me. My kids always needed a nightlight on, but Heidi and Hunter don’t. I choose to believe it’s because they have each other to chase away the monsters under the bed.
Settling on the couch, I turn the TV on, keeping the volume low. I settle on reruns ofLeave it to Beaver. It’s been ages since I’ve watched the show, and it’s just as good as I remember it.
I’m well into the third episode when there’s a sound at the front door. I mute the TV and strain to listen, and the unmistakable scrape of someone trying to use a key that doesn’t fit the lock reaches my ears.
What the fuck?
I’m on my feet and yanking open the door in an instant, and when I see Jason leaning down as if he were going to pick the lock, rage simmers just beneath my skin.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
He lifts the key in his hands. “She must’ve changed the lock.”
Pushing him, I step outside and pull the door so it’s only open a crack. I don’t want to wake anyone up, but I also want to be able to hear them if they call out for me.
“I don’t care if she did or not,” I snarl. “What are you doing trying to come inside a house that doesn’t belong to you? And this late, no less.”
“Why are you here?” Jason counters. “This is my family.”
“Not according to Kyra, it’s not.”
“Heidi and Hunter are mine.”
“Yeah, fine, you donated your sperm. That doesn’t make you their dad. Not in the ways that matter.”
“You didn’t donate shit, so what’s that make you?”
“None of your business,” I bite out. “Now answer my question. Why are you here? Or did you forget to add something else to the package you left earlier?”
“Package?” he asks, confusion in his tone. “I came to talk to Kyra.”
“Yeah, package. The one where you left a dead crow with a knife in its chest. And Kyra’s sleeping.”
“Then I’ll wake her up,” Jason insists, trying to shove past me and completely ignoring the bit about the dead bird.
“The fuck you will.”
I grab him by the throat, spin him around, and pin him against the siding next to the door. Jason struggles against my hold, but I’m too strong for him to budge.
“Get your damn hands off me!” he shouts, his voice too loud for comfort.
“You’ll get the fuck outta here before I do something I’m not living to regret,” I seethe, increasing the pressure on his carotid.
“I’m not leaving until I talk to Kyra. Kyra! Kyra, wake up!”
I kick my leg, sweeping his feet out from under him. Jason’s breath whooshes on impact, and I straddle his hips before delivering punch after punch to his face.
“I told you, she’s sleeping,” I reiterate.
