Page 21 of Ghost's Revenge
My eyes widen, but I don't say anything. Can't say anything, because if she wants to spend more time with me, how the hell am I supposed to say no? Every rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a mistake, that I should be putting distance between us, not getting closer.
But there's another part of me, a part I've been trying to ignore for days, that wants exactly this. Wants to sit in sunny kitchens and talk about things that don't involve violence or death or the hundred ways the world can destroy you. Wants to touch her, claim her, maybe even imagine a future where—
Stop. Just stop.
A man like me doesn't get futures with women like her. Doesn't get to play house and pretend that so many years of violence can be washed away by scrambled eggs and morning sunlight.
But what if it could? What if this one-in-a-million chance actually worked?
"Come on, Tyler," Sarah says, holding out her hand. "Let's get you dressed and ready for an adventure."
Tyler bounces over to her but stops at my chair and waves. "Bye, Derek!"
I find myself waving back, the gesture feeling foreign and natural at the same time. "See you later, kid."
They disappear down the hallway, Tyler's chatter fading as they head upstairs. Suddenly the kitchen feels much quieter, much more intimate. Just me and Debbie and the morning light streaming between us.
"Do you have kids?" she asks.
"No. Never had the time or patience for them."
"What about now?"
"Now?"
"You're so good with Tyler. Patient and gentle and... you'd be an incredible father."
Incredible father. The words repeat in my head like something from another language. I think about my own father, about the sound of his fist connecting with my mother's face, about learning to be invisible in my own home. Think about all the ways I'm broken, all the reasons why bringing children into my world would be cruel and selfish.
"That sounds pretty far away for a man like me," I say finally. "Especially in dangerous times like these."
"I get that," she says. "But maybe someday, when things are more settled, right? But now, would you like to see the rest of the shelter?" she asks, changing the subject. "Since you're going to be spending time here, you might as well know the layout."
I nod, not trusting my voice to work properly. She stands, and I follow her out of the kitchen, noticing the way her pajama pants cling to her curvy hips.
She shows me the common areas, the playroom where children can be kids without worrying about walking on eggshells. The office where Sarah coordinates services and legal aid. The security measures—cameras, reinforced doors, panic buttons in every room.
"Sarah takes safety seriously," Debbie explains as we climb the stairs to the second floor. "Most of the women here are hiding from someone. Ex-husbands, boyfriends, sometimes family members. This place has to be a fortress disguised as a home."
The second floor houses the bedrooms, small but comfortable spaces where women and children can rebuild their lives one day at a time. Debbie stops at a door near the end of the hallway.
"This is ours," she says, pushing it open.
The room is tiny, barely big enough for a double bed, a small dresser, and a reading chair by the window. But it's clean and bright, with children's drawings taped to the walls and a few personal items that speak of lives interrupted and restarted.
"It's not much," she says, suddenly self-conscious. "But Tyler loves the window seat. Says it's like having a fort."
I look around the space that contains everything she and Tyler own in the world, and something clenches in my chest. This strong, beautiful woman reduced to a room smaller than mycloset, starting over with nothing but love for her son and determination to build something better.
She deserves more. Deserves everything.
And for the first time since I met her, I find myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could be the man to give it to her.
Chapter 8 - Debbie
I don't know what possessed me to bring him to our room.
My tiny, pitiful space that holds everything Tyler and I own in the world. Derek stands in the doorway looking around, taking in the bed that barely fits me and Tyler, the secondhand dresser with the crooked drawer, the window seat covered in children's books and toy cars.
