Page 20 of Taboo
I laugh softly, kneeling to his level, my jeans brushing the rug. “No. There are no more dragons. Only stories about them. This one’s lost its wings, but it’s still fierce. Want to hear about it?”
He nods, his shyness completely gone. I pull over a stool, helping him climb onto it. “It’s about a dragon who fought a big battle,” I start, my voice low, weaving the tale I’ve been illustrating. “It lost one of its wings, so it can’t fly anymore, but it learns to use its heart to protect the forest.” Jason listens, his eyes never leaving the canvas, and I feel a warmth bloom in my chest, a connection sparking between us. He is a strangely timid boy, quieter than I’d expect for a boy of his age, but his fascination with my work is genuine, unguarded, and total.
“Can it still breathe fire like Deanerys’s dragon?” he asks, his voice bolder now, leaning closer to the painting.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, grinning. “Big, hot flames that light up the whole sky.” I mimic a whoosh with my hands, and he giggles, a sound so pure it catches me off guard. We talk about dragons and forests, and I show him my sketchbook and let him flip through my drawings. His small fingers trace a winged creature, and he asks if he can draw one someday. “Anytime you want,” I promise, and his smile is a gift, bright and real.
When his yawns grow frequent, I glance at the clock—well past his bedtime, surely.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” I say, standing.
Obediently, he takes my hand, his grip warm and trusting, and it warms my heart. This is Max’s son. He could easily have been mine if Dad had not lied.
His room is down the hall, a cozy space with navy walls, glowing stars on the ceiling, and a bed piled with superhero sheets and pillows. I tuck him in, the duvet soft under my fingers, and grab one of my books from his shelf—a story about a brave fox.
“Do you want me to read you this one?” I ask, picking up a book by his bedside.
He nods and curls up as I read. I keep my voice soft, so the words are a lullaby. His eyes droop, and soon he’s asleep, his bear tucked under his chin, his face peaceful.
I slip out, closing the door quietly, and return to my room, the moonlight glowing faintly into the room. I climb into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, but sleep won’t come. Max is in my head, his hug from earlier a brand on my body, his loosened tie, and tattooed forearm. Visions I can’t shake. I’m happy being here next to him and Jason, but damn, it’s still hard. The truth—that he’s not my brother—burns in my chest, but telling him now feels more impossible than ever before. Feels like a betrayal of Sara and Jason.
I toss and turn, my heart a restless drum, until exhaustion pulls me under, sleep claiming me at last, only to jerk awake to a small, frantic voice.
“Aunt Amelia!” Jason stands by my bed, his white face is streaked with tears, his bear clutched tight to his chest, and his gray eyes are wide with fear.
My heart lurches. “What’s wrong?” I sit up, my voice still groggy, reaching for him. He climbs onto the bed, his small body shaking, and I pull him close and let the warmth of my body envelop him.
“I had a bad dream,” he sobs, his voice muffled against my shoulder. “Monsters were chasing you, and you fell into the lake out front, and… and… you drowned.” His words break, and he clings tighter, his tears soaking my shirt.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I murmur, stroking his hair, my hand gentle on his back. “It was just a dream. I’m right here. See, I’m safe.” I rock him softly, my heart aching for this boy, so withdrawn, so sad beneath his timid smile. He looks just like Max—the same dark hair, the same curve of his jaw—but his vulnerability is his own, a fragility that tugs at me.
“Can I sleep here?” he asks, his voice small, his eyes searching mine.
“Of course,” I say, lifting the quilt to let him crawl under. He curls up beside me, his bear between us, and I feel a great burst of love for him, fierce and unexpected. Max’s son, a piece of the man I can’t have, but in this moment, he’s mine to protect. I watch him drift back to sleep, his breath evening out, and the ache in my chest deepens, a mix of tenderness and longing I can’t untangle.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, sad shadows looming in my mind.
Chapter
Thirteen
MAX
The veil of sleep shatters with a sharp shake, as Sara’s voice slices through the haze like a blade.
“Max! Max, wake up!” Her words are high, frantic, pulling me upright in bed, my heart is already pounding even before my eyes adjust to the dim glow of the bedside lamp. She’s leaning over me, her blonde hair tousled, her eyes wide with panic. Her fear jolts me fully awake instantly, and my pulse is a wild beat in my ears.
“What’s wrong?” I rasp as I swing my legs over the bed’s side.
“Jason’s not in his room,” she says, her voice breaking, her hands wringing the hem of her nightgown. “He’s been taken, Max. Someone has come in and kidnapped him. I checked his bed, the bathroom, everywhere—he’s gone!”
The word gone lands like a punch, stealing my breath. I’m on my feet, adrenaline surging, the room tilting as pure fear takes hold. “Stay calm,” I say, more to myself than her, grabbing a T-shirt from the chair and pulling it on, the cotton clinging to myskin. “We’ll find him. He’s probably just wandering around in the kitchen.”
Sara’s already moving, her bare feet slapping the floor as she heads for the door. “I looked in the den and the kitchen—he’s not there,” she says, her voice rising, cracking. “What if he’s outside? What if?—”
“Stop,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant to. I lay my hand on her arm to steady her. “We’ll check every room. He’s here, Sara. He has to be. I set the alarm myself. No one has got in or out.” My tone is firm and sure, but inside, I’m unraveling. What if someone hacked the system? Even the best systems are not impenetrable to highly sophisticated hackers. Visions of Jason lost, scared, or worse flash through my mind. I push them down, forcing clarity, and lead her into the hallway, the light from the sconces casting long shadows across the polished wood.
We move fast, splitting up to cover ground. I take the upstairs, my feet heavy on the runner as I check the guest rooms, the office, the linen closet—every door flung open, every corner scanned.
