Page 20 of Hot Momosa

Screw Maggie’s advice. I needed to know what the hell was going on.

I parked in front of Mrs. Simmons’ place and ran to the front door. The voice in the back of my head shouted to look for reporters or stalkers or whoever-the-fuck had terrorized my family, but I didn’t have time to worry about cameras or tabloids—and if I ever got a hold of the person who had broken into her house, I’d kill him with my bare hands.

Mrs. Simmons opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow.

“I’m Leo. Dahlia called me.”

The elderly woman nodded. “She’s in the parlor.”

My heart pounding, I followed her deeper into the house.

Dahlia’s wide-eyed expression broke my fucking heart, but it was Gunnar reaching for me that did me in. The little guy’s face was red and wet with snot and tears.

I took him into my arms without hesitation. “Hey, little man. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Gunnar nodded and rested his head on my shoulder. Except for the occasional hiccup and shuddered breath, he quieted.

“I’ll give you young folks some privacy.” Mrs. Simmons shuffled out of the room.

Dahlia stared. “Thank you. I couldn’t get him to calm down.”

“He’s probably picking up on your stress.” I rubbed his back and did the bob and weave maneuver he’d liked since he was a newborn. “Talk to me. What happened?”

She nodded to the toddler—mom-signal for watch what you say. “We had an unexpected visitor. I didn’t know he was coming over. He woke Gunnar up.”

Our son pulled back and wiped his face. “Mamma scared me. We fell down.”

She murmured, “We left through the window.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean to scare you.” I needed to have a grown-up conversation with Dahlia, but I couldn’t bring myself to peel him off of me.

She dipped her chin and drew a shaky breath, and once again, I reacted without thinking. Wrapping my free arm around her, I drew her into an embrace, or tried to. She let out a pained breath and tensed.

“What is it? Are you H-U-R-T?” I stepped back and looked her over for the first time.

Dahlia’s hair was snarled. Grass stains and mud covered one shoulder, and her pajama pants were torn. Her bare feet were dirty and scratched to hell, and her ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit.

Christ. How is she still standing?“That needs to be checked out.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

I motioned to Mrs. Simmons’ living room. “Sit down. I’ll get you some ice.”

“Really, it’s fine.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection.

“For fu…” I glanced at our son. “For fun’s sake, Dahl. Stop being so stubborn. You need to report this.”

Gunnar popped his thumb out of his mouth. “Fun’s sake, Mamma.”

I grinned at him despite my foul mood.

She looked anywhere except at me. “The last thing any of us need is for this to hit the news.”

“You mean it’s the last thing your father needs.”

She sighed. “Think about it, Leo. The media’s already in a frenzy about the photos of us.”

What the hell is she talking about?

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