Page 9 of Colt
“Mama, you’re not listening.”
I blinked and refocused on Knox, who was sitting across from me at the kitchen table with his homework spread out in front of him. His brow was furrowed in that particular way he got when he was trying to be patient with adults who weren’t paying attention.
“I’m sorry, baby. What did you say?”
“I said, what’s ten plus six?” He tapped his pencil against the math worksheet. “Luca says it’s fifteen but I think it’s sixteen.”
“Sixteen,” I confirmed automatically.
“Ha!” Knox shot a triumphant look at his brother, who was sprawled on the living room floor with a book. “Told you!”
“Whatever.” Luca didn’t look up from his page. “Math is stupid anyway.”
Normally I would have corrected him—math wasn’t stupid, it was important, all the usual parent speeches. But I couldn’t summon the energy. I was too busy listening for the rumble of amotorcycle that might signal the return of a man who claimed to be my husband.
My husband.
The word still didn’t feel real. I’d been married. I’d had a life before Betty’s spare bedroom, before the boys, before everything I knew about myself. I mean, of course I did. I just assumed it was unremarkable since nobody looked for me.
Turns out it wasn’t so unremarkable after all, and I couldn’t remember any of it.
Betty had called Graham the day after the grocery store incident. He was riding up from Pittsburgh—nearly three days on the road, she’d said. He’d be here tomorrow. The man who’d saved my life, who’d carried me bleeding and broken to a stranger’s door, who apparently knew the truth about what had happened to me.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Mama?” Knox’s voice pulled me back again. “Are you okay? You keep getting that look.”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.” I forced a smile. “Just tired.”
“Is it because of that man?” Luca had abandoned his book and was watching me from the doorway, his expression too knowing for a six-year-old. “The one from the store?”
My stomach clenched. “What makes you ask that?”
“You’ve been weird since then. Jumpy.” He crossed his arms like he was the one who needed to decide if I was okay. “Is he going to come here? To our house?”
“No, baby. He’s not going to come here.” I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t know anything anymore.
“Because if he does, I’ll protect you.” Luca’s jaw set in that stubborn way that reminded me of—
I froze.
That was what had been nagging at me. That set of his jaw, the way he planted his feet, the fierce protectiveness. I’d alwaysassumed he’d gotten it from me, from watching me fight to build a life for us out of nothing.
But I’d seen that same expression three days ago. On a man with green eyes and a leather vest.
“Mama?” Knox was staring at me now too, both boys watching me with matching concern.
“I’m fine,” I said again, but my voice came out strange. Thin. “Why don’t you boys go play outside for a bit? Get some fresh air before dinner.”
They exchanged one of those twin looks—the silent communication I’d never learned to decode—and then headed for the back door without argument. They knew something was wrong. They were giving me space to fall apart.
When had my six-year-olds become the ones taking care of me?
I waited until I heard the back door slam, then dropped my head into my hands and let out a shaky breath.
?
“You need to eat something.”
