Page 117 of Daddies on Ice

“Tell us about balancing motherhood with your relationship with Jake,” Sarah, the producer, prompts from behind the camera.

My stomach clenches, but I manage a practiced smile. “Jake is wonderful with Becky. That’s what matters most to me.”

“And things are going well between you two?”

“We’re taking it one day at a time,” I reply, the response feeling hollow even as I say it.

Sarah nods, clearly wanting more, but I turn back to Becky and our snowman. “Come on, baby. Let’s go inside and check on those cookies.”

The film crew follows us in briefly, capturing a few shots of Becky decorating the sugar cookies with an abundance of sprinkles, her tongue poking out in concentration. After what feels like an eternity, they finally pack up and leave as the sun begins to set.

I can breathe again. Becky and I eat dinner then settle on the couch for her bedtime story.

She picks her current favorite about a brave princess, and I read to her, grateful for this simple, normal moment.

After tucking her in with extra kisses, I return to the living room and flip on the TV, desperate for distraction.

The screen shows nothing but static, the storm outside interfering with the signal. I settle back on the couch with a throw blanket, and despite my efforts to stay alert, exhaustion pulls me under.

I’m running through the woods, branches catching at my clothes, my breath coming in sharp puffs in the cold air. Behind me, I can hear footsteps, getting closer. I stumble over a root and fall, snow soaking through my jeans.

“You can’t run from me forever, Tish.”

The voice is distorted, mechanical, like it’s coming through a voice changer. I scramble to my feet and keep running, but the trees seem to close in around me, forming a maze with no exit.

“If I can’t have you, no one will.”

I burst into a clearing and see Ash, Jake, and Carl tied to trees, their faces bloodied, their eyes wide with fear. The faceless figure emerges from the shadows, and though I can’t see his features, I know he’s smiling.

“Choose,” he says, holding up a gun. “Choose which one dies first.”

“No!” I scream, lunging forward, but my feet won’t move. I’m frozen in place, forced to watch as he raises the weapon.

“You made your choice when you refused to choose,” he says. “Now they all pay the price.”

The gun fires once, twice, three times. Ash crumples first, his brown eyes going vacant. Then Jake, his playful smile fading forever. Finally Carl, his silver hair stained with red.

“Now you’re mine,” the figure says, reaching for me with hands that feel like ice. “Forever.”

I jolt awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The living room is dark except for the flickering light from the TV’s static.

Sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill in the air, and my hands shake as I reach for the lamp.

The nightmare felt so real I can still smell the metallic scent of blood, still hear the echo of gunshots.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling, but the faceless stalker’s words replay in my mind.

If I can’t have you, no one will.

Outside, the wind howls through the trees, and I can’t shake the feeling that somewhere in the darkness, someone is watching, waiting. Planning.

41

CARL

The insistent buzz of my phone cuts through the early morning quiet, dragging me from the depths of sleep.