Page 30

I was standing in a delivery room, but there was no sound. Sloane was screaming with no voice. Nurses moved in slow motion. I looked down and my hands were covered in blood.

When I woke up, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, I thought I was still dreaming. Rufus had his chin on the bed, watching me, his big brown eyes like anchors to reality as he made a little huff noise.

"Hey boy. Thanks for watching over me."

I sat on the edge of the bed and put my palms over my face as I tried to stop the tremble in my fingers. This wasn’t sustainable. I needed an outlet. Somewhere for the truth to go that wouldn’t hurt her.

That morning, I bought a leather-bound journal. I didn’t write anything poetic, only the facts. The series of events. The details I didn't want to forget.

Day 47. Angie is watching. I’m losing sleep. Sloane is pregnant. I remember when the miscarriage happens. I’ll fix it this time. I have to .

I slammed the cover shut and hid it in the bottom drawer beneath my undershirts.

The next few days blurred into a quiet rhythm.

I focused on Sloane, meals, handling the kids, reminding her of vitamins, long walks with Rufus when she needed space.

She was tired but stable, her body adjusting in small, brave ways.

Every time she smiled through the nausea or let her hand rest on her belly, I felt both awe and guilt gnawing at me.

I didn’t tell her about Angie or how her shadow had reappeared at least three more times: once near the grocery store, once at the kid's school pickup, and again outside the job site as I reviewed plans with Jose.

That fucking psycho stayed distant, making sure to show me that she was always watching.

Truthfully, it felt like it was hard to pin anything on her. She never approached. That was the part that made it worse because I knew she wanted me to wonder when she’d get closer.

Each time I saw her, I wrote it down in the journal. I kept it updated, tucked in the dresser drawer, pages swelling with inked desperation. I snapped pictures of her with my phone anytime I could.

Day 53. Angie was at the gas station across from the clinic. She didn’t even look away when I saw her.

Day 54. Angie was in the same grocery store, a few aisles down. I heard her singing.

At night, my panic attacks were subtle, well-disguised, neatly timed. If I felt it building, I excused myself and pretended I had a call to take or needed to walk Rufus.

And Rufus... he knew. I swear he did. That dog barely left my side. Slept by the front door guarding it and watched the windows; alert and expecting. He was the best dog in the whole goddamn world .

It didn't help that the news was ramping up every day, inching us closer to the shutdown I knew was coming.

First it was whispers, then footage, hospitals in chaos, people collapsing in the streets, body bags stacked outside clinics like sandbags before a flood.

Radio stations called it a scare tactic, a giant hoax that we needed to squash.

Despite all the negativity, I listened, knowing the truth of what was to come.

I almost hit my breaking point in the middle of one of Liam's soccer games.

I had been sleeping and eating less, taking care of the household and supporting Sloane more.

Honestly, I don't know how my woman fucking did it, because I was tapped out.

I admired her strength to have managed this for so long and I grit my teeth in silence.

I had no right to complain when she had done this for years.

On this particular day, Sloane came to watch Liam play.

Her energy was still low but fuck me, she was as gorgeous as ever.

She sat on the bleachers in one of my old hoodies, legs tucked beneath her, a thermos of peppermint tea clutched in her hands.

Her hair was in a messy bun, loose strands teased by the breeze.

Despite the fatigue in her face, the sight of her still robbed my breath.

Hell, that hoodie hugged her in all the right places. I didn’t mean to stare, but I did.

I made my way up beside her, leaned in close enough that only she could hear. “Pretty sure that hoodie was mine,” I murmured as my gaze slid down to the curve of her ass. “But you certainly wear it better. I might have to let you keep it.”

She glanced at me, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink, then rolled her eyes. I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “Levi,” she warned under her breath, "everything you own is mine. "

“Well hell, Sloane. I’m simply admiring the view, but you still have to put me in my place like that?”

“I’ve got a leash and collar waiting for you at home if you keep this up.”

My balls tightened at the thought of her leashing me, commanding me, praising me. A growl curled in my chest. “We could leave the kids here. They’re old enough.”

She burst out laughing, her head falling slightly against my shoulder. “Levi!”

That laugh? I’d live a hundred lifetimes just to hear it again.

These were the kind of moments I used to take for granted. Now, it felt like a privilege to sit beside her, to earn a blush, a smile, or hell, a joke at my expense.

I looked out at the field where kids ran in uneven formations, limbs too long for their coordination then back at her.

“Thanks for coming out today,” I said, quieter now, meaning every word. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

She didn’t look at me but her voice was steady. “I wanted to try. Pregnancy or not, I don’t want to miss any games.”

My chest tightened with something fierce and fragile all at once. I didn’t deserve her, but I loved everything about her. She was my eternity.

Then, Violet came bounding up beside us, face painted in smudged pink and blue. “Bathrooms are so gross,” she announced with her usual flair.

I chuckled and gave her a hug. “Next time, stick with the house.”

"Yeah, right." She scoffed like a mini version of her mother. She was already hopping with energy, gearing up to scream every time her brother kicked the ball .

I stood up behind them, arms folded, eyes flicking between the field, the bleachers, and the creeping sky above. Dark clouds were rolling in fast.

Then I saw her.

Third row on the opposing team’s side, sitting alone on the end of the bleachers. She wore a baseball cap and sunglasses, but I’d know that posture anywhere, one slender leg crossed over the other, head tilted slightly, bored smile tugging at her garishly red mouth.

My stomach dropped. She looked directly at me, the edge of her lip twitching like she was daring me to react.

Sloane turned to me, sensing my tension. “You good?” Her hazel eyes squinted in the fading sun.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just looking at those storm clouds. Hoping we don't get rained out.”

She nodded and looked back toward the field.

I pretended to do the same, though my pulse beat too loud in my ears.

Angie was still there but now she wasn’t watching me.

Her gaze slid with subtle precision from my son’s sweat-slicked sprint down the field to my daughter’s bouncing form beside me.

It was chilling. Then Angie smiled. A full, slow, twisted smile.

Oh fuck no.

My vision swam with rage and fear, but I didn’t move. She wasn’t doing anything technically, but this level of stalking and obsession had to count for something with the police.

Fuck, this promise to Sloane is going to get us killed. I want to bury her myself.

My hand tightened around my phone. I slid it out and snapped a quick picture, pretending to scroll through photos.

With the distance and the lighting, I knew it’d be hard to prove…

but it was something. Ma ybe it wouldn’t hold up in court, but I’d be damned if I didn’t document every moment of her intrusion that I could.

I felt Sloane watching me from the corner of her eye. She didn’t say anything. Probably thought I was being one of those proud dads grabbing a photo of their kids mid-game and I let her think that. I didn’t want to crack the fragile peace of this moment with the fire clawing at my gut.

“I’m gonna head down to meet the boy,” I said. “You good here?”

She took a sip from her thermos then curled tighter into my old hoodie. “Yeah. I’ve got tea and comfort. What could possibly go wrong?”

Everything.

I smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

When the final whistle blew and the crowd erupted, Liam jogged toward me: cheeks flushed, sweat-matted hair wild, grin wide. I clapped him on the back and did my best to channel normalcy.

“Hell of a hustle out there, bud. Elite stuff, champ.”

His eyes flicked to the stands, searching. “Did Mom see it?”

I nodded, nudging him with my elbow. “She did. Looked like she was gonna toss that thermos in the air.”

He laughed, pride blooming across his face. I kept my voice light, playful but I made damn sure my body stayed between my family and the stands.

By the time the game was over, though, Angie was gone.

I didn’t say anything to Sloane. What could I say? That the woman I’d wrecked our life for was now orbiting us like a ghost, slipping in and out of view, leaving dread in her wake?

No. Not yet. Instead, I wrote it down .

Day 57. She was at the game. Watching Violet and Liam. Watching me. Smiling like we shared a secret no one else knew.

With a shaking hand, I underlined the last part twice.