Page 25

NATALIA

N ew Orleans was humid and thick with memories. It clung to my skin, to every breath I took as I stepped off the Greyhound with Gabriel. He was ten now, all limbs and stubborn curls, his eyes the same deep, haunted brown as his father’s. We didn’t speak much on the ride over. He'd been upset with me for taking him away from his friends and from the people he knew. And I was a mess of nerves and silent promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. But we were here. I had come home.

Scarlett had helped us in more ways than I could ever repay her. That woman had saved my life more than once. I didn’t think I’d ever get this far, but she pulled strings, made calls, and within a week, I had an interview at a local clinic. Nothing fancy, just a simple nursing job in the city. Long hours, but steady pay and decent benefits. And with Gabriel starting fifth grade, it was perfect timing.

I had saved quite a bit of money throughout the years, enough to give us a fresh start. So when we arrived in New Orleans, I was ready to find a home. For the first few nights, we stayed in a rundown motel off Claiborne Avenue. It was small and noisy, but safe. It gave us a place to rest while I began the hunt for something permanent.

On a Sunday morning, I nudged Gabriel awake with a soft hand on his back. "Come on, baby. Let’s go take a walk around the neighborhood. Maybe we’ll find a place that doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke."

He groaned into the pillow, rolling away from me. "I liked our old house better." He meant the small apartment above Scarlett and Wolf's garage.

"I know you did," I said gently. "But we’re not there anymore. We have to start over, and I need your help."

He finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Are we gonna stay here forever?"

I paused, brushing a curl from his forehead. "That’s what I’m hoping for."

He didn’t speak as we walked through the neighborhood later that afternoon, his little hand gripping mine just a bit too tight. The sun was high and heavy, casting golden light on weathered porches and rusting mailboxes. The streets were lined with oak trees, their moss-covered branches hanging low over the broken sidewalks.

Gabriel was quiet, his lips set in a stubborn line, but I saw the way he glanced at the houses, curious despite himself.

"What about this one?" I asked, pointing to a pale, yellow bungalow with blue shutters and a wraparound porch.

He shrugged. "Looks old."

"Old can be good," I said with a smile. "Like me."

That made him smirk, just a little. "You’re not old. Just bossy."

I laughed and ruffled his curls. "Takes one to know one."

We kept walking, and I let him lead the way for a while, letting his small feet choose the turns. He didn’t know it, but he led us exactly where we needed to go.

Back to the place that still haunted me. I needed to see it.

The street was almost unrecognizable. New pavement, new houses, new faces. But I knew the way like the palm of my hand. My heart beat in rhythm with every memory as I approached the end of the block.

And then I saw it. The house was different. Taller, cleaner, fresh paint and sturdy windows. It looked brand new, like someone had recently renovated it from top to bottom. But there was something familiar about the layout. The walkway, although cleaner and freshly paved, still followed the same path up to the front door. The one where he used to kiss me until my knees nearly gave out. And when I stepped through the gate, it hit me. That spot beneath the porch awning where he used to park his bike. That hadn’t changed. Not really.

He used to sit there shirtless, his long legs spread wide, oil-stained fingers holding a beer as he watched me with that slow, sinful smirk.

My whole chest squeezed with the ache of him.

I stepped up onto the porch, hands trembling. There was a sign staked in the yard.

FOR SALE.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. Maybe it was a brand-new build. Maybe someone had torn the old one down and started fresh. It didn’t look like the same house, but the bones of it felt familiar. As if whoever had designed it had followed the same path without even knowing why. I wondered who had bought it. Who had chosen to live here? Was it a couple? A family? Did they know the memories soaked into this ground, this porch, that front door?

I reached for the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but to my surprise, it wasn’t. The real estate agent must’ve forgotten to lock it after a showing. I hesitated, heart thudding in my chest, then pushed the door open.

The air was still. The inside was stripped bare, not a piece of furniture in sight. But I could see it all. My memories painted the walls better than any color swatch ever could.

Tick Tock pinning me to the wall, growling how much he missed me before taking me right there. Me cooking in the kitchen while he wrapped his arms around my waist and stole bites over my shoulder. Our arguments. Our passion. Our quiet mornings tangled in bed sheets that smelled like leather and ...well, the beginnings of love.

This was where I became a woman. This was where I gave my body, my heart, my soul to a man who owned me in ways I still couldn’t explain.

My knees buckled and I sat on the floor in the living room, right where our old couch used to be. I could almost hear his voice. Feel his breath on my neck. I remembered the time he’d bent me over the armrest of that old leather couch, made me beg for it like a good girl while he fucked the rebellion out of me.

And the way he held me after, murmuring how he'd always be there for me. I’d been so young. So stupid. But I had loved him the only way I knew how. And even now, years later, that love still remained.

I pulled out my phone and called the number on the sign. A woman answered, friendly and chipper. “Hi, yes. I’d like to put in an offer on the house on Treme Street. Cash offer. Today.”

There was a small pause on the other end. “I’ll send over the paperwork right away,” she said. “The owner will be happy to hear that.”

I hesitated, curiosity getting the better of me. “Do you know who the owner is?”

“I’m sorry,” she replied carefully. “The owner has asked to remain anonymous. Very adamant about privacy.”

“Do you know why they’re selling?”

“The house was recently rebuilt,” she said after a moment. “There was a fire that destroyed the foundation about ten years ago. I guess it was finally time to let it go.”

I hung up and let my hand rest on the floor, palm flat, as if by touching this place, I could hold on to what we’d lost. That’s when Gabriel came running in from the hallway, his eyes bright with excitement.

“Mom! Did you see the backyard? It’s huge!”

I smiled at his joy, brushing my hands on my jeans as I stood and walked across the hall to the kitchen which was a much larger and open area than before.

“It is pretty big,” I said, ruffling his hair. “What do you think?”

He shrugged with a lopsided grin. “It’s okay... but did you see the attic? There’s a whole attic up there! Can we go see it?”

I laughed, pulling him into a tight hug, breathing him in as I whispered against his curls, “I just bought it, Gabe. This is going to be our home now.”

He looked up at me, eyes wide. “Really?”

I nodded, holding him close. “Really.”

“Can we get a dog?”

I laughed again, shaking my head. “We can talk about that later. First, I need to close on the deal. Then after we move in, we’ll talk about pets.”

As I turned to head toward the hallway, my gaze drifted to the spot where the old dining room table used to be. And just like that, the memory came crashing in.

It was that first weekend together. I’d been making breakfast, fumbling with eggs and toast, trying to act all house wifey while he prowled behind me. His hands were on my hips before I could blink, his mouth brushing my ear with filthy promises that made my knees weak. He bent me over that wooden table like he owned every inch of me, dragging my panties down with one rough hand while the other wrapped tight in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to make me whimper. There was no hesitation, no teasing, just the hot press of his cock, the thick stretch of him as he sank inside me with one brutal, possessive thrust that made the whole damn house moan with me.

The wood creaked beneath us with every deep grind of his hips, but it was my body that trembled, my voice that broke, gasping his name like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. He was everywhere, his scent, his breath, the sound of his low growl as he claimed me, right there, reminding me I was his and no one else’s.

Even now, I could still feel him. The burn of his touch, the ache he left behind. I hated that I missed it. Hated that a part of me still craved it. Still craved him.

I blinked hard, grounding myself back in the present as Gabriel tugged at my hand. His joy, his presence, was all I needed to remember why I came back.

Everything I’d done in this life I’d done for that little boy. And I wasn’t done yet.