I just stand over Connor’s crib and stare down at him. It’s hard to believe I’ve had him home two weeks now. It seems like a dream. He’s so perfect. He’s turning into a greedy chunk too. He’s got little rolls already started. When I was shopping for a baby, I stupidly began buying things themed towards a girl. D.D. wisely, insisted I buy some gender neutral. Still, Michael took me shopping a few days after we got home to buy more. He even picked some of it out. The outfit that Connor is wearing now, which looks like a little baseball uniform with bright green stripes running down it, is one of them. It even has this adorable matching baseball hat to go with it. Michael even surprised me by picking up a bib that said “Mommy’s Little Slugger,” on it. Everything in my life is perfect right now—as long as you disregard the fact that someone might be trying to kill me.

I bend down to kiss Connor gently and decide to go find Michael. He’s been quiet the last few days and I know it’s because he’s worrying about the shooter—or at least I hope it is. I find myself worrying that he regrets being listed as Connor’s legal father. I suppose there’s a chance Blade might show up one day and cause trouble, but I doubt it—especially when so many people want to kill him.

As I round the corner of the hall that connects to the kitchen, I hear Michael talking. I stall my steps, not wanting to disturb him. He’s the only one talking, so it has to be the telephone. I start to turn around and leave him to finish the conversation when I hear him say something that catches my attention.

I probably shouldn’t, but I go to the entrance way of the kitchen and lean against it watching him. He’s sitting at the table and from this angle I can see the side of his face. He’s completely unguarded and that pain he keeps hidden lately is clearly there, shining like a beacon. He looks so sad that I start to go wrap my arms around him.

“But the memories will always be there, Torch,” “When I was at the club, the memories were all there. You guys have lives there, I don’t... … ...I’m serious. My life ended with Annabelle’s. I’d walk down the hall and pass the room where she used to sleep. I’d go to my room and there were times I could smell her there. I’d hear her screams… and fuck, going outside where it happened...I’d have to get drunk just to be able to do it.”

His words hit me with the force of a physical blow. Michael dealt with this kind of pain inside of him for years and years. He stayed there trying to fit in and belong, all while carrying this kind of pain inside of him. How could his friends not notice? They proclaimed to be his family, couldn’t they see the daily torture he was putting himself through? I can tell from the conversation that whoever he is talking to is probably trying to get him to come home. I immediately want to scream no. He’s mine now, they can’t have him back. I need him. I love him.

“Fuck man, that’s just it I’m not. Some days I feel like I’m losing it. The other day I actually thought I heard Annabelle speaking to me—It wasn’t a memory, Torch. It was…in the moment. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but it felt real.”

His words leave me speechless. How do I react to them? Is that normal? After all of the trauma that Michael has been through, maybe some of what we’re going through here reminds him of his past. It would have to. Nervous butterflies hit my stomach, making me uneasy. I try to pull my thoughts away from the fear that’s beginning to form. I can’t judge him on this. You see things on television and read things all the time about people who have lost loved ones and get mysterious messages. Who am I to say it’s not possible? It doesn’t seem it to me, but then I’ve never had someone like Michael in my life. If something happened to me, I’m pretty sure I’d fight the power of Heaven and Hell just to be close to him one more time.

“Maybe. Someday. Hayden keeps me going. She’s the reason I’m breathing. That’s why I have to find the fucker who shot at her. I can’t let anything happen to her, Torch. I can’t be the reason another person I lo—care about dies.”

I back away from the doorway and go into the living room and all but fall onto the couch. Did Michael almost admit that he loves me? For a second I thought he was going to say it. I grieve that he didn’t…but, he did admit he needs me. If that’s all I get, when you add that to everything else, then I have more than I dreamed possible.

“What are you doing in here, Beauty?” Michael asks from the door.

I look up to see him standing there and try to wipe my thoughts away, not wanting him to read the mild disappointment on my face, when in reality he’s given me a great gift.

“Connor passed out, so I thought I’d curl up in here for a nap. Michael! What are you doing?” I cry when he stalks over to the sofa and picks me up, as if I were as light as a feather.

“Carrying my woman to our bed to nap.”

“But I feel lazy if I go to bed in the middle of the day alone.”

“Who says you’re going to be alone?” he asks, looking down at me. I bring my hands up to tangle into his hair—he constantly wears it down now; I think because he knows I like it so much. I use my hold to pull his lips to mine. It’s a brief kiss, and one of frustration because I can’t have sex with Michael yet.

“In that case, hurry up,” I tell him when we break apart. “This Momma’s tired,” I add when he smiles. His eyes brighten with joy, his smile stretches across his face, and I feel it all the way to my toes.