Carpe Noctem
- Seize The Night
“You’re here,” she squeaks. Bethany’s eyes are wide as she pulls the front door to her apartment open.
“Told ya I would be.” I wink and walk past her, coming inside without an invitation. “Maverick?” I call loudly since he’s not right there when I first enter.
“Dad? Momma, is my dad here?” he yells. It’s an excited jumble, but I still figure it out easy enough. My chest swells, hearing him call me his dad. He knew it was me, just from hearing his name.
“Yes, he’s here! Come say hi,” she replies toward a narrow hallway off the side of the living room.
He comes out running, going full speed, jumping when he reaches me. My knees bend, and I catch him, lifting him until he nearly touches the ceiling. In one week, he’s become my entire world.
“Yow’re here, for weal.”
“I am.” Nodding, I grin. I can’t stop the smile overtaking my mouth at getting to see him again. I’m overjoyed by hearing him talk and visiting with him. “When I promise you something, Maverick, it’ll always happen, you can count on it. I don’t break promises. Got it?”
He nods, and we fist bump as I easily balance him in my grip with one arm.
“Missed you, little dude.”
“Missed yow.” He smiles, and I set him back down, turning to find Bethany watching us wistfully.
Setting my backpack down, I glance around the small space. “Where am I staying?”
“Wif me,” my son instantly answers, and I chuckle.
“Hey buddy, your bed’s a little too small for Daddy. His feet would fall off.” B laughs.
Maverick’s finger goes to his temple and he taps it a few times, clearly thinking it over. “Ummm…” He shrugs, and she laughs again.
“You can sleep on the couch. We don’t have a spare room.”
“Him will fit in yowr bed, Momma.”
She swallows roughly and shoots an uneasy smile at me. “We’ll figure it out, Mav; don’t worry.” Her gaze meets mine. “Have you eaten?”
“Nope.”
“Well then, guess we can start there,” she replies, and I’m not sure it’s for me or her. I think she’s reassuring herself.
“You don’t have a gig this weekend?”
“Nope, bar’s got another band visiting.”
“I’ll get some food started.”
The day flies by hanging out with the kid, and it’s not until the next night that I’m really drawn to Bethany.
Turning over on the uncomfortable couch, I steady my breathing to listen.
“No!” B grounds out, and the sound carries out my way from her room. The living room is in the middle, separating hers and Maverick’s rooms. I doubt he can hear his mom, but I definitely can.
On alert, I grab the blade from my pants that I’d discarded beside the couch earlier and quietly creep toward her hall. Her door’s cracked open, in case our son needs her in the middle of the night. I use it to my advantage, following the wall so I can be hidden by the partially-closed door.
“No, please?” she groans, sorrow and fear coating her voice.
She sounds as if she’s being tortured, and no amount of anger I had from her secrets can keep me from wanting to protect her, to save her from whoever’s hurting her in there. It’s in this moment that I realize that no matter how much her deceit hurt me, I’d die for her if I had to. She’s my son’s mother, and he needs her more than anyone else on this planet.
Leaning toward her door, the floor creaks, and I instantly flatten myself against the wall, holding my breath. I want to have the drop on whoever's in there, not the other way around.
There’s silence for a few moments and then a soft cry. It’s the last straw. I jump through the opening, in a fighter stance, ready to stab to death whomever I need to, so I can save Bethany.
The room’s empty; her window’s even closed and locked securely. It’s just her, tossing and turning while grumbling. She’s dreaming, but whatever it is, it’s making her scared or hurt.
I could walk away right now, go back to sleep on the couch and pretend like this never even happened. I don’t need to worry myself over her comfort, and I shouldn’t want to after what she pulled. But I do.
Her being upset makes it hard for me to breathe for some reason. It’s confusing and infuriating. I’m a criminal, an outlaw; I don’t care about shit if it doesn’t concern me or my club.
Yet, she concerns me. She digs at my heart that I once believed didn’t exist, and that’s answer enough. I need to comfort her. I don’t have to fuck her or have a relationship with her, but, in this moment, I can at least make sure she’s okay. There were so many dreams and so many times I’d wished someone would’ve done the same for me.
Standing beside her bed, I watch her a few moments more until she calls out loudly, scrunching her face up. In pain or in sadness, I wonder? Who knows, but something is definitely not right in her head tonight.
I can’t help but think it’s me in there, terrorizing her. She’s acted pretty scared and nervous since I’ve arrived, but, honestly, I’ve relished it. I’ve taken each little terrified look she’s sent at some of my remarks and have added them inside, collecting bits and pieces, letting them offer me what small comfort they can.
Revenge…I love getting payback when it’s due to me, but how do you take out your hurt and anger on the mother of your child? I kill her for the shit she pulled, and, then suddenly, I’m the bad guy in the equation. I refuse to be the villain in my son’s eyes. I may not be some real hero out there, but to him, I will do everything in my power to look like I should be one.
I could shake her, rouse her enough to pull her free, but I don’t. I’m stupid, I want to feel her against me, and this is offering me the perfect excuse to do just that. Pulling the puffy comforter away from the pillows, I climb into the bed next to her.
One hand on her shoulder, I place my other palm to her face. She whimpers and the sound’s beautiful. I’d love to have her whimpering underneath me, but in pain and pleasure combined.
“Bethany.” It comes out in a bit of a grumble. I’m still tired and watching her half-naked has me flexing and hard.
She doesn’t wake, so I stroke over the side of her face, calling her again. “Little Daydream…wake up, baby.”
“Night?” Her eyes crack open, dazed and confused. I’m sure she’s wondering what I’m doing in her bed and touching her as well.
“I’m here, you’re safe.”
Tears well up, her pouty lip trembling, and then she’s in my arms. Her own wrapped around my neck, head against my chest as sobs wrack her body.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I got you, baby, don’t worry.”
“Oh God,” she whispers, still crying.
“Was it really that bad? What happened?”
“I-I don’t want to talk about it. If I talk about it, it becomes worse, because then it’s real.”
“Fine. Just tell me…was it me making you like this?”
“You? No-no-no…it was…it was my father,” she admits, her warm breath fanning over my pecs. A few shuddering breaths and her tears begin to dry up.
I lie back, pulling her on me until I can wrap my arms around her securely. We l like that, chest to chest for what feels like hours. Truth is, I have no idea how much time passes; eventually, we both drift off to sleep.
It’s in the early morning when she’s sleeping soundly that I crawl free from her touch, wrapping the blankets around her cozily. That was close enough for now. I have to keep reminding myself that I hate her for what she did, that we could never be.
I would never be able to trust her to even give her a chance.
However, I can’t help but wonder why it was her that got pregnant with my child. I’d lied to her about being careful. I wasn’t; in fact, I was careless. No woman ever got pregnant no matter how many times I fucked them…and then there was her.
I wake to a cold bed and groggy thoughts of Nightmare holding me all night long. Part of me believes that last night never happened, but I know it did. My bed still smells like him.
Rolling over in his spot, I deeply breathe in his scent. It’s been a very long time since a man was in my bed in any form, and smelling him has my body wound tight, senses in overdrive.
My hand crawls over my stomach, fingers almost going into my panties when I get a wake-up call.
“Momma?”
“Hmmm,” I groan, rolling over to my back.
“Cereal’s wready”
Shit. That means there’s a mess from hell in my kitchen and probably no milk left. I thought we talked about him fixing his own breakfast; it never works out for either one of us.
“’Kay, I’ll be right there.”
Clumsily, I head for the bathroom, taking care of business and washing my face with cold water, so I’m awake enough to mop up the milk that I know is coating my kitchen floor. At least it wasn’t eggs this time; cleaning those up suck.
When I round the corner, I’m met with essentially two Nightmares—one big version and one mini version. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, both staring into the living room at cartoons while they eat cereal. Surprisingly, there’s no mess either.
“Hey,” I mumble, heading for the coffee machine. It’s a fresh pot. Neither of them glance in my direction, zoned out on Transformers. I pour myself a cup, adding in a splash of cream and two scoopfuls of sugar.
Throwing away the empty sugar container, I come across what looks like an entire roll of wet paper towels in the trash as well. My gaze lands on Nightmare.
“Did Maverick make breakfast?” I ask, curiously, and Nightmare finally glances over at me and nods.
“Yep. I woke up when he yelled, ‘Oh shit.’ Turns out the milk was a little heavy for him.”
And being a typical man, he used every paper towel in sight to clean it up versus just grabbing the mop. But one thing stands out; he got up, helped Mav, and then cleaned up the mess. He actually cleaned it up and let me sleep.
Checking the clock, it reads nine a.m., and it makes me giggle.
“You all right?” His eyebrow tips up, concerned with my weird behavior. He doesn’t understand the only time I ever get to sleep in is when Princess visits every few months, and I rarely do it then too. I could jump up and down and cheer right now.
“Fine.” Grinning, I bring my cup of coffee with me and sit in the chair between them. I have cartoons to watch with my son and my baby daddy. Never in a million years, did I imagine I’d ever be able to say that.