THIRTY-FOUR
Monday rolls around, and I sit impatiently on the living room floor building Lego with Briar while I wait on Evan to show up after work. He spent the weekend with his son, Deacon, but didn’t neglect to message me several times a day to check in and let me know he was missing us.
Us.
As traitorous as it feels, I can’t shake how nice the thought of us being a mismatched family is. Mum was understandably apprehensive about me taking on Briar’s care full-time, but I think I’ve surprised even myself with how naturally I fell into the maternal role.
Helps that I have such an awesome kid to work with, too.
He’s been more than I could ask for since we buried Kath. Understandably, he’s had his days where his mood has nose-dived and he’s sulked and thrown a tantrum about anything and everything, but I expected it. And I think that was what helped. Because I was prepared, I coped.
We coloured, played Xbox, I even had him in the kitchen helping me make dinner one night. Times like these I don’t need to force my own opinions about what’s best for him, I need to step back and let him guide me. And that’s exactly what I’ve done.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table, and I reach across to retrieve it. A message from Evan has come through, and I open the thread to find a photo he’s taken of himself with his head on a desk covered in paperwork. The caption underneath reads I’ll be home when this is finished, but there’s sooooo much to do!
I chuckle and snap a photo of Briar constructing his truck and trailer model, captioning it with We’re hard at work, too. LOL.
He sends back a huge thumbs up, followed by I miss you so fucking much and the kissy emoticon.
The fact he has to stay back to finish up paperwork doesn’t bother me. What does, is that it’s Monday again, one week after Tristan visited, the day he promised he’d come back for Briar.
I’ve checked the door and windows no less than a dozen times already. Paranoid doesn’t even start to cover it, especially after all the mess he’s made of late.
Still, burying myself in the usual nightly routines with Briar helps me keep my mind preoccupied with happier things.
“Who you talking to?” Briar asks.
“Evan. He has to work late.”
“Aww.”
You’re telling me, kid. Ways to tell you have it bad for a guy: two days apart is like a year in solitary.
“Hopefully he makes it home before you have to go to bed.”
He doesn’t.
I tuck Briar in after reading him a book from his collection, and give him my routine kiss on the head before turning the light out.
“Night, buddy.”
“Night, Aunty.”
Twelve chapters in my own book later, Evan still hasn’t shown. I get up to make myself a cup of coffee, the TV on low in the background to break the silence, and still when there’s a firm knock at the door.
Evan wouldn’t knock. He’s had my spare key since the first night he stayed over.
I stand frozen between my sofa and the kitchen, unsure what to do.
The knock comes again, a lot more forcefully. “Peaches…,” Tristan singsongs.
In two strides I have my phone, and in five I’m at the door to Briar’s room. I hastily bring up Evan’s number and hit Send as Tristan starts to hammer the door with what sounds like his boot.
“Hey, I’m on my way ho—”
“He’s fucking here,” I whisper yell down the line.
“Shit.” The Jeep’s engine roars in the background. “I’m literally two streets away, babe. Hang up from me and call 111.”
The hammering stops, the night falling eerily quiet save for the canned laughter on the TV.
“You catch what I said?” Evan asks.
“Yeah. I was listening, it’s just …” I strain my ears to hear something, anything. “He’s gone quiet.”
“I’ve just turned into our street. Hang up now and dial it in, babe.”
Even in my panic, I still find it in me to be touched that he called it “our” street, not “your.”
I disconnect as the unmistakable sound of glass shattering is followed by the dense thuds of something heavy on metal. Fucking arsehole is trashing my car again. I dash to the window to see if I can spot him.
Nothing. The car’s tucked directly under me, out of sight.
My fingers fumble and dial 118 in error. I clear the numbers and start again, hammering in the last 1 as I catch a flicker of movement to the right. Lifting the phone to my ear, I press my face against the glass to see Evan’s headlights behind the gate that casts shadows as it opens.
The line connects as Evan speeds the Jeep up to my apartment. He flings the door open, jumping out and rounding the hood in several long strides.
“Oi!” he yells at what I presume is Tristan below me. “Get out here.”
“Fire, police, or ambulance,” the operator asks as I smash my face to the glass in an effort to see anything, something.
“Police.”
“Please state your emergency, Ma’am.”
Movement behind Evan draws my attention, and the old guy I’ve seen a handful of times who lives diagonally across from me appears at the base of his steps with a phone held out in front of him. “I’ve called the police already.”
“Are they still on the line?” Evan calls back, keeping his focus on Tristan, who emerges from under the building.
“Yeah.”
“Tell them officer QJS540 requires assistance. 1336 in progress.”
The old guy backs up his steps, seeming to repeat the message into his cell phone.
“Ma’am,” the operator asks. “Can you tell me your emergency?”
“A man I know is here threatening me and my child.” I don’t even think twice about calling Briar mine, figuring the time it would take to elaborate is seconds wasted. “My neighbour’s called you as well.”
“Can you get somewhere safe, somewhere away from the man until we arrive?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m inside at the moment and he’s down by my car. But my partner’s there too.”
Tristan continues to advance on Evan, slow, menacing, and with a swagger that leaves me feeling uneasy.
“Can you give me your address?”
I rattle off my details, eyes darting between the men as they circle each other.
“You’re right. We’ve already sent a unit to that address. Stay where you are and keep me on the—”
I drop the phone to my side, still connected. Fuck being the damsel in distress locked in her tower. Tristan’s here because of me. If he wants to argue the point with someone, direct his rage somewhere, it should be with me, not Evan.
The operator’s voice whispers from my hand as I pocket my keys and lock the apartment door behind me to keep Briar safe. My feet slap the concrete as I dash down the stairs to face the bully head-on.
By the time I hit ground level, the men are shunting each other in the shoulder, winding up to fight again.
“Leave, Tristan,” I shout. He spins, watching me with his head cocked to the side. “You are never going to see Briar if this is how you act. If you want a chance at seeing your boy, you better fuck off and clean your act up.”
I’m lying—there’s no way in hell he’s ever getting near Briar, but the phone in my hand is still connected to an emergency services officer, one whose calls are recorded. This could be the admission we’ve needed, the hard undeniable evidence that’ll see him rot for the rest of his life.
“You don’t tell me how to act, bitch,” Tristan bellows, a thick finger pointed my way.
My blood runs cold; something’s off. He’s different, angrier … high.
“She has a point,” Evan says in his level take-no-shit policeman voice. “If you truly cared about Briar, you’d do this the right way.”
“Bring him out, now.” Tristan starts walking toward me, fast, coming close to breaking into a run.
I scramble up the stairs backward, hustling to get away as Evan sprints across the parking lot behind him. My phone drops, stranded on the bottom step.
“Back up, Tristan,” I say shakily, feeling my way up the risers.
He reaches the bottom of the stairs and disconnects my call, leering at me as it dawns on me I’m going to end up penned against a locked door if I continue this way. He’s caught off guard as I stand and charge back toward him, shunting him backward and into Evan’s waiting hold.
Tristan thrashes free, spinning around to face the two of us like a wounded dog. He hesitates, eyeing the both of us up, and then dashes for the Jeep. Evan frowns as Tristan reaches the front of the vehicle, bends down, and retrieves a knife from his boot. The arsehole laughs, and then jams the long blade through the grill and into the radiator, water and steam hissing out the hole he makes.
“Fucker!” Evan paces on the spot, but he doesn’t give Tristan what he wants: he doesn’t engage.
The bastard moves on to the side panels next, scratching deep lines into the paintwork. One tyre wall is punctured in a frenzy, and then two. Tristan works the Jeep over until Evan’s anger wins and he strides across to stop him.
“Just wait,” I call, well aware this is what Tristan wanted: to draw him out.
“Go back inside,” Evan instructs, but I refuse, knowing I couldn’t live with myself if this goes south and I wasn’t there to intervene.
Tristan leads Evan around the far side of the Jeep, and then in a complete about-face, he sprints around the back end and heads right for me.
Shit. He didn’t want Evan; he wanted to get Evan away from me.
I turn and take the stairs two at a time, hoping I can get to the door with enough of a head start to make it through. But Tristan’s legs are longer, and he gains ground on me as I reach the top of the stairwell. I dive to the landing, curling up into a ball to try and protect myself from the worst of his assault. He slashes the knife down toward my leg, but it doesn’t cut deep, glancing off my flesh and leaving only a light cut.
I cry out in equal parts shock and pain, daring to peek out at what comes next, yet I find why it is Tristan didn’t strike me as hard as I expected.
Evan has his arms wrapped underneath Tristan’s, pulling his shoulders back so that he can’t get enough range of movement to slash again.
I scramble to my feet, yanking the keys out and fumbling with them as the men grunt and wrestle against each other. Tristan pushes backward as I slot the key in the lock, and Evan loses his footing.
Sirens wail as the police approach the gate.
The men tumble backward.
My life slows to a crawl before my eyes.
I turn back to the stairs as Tristan rolls over top of Evan, the knife slipping from his grasp and clattering to the next landing down. Both men untangle themselves, getting back to their feet as the sirens become a deafening scream at the bottom of the stairs.
Tristan spins, placed between Evan and myself, and decides to make another dash for me. I lunge for the key still hanging from the door and twist it hard, yet he manages to get his arm around my waist, pulling the handle from my grasp as he wrenches me backward.
The air leaves my lungs, despair filling them in its wake. I’ve failed—drawn the monster out of hiding and failed to keep Briar safe. Why did I think it would come to any less than this? Why did I think time could change things?
I’m still just a girl; weak and helpless against a force like Tristan. Bravado stands for nothing when you literally can’t break free of your tormentor’s hold.
Evan curls his arm around Tristan’s neck as I wrestle in his hold, pushing against Tristan’s chest with my free hand. Evan’s added assault gives me the distraction and time I need to be able to break away. I twist the key, push the door open, and look back in time to see Evan throw his weight backward, pulling Tristan down the stairs with him. The men roll and crash to the landing as an officer yells out, making his way up from the bottom.
Help is here. The whole ordeal is seconds from being over. Relief washes through me, quickly replaced by ice-cold fear as I see Tristan clamber over top of Evan to reach for the damn knife that lies discarded against the wall of the stairwell.
“No!”
I can’t get down the stairs fast enough, and the attending officer doesn’t realise what’s going on until it’s too late.
Tristan braces the handle of the knife against his stomach, and then throws his weight on top of Evan as he tries to wrestle out from beneath him.
I thought the cries of that damn dog would be the sound that forever haunted me, but I guess I never knew the sound of my love being torn from my soul until now, the sound of forever becoming never.
The second officer wrenches Tristan off Evan as he bellows in pain, forcing Tristan’s arms behind his back and cuffing him, but the damage is done.
My ankle rolls in my haste to make the last two steps to the landing.
“No, baby no,” I moan, collapsing beside him.
“Leave it,” he grinds out as I reach for the blade protruding from his side. “It’ll bleed less if you leave it in.” He grits his teeth, dropping his head back to the landing as he closes his eyes.
The attending officer shoves Tristan toward their partner while calling in the incident on the radio.
But it doesn’t matter how quickly the ambulance responds, it won’t be fast enough. Not when the blood already pools beneath Evan’s midsection. Not when he’s rigid with the pain. And not when I can’t do a damn thing to fix him.
“Help’s on the way,” I say through my tears, feeling a million shades of useless as I literally watch the life pour from the man I can’t live without—not again. Not when there are no more second chances.
Evan smiles, rolling his head to face me as I shake uncontrollably, rocking on my knees.
“I saved you this time, babe.” He sighs, closing his eyes. “I saved you when it mattered most.”
His expression relaxes, his face falling slack as he exhales a long, heavy breath.
“No!” I pound his chest, slap at his face … anything to snap him out of it.
The police officer returns, ushering me aside as he throws down a first aid kit and places a large gauze dressing around the blade. “Apply pressure like this. You might need to use both hands.”
I can barely see what I’m doing through the constant stream of tears, my heart failing to beat properly as adrenalin rips through my body.
The officer checks Evan’s pulse, and feels underneath him to gauge how far through the knife has gone. He frowns, searching frantically through his kit, and then as Evan lets out a shaky breath, the officer stills.
My breath lodges in my throat as I watch him intently. “What’s going on?”
He places his ear to Evan’s mouth, fingers on the pulse point in his neck.
No. No, no, fucking no. Not him. Not now. No. Just no.
The compressions start, my hands still firmly lodged around the knife in Evan’s side as the officer begins resuscitation.
“They’re less than five away,” the second cop calls out as she climbs the stairs.
“Aunty?”
God, no. The door. I left the door open.
“Briar, stay there.” I look to the female officer through my tears, and jerk my chin to Evan’s wound. “Can you take over?”
“Sure.” She drops to her knees, placing her hands over mine so as apply continuous pressure when I pull mine away.
The loss of touch hits me hard, like I’m cutting the cord from him, letting him go.
I’m not ready. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it.
As much as it pains me to leave Evan, I leap up the stairs to where Briar stands wide-eyed, watching the two uniformed officers struggle to bring Evan back.
“Come inside, honey.” I reach out, only to pull my hand back when I realise it’s covered in Evan’s blood.
“What are they doing?”
“Trying to help,” I choke out. “And we can help too by staying out of the way.”
He allows me to shepherd him inside with my legs, and I steer him toward the living room. I duck into the kitchen and frantically wash my hands, having to stop every so often to wipe the tears from my face with my shoulders. Briar sits perched on the edge of the sofa, aware something’s not right, but unable to grasp the severity of the situation just yet.
“Where’s your lion, mate?”
“In my bed.”
“How about you go put a jumper on, and then grab your cuddly, okay?”
He nods, slipping off the seat to retrieve the things I’ve asked for. My legs buckle beneath me, and I sob as I listen to the sounds of the ambulance officers shouting instructions on the stairwell.
Briar rounds the end of the counter, peering down at me before he wordlessly climbs in my lap.
“He’s dying, isn’t he, Aunty?”
“Yeah, buddy.” I hiccup through my tears. “I think he is.”
“It’s okay, Aunty,” he whispers. “Mum will take care of him.”