“Maybe we should try the pictures again,” he says as he looks up at me.
I feel his eyes on me and see him out of my periphery. I keep my hands busy so he doesn’t see them shake as I nod. “Yeah, maybe.” If I look at him, I know I’m going to break and start talking more than he wants right now.
A few years ago, I thought looking at pictures of things he was afraid of would help him overcome some of his fears. You know, the whole “start small and ease him into it” thing? I wish I’d done that with cars, but I had no choice when I first got him. I had to get out of there quickly, and the easiest way was with a car. It took him over a year to not have a panic attack as soon as he got in one. He still flinches a bit when he sits in one, but it’s minimal, and he pretends it doesn’t happen. Just like I do. It’s easier to do that than admit that I’m failing him daily.
I want to hug him, to give him some comfort, but other than me bringing him in here, I know he wouldn’t welcome it. Not yet. He’ll come to me when he’s ready. He always does. Just as soon as the ghosts in his mind disappear and he feels safe again.
I don’t know if the picture therapy will help, but it’s not like I’m going to go out and buy a knuckle knife. I stupidly thought we would never see one again. But this is America, so ofcourse people would carry around weapons of all kinds, even at a one-year-old’s birthday party.
I’m not opposed to weapons. I have my own Glock buried at the bottom of my bag and a knife strapped to my ankle under my jeans. But I carry it for a reason—not because I like them but because I have to. How that guy was holding it, it was like he was showing it off. I grind my teeth to hold back my thoughts on the matter. I might not be the best role model for Ollie, but I try to hold in my rants when I can. Especially when he’s vulnerable like this after one of his attacks.
“Here are your clothes, little man. Dry off and get dressed. I’ll wait for you out there.”
He takes them from me, putting on his glasses as he hops off the counter. Kid struggles with a small bit of nearsightedness. He can see fine up close, but it’s blurry far away, enough that he feels uncomfortable when he needs to look beyond just those in front of him. He told me once that if I was there to protect him, then he was going to do all he could to protectmetoo. Even if that meant wearing glasses to just give him one-tenth of a better shot at seeing something that could harm either of us.
I open the door quickly, taking my bag and another towel with me, before shutting it. It’s not even half a second before I hear the door lock. My kid’s smart. These people might seem okay, but we don’t know them enough to keep a door unlocked between us.
I walk to the empty kitchen and put my bag on the island counter before I dry off a bit. I’m not drenched, but I went for a swim with clothes on, and jeans hold water like nothing else does. Wasn’t planning on getting wet when we came here,but I still have an extra pair of clothes in my bag, though I don’t pull them out. A little discomfort won’t hurt, and I don’t want to take the chance of finding a room to change into and not having eyes on Ollie. Like I said, I don’t know these people, not really. I get that they’re in a biker club, and while they don’t seem to be like some of the other biker assholes I’ve met in the past, you never know who a person is till it’s too late.
Just ask Mia.
“He going to be okay?”
I glance at the dick with the knife who caused all this as he walks into the kitchen. I fold the towel and set it on the counter as I nod. Have half a mind to thank him for interrupting my thoughts so I didn’t go down my own version of Ollie’s rabbit holes, but I also want to gut him with the weapon he has.
I chance another glance at him and note that the knife isn’t on him as I look him over.
“Like what you see?”
His drawl of arrogance has me lifting my eyes to his face, which is sporting a smug-as-shit grin. Of course he would assume that I’m checking him out and not looking for something that crumbled the heart and soul of a little boy down the hall.
I turn to him as I cross my arms. “And what might that be? A redneck asshole who thinks so highly of himself that he’s got no problem hitting on a woman whose son had a breakdown because someone thought it was a good idea to play with knives at a kid’s party?”
I watch with glee as the wide smile slips off his face and a glare replaces it. What can I say? I’m a sadist at heart. At least that’s what my brothers would say. But coming from them, it’s a compliment and not an insult.
“Wasn’t playing, just showing off. And before you get your panties in a twist, maybe stop coddling the boy a bit.” He turns to walk off, but I don’t let him.
I take two steps to follow him as I speak. “Excuse the fuck out of me? What the hell did you just say?”
He glances back with that smug grin that just pisses me off. “You heard me.”
“I don’t think I did. ’Cause it sounded like you think I’m babying my kid.”
He shrugs as he turns back around, as if that’s answer enough.
“I’ll have you know that I don’t do that shit with him. He’s of his own mind. Kid’s got more smarts than half the damn people in this place, I bet.”
He snorts at that. “Yeah, but he screams like a girl when he sees a knife.”
I take another step toward him, forcing myself close to him. Too close. Another inch and we’d be touching. His clothes might be dirty, but they don’t hide much. He’s got muscles, I’ll give him that. Every one of the guys here has them. They must all train together or something, but I don’t care about that. His face is pretty enough, framed by his long, rich brown hair. His mustache and beard seem to be an extension of him, and in another life, he would make for a great werewolf replica, but it works on him. Guess he’s evenimmune to silver, since he has a few rings on, including a chunky skull and crossbones on his pinky.
Despite it all, to include the pretty face, he’s a first-class jerk.
I speak low, more to curb my rising anger than to hide what I’m saying to the others around here. “It wasn’tjusta knife but a specific type. And before you get on that high horse of yours, maybe think for one goddamn minute that, while it’s clear that a few of the others outside had a knife or a weapon on them,he”—I point to the still-closed bathroom door down the hall to emphasize my words—“didn’t almost knock the shit out of one of your own who got close to him when he saw theirs. Only when he saw yours. Then he froze with fear and reacted as if fighting for his life.” I watch his glare die, confusion taking its place. “Does that seem like a coddled kid?”
I don’t wait for his reply as I hear the door at the end of the hall open, and I spin back to grab my bag. Throwing it over my shoulder, I turn as Ollie comes up and hands me his swimsuit. I already have the wet bag I keep on me out, so he puts his stuff in it and takes it to carry. We’ll wash it when we get home, then put everything back in our bags and be ready to go at a moment’s notice, like we always do.
“Are you guys leaving?” Maddy’s lyrical voice has us both turning.
