Page 81 of Breakaway

“The bathroom,” Col deadpans, looking between the two of us with suspicion. I’m sure his brilliant brain is already analyzing the off-handed comment I made when I walked in on him, fresh from a shower, and we became intimately acquainted with one another’s bodies. It would seem I have a knack for collecting orgasms while in the presence of tiled surfaces. I remain quiet, refusing to confirm or deny anything. Col and I are in a tenuous place as it is, and I’m terrified of being too forward with the others while he’s around. If he needs time to adjust, I’ll do my best to give it to him. That he’s even willing to entertain a relationship that triggers such painful memories is proof that I’m something of worth to him. That I’m more than a way to pass the time.

“Ms. Adams?” A friendly voice calls, alerting me to Dr. Taggart's arrival. Hudson is notably absent, but when she ushers us to the private alcove, I take it we need to have a lengthier conversation than normal. “I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to give you an update on Hudson’s progress.”

“I am, thanks.” I smile in appreciation. “Is everything okay? I passed along our concerns to your assistant when we first arrived, so I’m curious if you have any theories you could share?”

“Ah.” Dr. Taggart hums, flashing me a sympathetic smile. “I understand your worries, but rest assured, healing such a profound wound of the mind can oftentimes be a trying process. It will feel as if you’re taking two steps forward, then one step back. A number of things could be triggering Hudson’s bouts of inconsolability. Perhaps he’s experiencing a flashback, or it could be something as simple as him being afraid of the dark. It’s hard to know definitively when he can’t communicate his needs. I would suggest that you continue as you are–consoling him as best you can in the moment–but if there is a next time, I’d like you to change the scenery. Remove him from the space he’s in and see if that helps any. At this point, it’s more a process of elimination as we try to narrow down the root cause.”

“Okay.” I nod distractedly, trying to think of anything in his bedroom that would elicit such a reaction from him. A toy from his old house, possibly. One that’s connected to a memory of his mother. I feel like I’m grasping at straws, but I’m desperate to figure this out. “We can definitely do that.”

“You’re doing an excellent job, Andi. Try to remember that when the going gets tough. Motherhood isn’t easy.” Dr. Taggart squeezes my arm affectionately. A moment later, her assistant rounds the corner with Hudson. He squeals in excitement, his chunky little legs working overtime as he rushes towards us. I hold my arms out, relieved to see there are no lingering remnants of last night’s episode, but I’m completely gobsmacked when he barrels past me and flings himself at Colsen. Catching sight of my expression, Col’s head falls back in a laugh. He lifts Hudson off his feet and tosses him in the air, the two of them wearing matching grins.

“You have a beautiful family, Ms. Adams. Trust your instincts, but don’t dwell too much on things that are beyond your control. Hudson is making excellent progress, and a large part of how well he’s adapting can be attributed to the sense of safety you’ve fostered,” Dr. Taggart confides, causing the weight on my chest to feel the slightest bit lighter.

After verifying his next appointment time for Wednesday, we decide to head across the street to the park we’ve come to frequent before making the hour drive home. It allows Hudson to burn some energy, and he usually passes out on the ride back to Chaplain. It’s a bit busier than usual, but we find an empty bench and keep a close eye on Hudson as he toddles off to the jungle gym. Briggs remains standing, scanning the playground imperceptibly, while Col takes a seat beside me. I tighten my chunky-knit cardigan, trying to ward off the chill. I can’t wait for warmer weather and to experience a summer with Hudson. A trip to the beach sounds like the cure for all of my ailments, both physically and emotionally. The last time I can recall seeing the ocean was twelve years ago, while visiting a random town in southern California.

I close my eyes, basking in the warm rays of sunlight peeking through the canopy of trees shading us. Col drapes his arm around my shoulder, dragging me closer so the two of us can share body heat. I turn to face him, smiling fondly at his scruffy jawline. Unable to help myself, I press my lips to his cheek, lingering for several seconds to soak up the feel of his skin against mine. As I move to pull away, he cups the back of my head and fuses our mouths together. Kissing Col feels like fireworks are bursting behind my eyelids. Maybe it’s him in general, his magnetism that’s impossible to ignore, or maybe it’s because I haven’t had the fortune of kissing him as much as I’d like. Like the insufferable ass he can be, Briggs ruins the moment by loudly clearing his throat.

“That kid’s pissing me off,” he grunts, arms folding across his chest as he glowers in the general vicinity of the swings. I try to decipher who he’s talking about, but there are too many to pick from.

“Really, Briggs?” Col huffs in exasperation. “A child? Must you pick fights with everyone?”

“He threw mulch at our kid,” Briggs hisses in anger. “So yeah, I absolutely will pick a fight with any and everyone who even thinks about hurting him.” His claiming of Hudson has my eyes pricking with tears, but before I can dissolve into a puddle, Hudson’s piercing cry has me surging to my feet and scanning the playground for his familiar red jacket.

“That’s it,” Briggs snaps, storming towards the swingset. I hurry to follow, my heart beating at a frantic pace. The longer Hudson’s cries go unanswered, the more I begin to panic. When I finally catch sight of him, lying on the ground with a much larger kid sitting on his back, I see red. Brilliant, fiery fucking red. Unfortunately, Briggs beats me to the punch, fisting the back of the child’s sweatshirt and ripping him away. I waste no time scooping Hudson up, holding his trembling body to mine as I try in vain to shudder the anger I’m feeling.

“What the fuck, you little shit?!” The kid swings his leg out, kicking Briggs in the shin, forcing his grip to loosen.

“Excuse me!” An irate blonde woman shrills, planting her hands on her hips to glare at Briggs. “You have no right to manhandle my child!” She’s dressed head-to-toe in workout gear, and I’d bet my meager worldly possessions that she wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her kid’s whereabouts, much less the terrorizing he was doing.

“And your kid has no right to hurt mine, but here we are!” Briggs waves his hand in the general direction of where her child is standing, looking nonplussed by the prospect of being in trouble. “Maybe keep your future felon on a leash, and I won’t have to step in and do your job for you.” The woman’s eyes bulge comically, her sputtering response falling on deaf ears as Briggs takes my hand and leads us to his SUV parked across the street. Col falls into step on my other side, dropping a kiss to the top of Hudson’s head.

My nerves are still rattled by the time Briggs hits the unlock button and pops the tailgate. He plucks Hudson from my arms, his single-minded focus a tad bit scary in its intensity. Placing Hudson on his feet in the cargo area, Briggs tugs his jacket off, then spins him around and lifts his shirt. His eyes scan every inch of Hudson’s skin, but there’s not a mark on him. I exhale in relief, thankful he doesn’t appear to be hurt, but Briggs isn’t content with his findings just yet. He prods Hudson’s spine and joints, ensuring everything is in proper working order, until finally he deflates. After righting Hudson’s clothes, he draws him in for a hug and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

“You’re okay, Huddy Buddy,” Briggs whispers, more to himself than Hudson. Col looks pained as he watches the two of them, obviously knowing something I don’t. I hate that Briggs hasn’t confided in me about his past, but I only want his truths if he’s ready to give them to me. We spend a few more minutes loving on Hudson, trying to erase the altercation from his mind. As if he doesn’t have enough bad memories to contend with, the last thing he needs is a bully targeting him at his favorite park. Once we’ve got Hudson buckled in his car seat, I climb in beside him, much to Col’s dismay. He’s too much of a gentleman to take the front seat without being forced to.

We’re quiet for several minutes, navigating the heavy midday traffic until we reach the highway. Holding Hudson’s hand as he falls asleep, I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the seat, thinking over everything that transpired at the playground. If there’s one thing that’s become abundantly clear since knowing Briggs, it’s that he’s fiercely protective of the people he cares about. But for the life of me, I can’t harmonize the two distinctly different sides of him: the prickly asshole who speaks his mind, regardless of who he’s insulting, and the doctor whose job title surely required a certain level of decorum and bedside manner.

My poorly contained amusement starts as a strangled snort, then devolves into a giggle, and before I know it, I’m outright cackling. Col peers across Hudson’s car seat, his green eyes probing, likely wondering if I’m having some type of episode. His worry for my mental state only spurs me on. Tears streak my cheeks as I finally manage to formulate words.

“Briggs cussed a kid out.” An amused grin takes over Col’s face, and then he, too, is doubled over laughing. Briggs huffs indignantly from the driver’s seat, muttering beneath his breath about the little asshole deserving it.

“You called him a felon,” Col wheezes, our laughter feeding off of one another’s. “You, the one with a rap sheet, had the audacity to label him a criminal.”

“I have misdemeanors, Col. Misdemeanors," Briggs emphasizes.

It takes us a while to pull ourselves together, but the moment of levity was much needed. I haven’t had very many instances in my life where behaving so freely was allowed, and I realize there truly is something magical about laughing until you’re crying. By some miracle, Hudson is still sleeping soundly. He needs the rest after being up and down half the night, but I’m hopeful that Dr. Taggart is on to something and we can narrow down a possible trigger if it continues happening.

“I never realized this before, but it dawned on me earlier that Hudson’s never reacted badly when we’ve taken him to the park,” I comment, feeling guilty that it never occurred to me to slowly reintroduce him to a setting that could potentially resurface traumatizing memories. “You would think if anything would trigger him, it’d be going back to a place that resembles where his mother was killed and he was taken.”

“Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that we didn’t make a big deal of it,” Briggs replies. I tilt my head, trying to decipher the deeper meaning behind his words. Sensing my confusion, he elaborates, saying, “There have been times when I’ve catastrophized something in my head, building it up into this monumental hurdle. But when it actually came time to face whatever it was that I was so afraid of, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it’d be. Sometimes, the anticipation of facing your fear is far worse than the actual fear itself.” I hate that his insight is coming from a place of experience. Leaning forward, I place my hand on his shoulder, wanting him to know that I’m here, that I’ll always be here. And though I might not know the details, I understand the type of pain that changes you on a molecular level.

“Col,” Briggs voices coolly, his sudden shift in attitude making me tense. “That car’s been following us since we left Covey.” Instinctively, I swivel in my seat to try and determine who he’s talking about. “Gray Toyota sedan, late 2000s model.” I immediately spot the vehicle he’s referring to. It’s several cars back, but as Briggs moves to the passing lane, they follow suit a few seconds later.

“Call Raiden,” Col instructs, his hand clenching the back of the passenger seat as he leans forward to check the sideview mirror. The sound of ringing fills the cabin of the SUV, and only a second later Raiden’s voice replaces it.

“I can’t handle another one of your calls if it’s going to end the same way as last time,” Raiden deadpans. “Contrary to popular belief, blowing your load in the office isn’t excitingly dangerous and kinky. It’s sticky and gross and leaves you uncomfortable for the rest of the day.” A blush heats my cheeks as Col looks to me in question, but I turn my head and pretend to be clueless.

“Everything you just said was blasted over the car’s speakers,” Briggs snorts, but his lack of teasing him beyond that lets me know how concerned he is. “We’re being followed. Left Covey thirty minutes ago. They’ve been tailing us since.”