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Chapter Twenty Five
Megan
I’m sitting with Dakota and Erin, watching over the babies as they sleep, or try to, in their travel cribs. We’re at Asher and Audrey’s apartment, and Audrey is puttering in the kitchen, Scott in her arms as she prepares him some food.
It’s been a quiet day. We’ve talked about what the police said, Dakota told us a bit about Zane’s bad night, and we’ve had Tessa on the phone—a very excited, star-eyed Tessa who kept squealing when she talked about how happy she is that Dylan proposed and how in love she is. How she wants to get married with us, and have Kayla make her a last minute gown, and that she couldn’t care less if she went dressed up as a pumpkin as long as she got married to Dylan and had his babies.
Which made us laugh, and it was good, because the other topic hanging over our heads isn’t funny at all.
The police can’t arrest Kenneth Shaw. They can’t do much, in fact, other than ask him politely whether he raped a kid named Zane Madden twelve years ago, and leave him in peace if he denies it.
Unless they catch him drunk off his ass and in a confessional mood, I doubt that will ever happen. I mean the guy has been living his life, without anyone noticing anything off about him.
The thought of him being so close to Zane, to all of us, is turning my blood to ice. I glance at Zay whose tiny fists are resting by his head, his dark eyes blinking sleepily up, and fear lances through me.
The same fear that almost crippled me when I found out I was pregnant with him. That I won’t be able to protect him, to keep him safe, healthy. Keep him alive.
He yawns, a heart-meltingly cute thing, and I snicker, my panicky trance broken.
“What’s the little dude doing now?” Erin leans over to look at him and giggles. “God, he’s a looker.”
“It’s the toothless gums. So gorgeous.” I snicker again.
“Won’t be toothless forever, woman.”
Audrey wanders back into the living room, Scott on one arm and his bowl of food in the other.
I get up. “Should you be carrying him, Aud? He’s pretty heavy.”
She pales. “You think I shouldn’t? Here, take him.” She passes him to me and rubs her hand over her tummy. “I sometimes forget there’s another bun in the oven.”
“That’s because you’re not showing yet.”
Scott babbles at me and pats my face with a saliva-covered little hand. He knows me well, so he doesn’t mind me holding him, and although I’m pretty biased when it comes to my own baby—Zay is definitely the prettiest baby in the whole wide world—Scott comes a close second. A miniature copy of his dad, he has pretty blue eyes and hair so dark it’s almost black.
I wonder if the second baby will look like Audrey with her green eyes and red curls.
“Hungry, Scotty?” I swallow hard, like every time I speak his name, though it’s slowly getting easier.
That was the name of the baby brother I never had because he died before he was born, when Mom was beaten pretty badly by one of her boyfriends. I have always felt what happened was my fault—for not saving him, for not reacting fast enough when it happened.
Rafe has told me repeatedly that there was nothing I could have done, no matter what. That I have to let go of the past.
I’m working on it. Although I talked to mom recently, and she wants to come to the wedding. Should I say yes? Should I see her again?
What if she comes bringing another one of her violent boyfriends along? And am I ready to forgive her for the hell she put me through my childhood and later, when her crazy guy came after me?
God, I’m not sure I can. This wedding is proving more stressful than I thought. I haven’t invited many people. Some friends from the places where I worked before. Raylin, my ex-roommate and her millionaire fiancé, soon-to-be husband, Storm, who will have to fly in from Baltimore. Otherwise, most of our friends are here around me, plus the Damage Boyz and their girls.
I have no family here, other than this.
And I’m happy.
“I keep thinking we should put off the weddings,” Erin says, and I sigh. We have discussed this plenty of times. I think we should go through with them, give everyone a bit of a distraction. Erin thinks we shouldn’t.
Frankly, at this point I don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe she’s right.
Scott sits on my lap quite peacefully, opening his mouth when Audrey wiggles the plastic spoon with his food, and I pet his soft hair. He still smells like a baby—powder and baby shampoo and sweetness—although he’ll turn two in a few months.
