AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Three
Cole
Something primal overtook me when I heard Zoe’s landlord banging on that door. The barrier that’s meant to keep them tucked safely inside while sealing out any danger.
The guy is owed money. I get it.
As a business owner, I’ve had my fair share of non-paying customers, but I’ve never used such force to get my point across, especially not toward a woman and her kid. He already has the upper hand. He has his letter. The police would be on his side if Zoe didn’t comply, and yet he still found the need to pound on her door like he was about to kick it in and put his hands on her.
On them.
I wanted to leap up and rip the door open—to tell the landlord we could damn read and that Zoe and Zander would be out by the deadline. I bet his attitude would’ve changed when he laid eyes on a six foot six, two hundred and forty-pound man instead of the five-foot-nothing woman and her fifty-pound kid he was expecting.
But then, something else had stopped me from leaving that tub.
Zander and Zoe.
When we sat, stacked together almost like Russian nesting dolls, my need to stay with them as the biggest doll, the exterior shell, and the protector, made me stay put. It made me keep my arms around them both until the danger left. Then I stayed overnight to make sure the landlord didn’t come back.
But the landlord isn’t the only threat.
There are a half-dozen others, waiting patiently inside the utensil drawer...
I seriously had no intentions of snooping—or leaving until Zoe woke up—but when Zander asked for cereal the following morning, I stumbled across the red notices and letters.
While he munched away, enjoying a cartoon on my phone, and Zoe continued to slumber soundly on the couch, I read them on accident... and then on purpose.
I’d bent down to pick up the two that fell out of the drawer. That’s when I noticed one of the letters was from Child Protective Services concerning Zoe’s guardianship over Zander.
Guardianship.
Suddenly, Zander’s constant use of “Zoe” instead of ‘Mommy’ or ‘Mom’ makes sense because Zander isn’t Zoe’s son. He’s her brother, yet Zoe always referred to him as her kid or baby. I can’t help but wonder why she never corrected me or anyone else in town. Then again, what did it matter? Zoe is Zander’s legal guardian, so wherever his biological parents are, they aren’t in the picture, making Zoe his parent.
His single parent.
That’s a lot for a twenty-two-year-old to take on, especially one who can barely make ends meet, and yet Zoe’s trying her damnedest.
How long has she been struggling just to keep the utilities on and a roof over their heads?
How long has Zander been in her care full-time?
And how long has she been awake that she’s still sleeping when Zander and I return from my workshop and dinner at the diner that afternoon?
I had reservations about taking him without Zoe’s permission and even more hesitations about leaving Zoe alone. Not just because of her aggressive landlord but because I knew she’d be sick with worry over Zander.
On the other hand, Zander was bouncing off the walls with energy. Energy I didn’t want to disturb Zoe with, so I’d sent her text updates every thirty minutes. I never got a response back.
As I tuck Zander into bed by seven thirty p.m. and Zoe still doesn’t rouse, it’s clear she’s barely been functioning. Merely running off of adrenaline and caffeine fumes to keep going. Now her body has finally given up. I itch with the need to care for them, make things better, and keep them safe.
Watching over Zander through the open bedroom door—and Zoe now as I settle beside her on the couch—scratches that itch. That protective desire is only growing stronger by the minute.
If she were mine, I’d take care of them. She would never need to overwork herself like this again, spreading herself so thin that I’m surprised she hasn’t fallen apart. She wouldn’t have to be in this alone anymore. I’d be her rock. I’d be who she leans on when she’s overwhelmed.
I wish I could keep her in my arms all the time. It felt so right to hold her back in the tub—to comfort her and keep her safe. I can imagine holding her every night in our bed; if I could do just that, it would be enough. But I know it will take more time to earn her trust, trust I don’t want to take advantage of while she’s so vulnerable.
I gaze down at her, sleeping peacefully now. For once, her forehead isn’t wrinkled with worry or stress. This might be the only time I’ve ever seen her fully relaxed.
Leaning down to brush a lock from her face, I can’t help but press a kiss to her forehead, wishing I had the right to kiss her lips instead. From now on, I’ll do whatever I can to help her be as relaxed as she is now.
