“I was so scared,” he whispers against my neck.
I lean back to look at him. “It’s okay now, baby. Where’s Jackson?”
Tommy points over his shoulder, then takes my hand and leads me into the house. The interior is almost completely bare.
I tell myself not to judge—my own place is pretty bare too, since we just moved in—but this is ridiculous. There are empty beer cans on the counter and cigarette burns in the carpet.
In one of the bedrooms, there’s a mattress on the floor with Jackson sound asleep in the middle of it. I kneel down beside him and feel his forehead. He feels normal, not feverish.
“He fell asleep after I gave him his shot,” Tommy says, hovering anxiously beside me.
I force a smile. “You did good, sweetie. Really good.”
Tommy’s eyes shift to something behind me. “Hi, Dread.”
I turn to Dread’s standing in the doorway.
“Hey, kid,” he says, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it.
Tommy looks up at me with pleading eyes. “Can we go home? Please?”
“Yes, baby. We’re going home right now. I’m not leaving you here another second.” I silently vow that Eddie will be lucky if I ever let him see the boys again after this.
Dread steps further into the room. “Get the boys’ stuff. I’ll carry Jackson to the truck.”
I nod, watching as this big, strong badass covered in tattoos gently scoops my sleeping six-year-old into his arms. Jackson doesn’t even stir, just snuggles against Dread’s broad chest.
He’s an enigma, I think, watching them. I judged him at first because of his appearance, because of what I thought I knew about bikers. On paper, Eddie would look like the better man, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Shaking off those thoughts, I turn to Tommy. “Grab your bag and slip on your shoes, okay?”
He nods and hurries to do as I’ve asked.
I grab Jackson’s bag from the corner of the room and head to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator to get Jackson’s insulin pens, my heart sinks when I see that the only thing inside is my son’s medication. No food, not even a bottle of water.
Before I can burst into tears, Dread comes into the kitchen and reaches for Jackson’s bag.
“The boys are in the truck. Jackson’s still asleep,” he says.
“He’s a hard sleeper,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “Always has been.”
Dread looks down at me, his green eyes filled with concern. “You okay?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak without crying.
Without hesitation, he pulls me into a hug, his strong arms enveloping me. “It’ll be okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got all of you.”
I let myself sink into his embrace for a moment, drawing strength from his solid presence. “Thank you,” I whisper against his chest.
“Ain’t no thing, but a chicken wing,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest.
I can’t help but laugh despite the situation. “You’re a strange man, Dread.”
“Call me Caleb,” he says, pulling back to look at me.
“Caleb.” I smile up at him. “It suits you.”
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
