He won’t tell us who the woman is—or how he knows her. Only that she’s “important.”
“Darius?” I pull out my phone and text him a number. “I trust Matt with my life. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll hook you up with anything you need.”
“Thank you. I admit, you are not what I expected,” he says. “I hope they will be all right.”
The plane touches down, and I tighten my arms around Mateen.
“I hope so too.”
* * *
Three Days Later
Mateen thuds down the stairs,his hair standing up in all directions. “Nomar?”
“In the kitchen, kiddo. You want pancakes or bacon and eggs this morning?”
“Pancakes. Is Maman going to come down today?” He stares up at the second floor and worries his lower lip between his teeth.
“I don’t know. But if anything can help her feel better, it’s a batch of chocolate chip pancakes. Want to help?”
“Okay.” He climbs up on the stool next to me, and I hand him a bowl. “Crack the eggs in there, then use the whisk and beat them until they’re all one color.”
He focuses intently on his task while I measure out the dry ingredients. Someone cleaned up the mess I left in Lisette’s entryway and fixed her door, so for the past three days, we’ve been holed up in her house pretending to be a family.
The EMTs in Dubai stitched up five deep wounds across her back, and gave her a portable CT scan. She was damn lucky. No internal bleeding. Nothing broken. But they warned me she’d take weeks to fully heal.
Mateen didn’t blink an eye the first night when he climbed into bed with Lisette and found me next to her. He simply lay down between us and fell asleep.
He laughs for the first time when I flip the pancakes over and he sees the chocolate chips arranged in a smiley face. I have to rummage in the small fridge for a moment so he doesn’t see me with tears in my eyes.
Even with everything he’s been through in his short life, he’s still kind. Sensitive. Observant. He understands more than the average nine-year-old. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t asked when I’m leaving again.
Because he knows I’m not going anywhere.
Once he’s settled on the couch with his plate and Panama vs. Brazil on the TV, I carry a tray upstairs to Lisette’s bedroom.
She’s managed to sit up on her own, though from the lack of color in her cheeks, it cost her. “Fuck. Use the bell, sweetheart. I would have come right up.”
“It was going to hurt either way,” she says simply. “And I am not helpless.”
“No. But youareinjured. I’ll get you a pain pill.”
She catches my fingers in hers before I can reach for the bottle on the nightstand. “They make me dizzy, and I want to talk to you.”
I set the tray on her dresser and crawl back into bed next to her. She’s slept so much since we got back, and Mateen hasn’t wanted to be far from her side. We’ve playeda lotof FIFA in this room. I even taught him how to make a blanket fort.
Lisette snuggles against my chest. One of her hands slides under my t-shirt to play with the barbs piercing my nipples.
“Fuck, sweetheart. We can’t. Not yet.”
“I know.” She smiles, and though her eyes are wan, she looks more like herself than she has since she was taken. “But I can dream. In a few days, maybe.”
Lisette wraps her hand around the back of my neck and pulls me close to kiss me. She’s slept in my arms. Cried in them when the pain got to be too much. I’ve helped her to the bathroom. Held her in the tub. Washed her hair. But doing more…felt wrong. I needed her to take that first step.
“Nomar, before we went to the market, I was so scared. IknewRaziq would kill me, and I thought…if I told you I loved you, it would make everything worse. That if I held onto the words and kept them only for me, that no one could take them from me. Not even him.” A tear shimmers in her eye. “But as soon as his men took me, I knew I had been wrong. Because I do love you. I should have told you then. And every day since.”
“I love you, Lisette. I’ve loved you for three years, and I don’t plan on stopping. Ever.” Sliding a hand into her hair, I touch my forehead to hers. “I want us to be a family. I want dates, long walks along the river, and hours spent in bed exploring one another. But, I also want pancake breakfasts, parent-teacher conferences—do they have those in France?—and all those cold football matches in the rain.”
