We build the stew in layers—rendered bacon, seared chicken, sautéed mushrooms, caramelized pearl onions, garlic, carrots. Then we add the tomato paste, sprinkle in flour to thicken, and finally pour in an entire bottle of bold red wine. Luna tucks in a few bay leaves, a generous handful of thyme, and a final grind of pepper before clamping on the lid.
The oven door thuds shut once again. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and catch Luna watching me.
“Now, we just have to wait,” she says softly.
“I hate waiting.”
“I know.”
From their bedroom, I hear the boys shouting at their game, their uncle Noah’s voice laughing. Even though it’s a Monday, it feels like Sunday dinner.
And then my phone rings.
I snatch it up so fast I nearly drop it. “Beckett?”
“This is Agent Sugarbaker,” the woman says. “Mrs. Carrington, do you have a pencil and paper? I’m going to give you an address.”
Address for what? A holding facility? An arraignment? Do I need to make bail?
“Go ahead,” I say quickly, already reaching for the nearest pen, my hand shaking hard enough that I have to steady it against the counter.
She gives me the address, repeats it once, then adds, “Bring identification. And make sure no one from the press is following you.”
That’s it. She doesn’t give me a chance to ask questions.
When the call ends, I just stare at the address. I have no idea where that even is.
But, hey, that’s what GPS is for.
I grab clothes from the back of our closet for Beckett—just in case—jeans, a button up, socks, fresh underwear. I shove them into a tote along with our checkbook, my wallet, a new toothbrush.
Before I head out, I stop at the boys’ bedroom. Blakey is kneeling on the floor, and Max is standing on one foot, both gripping their controllers, absorbed in their Avengers game. Captain America is mid-battle on the screen.
“Hey, guys?” My voice is softer than usual.
They pause the game immediately and look over. Blakey’s face falls. “Are you leaving?”
“Just for a little bit,” I say, walking over and crouching between them. “I’m going to see Dad.”
Their eyes widen.
“He’s okay,” I say quickly. “I promise. I talked to someone who’s with him. But I need to go make sure, and bring him a few things.”
“But he needs to come home,” Max says. Because home is where dads belong.
“We’ll have to wait and see…” I don’t want to scare them, but I don’t want to promise something I have no control over.
“Then can we come?” Blakey asks, hopeful.
“Not this time, bud.” I touch his cheek. “But I’ll bring him a message. Anything you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him I made it to the boss level.” Max grins, though it wavers.
Blakey hugs me without a word, arms tight around my neck. I close my eyes and hold them both, hard.
“I love you guys more than anything,” I whisper.
“We love you too,” they say in unison, and for a second, I almost can’t let go.
