Second Chance SEAL(178)

“After you, princess,” I said to her.

She reached into the car, got Mason, and headed up the stoop.

I followed, my stomach a knot. I was worried I was too close to this, worried that Omar had followed, and worried about what was going to happen with Mason.

I was going to have to pull my shit together.

I had work to do.





Chapter 17





Tara





I woke up with a start, thin light spilling in through the unfamiliar window.

I looked around the room. White walls, ceiling fan with a bare bulb attached, closet door.

So this was the safe house. I was chased from my home just to stay in some run-down, empty house in a shit neighborhood. My back was aching from sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress, and the place smelled strange.

And suddenly I felt a stab of panic. Where was Mason?

I sat up and sighed. His portable crib was set up on the other side of my bed, and he was sleeping soundly.

Last night had been a long night. As soon as we got to the safe house, Emory started checking out the place. I scoped out a room and started setting Mason up. Fortunately, he went right to sleep.

And I wasn’t too far behind him. I hadn’t realized how incredibly exhausted I was, how absolutely tired down to my bones I felt. From the moment all of this started, I felt like I was constantly on the move, getting yanked in every direction.

Just as I started to stretch and really wake up, I heard Mason begin to stir. Instead of letting him start his usual morning cry, I got up and picked him up.

“Good morning, little man,” I said, giving him the sniff test. “Let’s get you changed and fed.”

It didn’t take me long to get him into a fresh diaper and some clean clothes. I envied him a little bit and wished someone would just take my body and put fresh, clean clothes on me.

Instead, I carried Mason downstairs in the same clothes I’d worn the day before and slept in. I felt gross and worn down, but at least I was safe.

It was empty downstairs. The living room was wide with a door leading to the kitchen in the back and a short hallway leading toward the basement door and the downstairs bathroom. There was a single blue couch, a coffee table, and an old, enormous television resting on a big, wood TV stand.

I carried Mason into the kitchen. The wallpaper was yellow and peeling, but it looked relatively clean. The back door was covered in locks, each one firmly shut, which made me feel a little bit better.

I sat down at the kitchen table. “Hungry?” I asked Mason, and I lifted up my shirt.

He wasn’t eating long before I heard a creak in the other room. Emory appeared in the doorway, staring down at me, his eyes slightly wide.

“Never seen a woman breastfeed before?” I asked him.

“I didn’t realize you did that,” he said.

“How did you think Mason ate?”

“Formula, I guess. It was always in a bottle.”

“Breast milk,” I said, smiling at him. “Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about this?”

“Not squeamish,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “Just surprised me. Isn’t he too old for that?”

“How old do you think he is?”

Emory made a face. “Not sure. Five months?”

“Close enough. You’re supposed to breastfeed babies for the first six months, or until they want to start eating real food. I think he’s probably almost ready.”

“He’s in luck then,” Emory said, opening the refrigerator, “because I’m making breakfast.”

“With what?”

He pulled out eggs, bacon, pancake batter, orange juice, and coffee. “Well look at this,” he said. “Someone went shopping late last night.”

I laughed. “Where’d you get all that?”

“After you fell asleep I found an all-night grocery store.”

“Thanks. I’m starving.”

He started cooking then and put on a pot of coffee. Mason finished eating, so I held him in my lap, bouncing him slightly.

The smell of delicious breakfast food filled the kitchen. I took a deep breath and smiled to myself. Nothing made me feel better than a big mug of coffee and a bunch of delicious breakfast foods. Nothing in the world was better than some nice, thick bacon fried crispy.

Except for maybe the way Emory could make me feel with just his fingers.

I sighed, shaking my head. I couldn’t let myself think about that. Sure, we were alone in this house, but the house was pretty bleak. It looked like nobody had been in it in a long time, and the dust was pretty thick. I planned on cleaning it up soon, if at least to make it livable for us.

Because who knew how long we were going to be staying there.

“Where’s Travis?” I asked after a bit.

“Around,” Emory said. “Bacon?”