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Across the cafeteria, a set of grandparents were trying to get an energetic toddler with aBig Brothert-shirt to eat his lunch.
It was the first time in my life I understood the concept of a “uterus explosion” or even “baby fever.” Before, kids had always been, you know, nice from a distance. The same way a luxury car or a mansion was nice from a distance. Interesting to think about, but totally outside the realm of possibilities for your life.
Now, though, for the first time, it did seem possible. I had someone in my life. I cared about him. Maybe more than I should have so soon. And he, in turn, cared about me. Guys who didn’t, wouldn’t call themselves your boyfriend.
And, suddenly, I was looking at that kid and seeing the potential there.
A little blonde-haired kid with Alaric’s green eyes. Maybe my love of kids. But his ease with strangers.
“That’s enough of that,” I mumbled to myself as I choked down the rest of my coffee in big gulps, then moved to stand, tossing my cup, then taking the two for the guys with me back toward the elevators.
I figured I’d happened to queue up with two families about to head up to visit their loved ones, judging by the flowers, snacks, and books people were bringing up, and the way they all rushed into the elevators together.
“We can squeeze,” a man in the second car offered.
“I’ll take the next,” I said, giving him a smile.
But when the next one came, another group moved inside, leaving no room for me.
Okay then.
It was like the universe was telling me to just take the stairs. And, admittedly, I’d been kind of lazy lately, letting Alaric do the extra walks with Frida.
I could probably use the exercise of taking the stairs. It was only a couple of flights.
Decision made, I went in that direction.
I was one and a half flights up when I heard the door below me open, then click closed again.
For no good reason, other than being a woman and being raised since grade school to be terrified of being in an isolated location with a stranger, my anxiety soared, making me start to climb a little faster.
When I heard the footsteps, coming up at a dead run, that anxiety ratcheted right up to the ‘we’re out of lifeboats’ territory.
Some part of it felt silly, but I started to run myself.
But, well, I was built for long, leisurely walks, not running up stairs.
My chest felt constricted as the hot coffee spilled over my hands, and I fought the urge to just drop them and keep going.
“Nice try, bitch,” a voice said, just a second before I felt a hand grab my arm, yanking hard enough that I was sure I was going to fall backward, cracking my head against the cement steps.
But the fingers bruised into my arm, keeping me in place.
I don’t know where the instinct came from.
I whipped around, raising my arm, and taking aim, tossing the hot liquid into my attacker’s face.
Somehow, I knew even without having seen him, who it was.
The bald guy with the red and black ink.
He’d seemed big from far away, but up close, he was massive. Even two steps above him, I was only eye-to-eye with him.
“Fuck,” he roared, his hand releasing me to swipe the coffee off his face.
I didn’t stop to think.
I just turned and ran.
