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Prologue
PARKER
Six months earlier
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawthorne,” the concierge tells me as I walk through the revolving door of what used to be my apartment building. “The downstairs neighbor has complained four times already today.”
Striding to the elevator bank at the end of the lobby, I press the button incessantly. I can hear everything he’s saying, but worry makes it impossible to take any of it in while I keep checking my phone for a reply to my unanswered texts.
The worst is beaming in my mind. Perhaps Heather’s so out of it, she can’t hear Easton crying. Maybe today is the day that she’s overdosed. What if he’s scared? Or worse, what if he’s hurt?
Fuck, I’ve never hated Heather so much in my life. More so than all those times she’s used him to get into my wallet or even the day she turned up here with the positive pregnancy test. A smile on her face made it appear like it was something we had planned. It wasn’t.
Never in a million years did I think that we would have a child together. It wasn’t meant to be like this.
The elevator doors ping open, and as I get in and press the penthouse button, the doorman looks at me morosely. “I tried to call her and knocked on the door, but it was only making the baby cry more.”
“Thanks,” I croak.
There’s more, as he puts out his hand to stop the doors from closing, but he pulls back as I press the button for the top floor again. The only priority right now is for me to get to my boy. Until I set eyes on him and know that he’s all right, I won’t be able to compute anything.
With another gut-splitting ding, the doors open into the grand lobby. The double entry of the apartment stares back at me as my heart pounds at my ribs. The keys I pull from my pocket weigh a ton in my grasp, making me fluster while I try to open the door.
“Heather!” I yell when the lock refuses to budge.
The damn security latch is on, making it impossible to turn the key. Without a second thought, I rear back and kick the door below the lock with the flat of my foot. The sound of the impact thunders around me, and the silence is filled with Easton’s sudden cries, making the rage inside me roar as I use my entire body to burst through the door.
Nothing but bleakness greets me, along with a stench that makes me heave. Trying to make out all the shadows of what once was my home, I head into the open-plan living area. All the blinds are shut. However, the thin sliver of light from the entry hall allows me to navigate toward the playpen in a corner of the kitchen, tucked behind the island.
“Hey, buddy,” I coo, trying to calm Easton while I pick him up.
Screaming, he paws at my chest, rubbing his face into my shirt. He’s saturated and smelly. The thin sleep suit he’s wearing is struggling to hold his diaper.
“Daddy’s here now.” The coo does nothing to calm him. My hold isn’t enough to comfort him, and I have no idea what to do apart from tightening my arm around him as I kick all the shit on the floor out of the way and flip the lights on. “What the fuck?”
Turning to look back, I find her rocking in the utility room doorway. Trembling hands cover her ears while my son continues shrieking.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The strangled shout makes Easton’s cries louder.
This is the first time I’ve seen him this way. Entirely inconsolable. Soiled and so fucking dirty that he looks like he’s been diving into trash cans or maybe crawling around the hovel I’m standing in.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice calm as Heather tries to stand, but her legs give.
Maybe she’s still fucked from whatever she took, or perhaps she’s hurt.
I fucking hope she’s hurt. The thought twists my gut with guilt, making me silently take back my wish.
I must be out of my mind as I reach down and help her onto her feet, guiding her to the cluttered kitchen counter so she can support herself.
“We’re done,” I growl my anger at her. “You’re done. I want you out.”
“N-n-no…” she coughs.
Clumps of knotted blonde hair fall in front of her face, giving her a deranged look when she glances up at me through them. Her entire body is shaking. It’s no wonder she’s struggling to hold herself up.
Dragging in hiccuped breaths, she pulls herself closer along the counter. Meanwhile, I step back, still trying to soothe my little boy. Even in the warm light, he’s pallid and shivering almost as badly as she is.
“I want you out, and I want you gone.”
