I’m still going to my therapy sessions twice a week, and I’ve really noticed a difference in myself. I’m slowly rediscovering what I loved about my job, even without Bennett here. Making more of an effort with Anderson and the other guys on the same shift rotation as me has helped, and Chief Sanders mentioned to me yesterday that he’s noticed a difference in me too.
Going into the field isn’t as scary as it felt when I first came back almost two months ago. Instead of the anxiety and dread, there’s just the adrenaline and urgency that make me good at my job as both a first responder and firefighter.
We haven’t had any massive fires, but there’s been a few that I feel the familiar threat of freezing overwhelm me. I’ve been able to use the strategies for my PTSD I’ve learned in my therapy sessions to help me overcome them.
Grabbing an energy drink from the fridge, I make my way back upstairs, hearing that my sister has arrived.
The morning goes perfectly, and I find myself looking around the table and feeling my heart grow exponentially at seeing my mom, my sister, and Rumi getting along so well.
I don’t even try to get a word in, wanting the three of them to talk as much as they want. I make sure Evee is eating and has what she needs, so Rumi can focus on the conversation and not have to worry about her.
Before I know it, two whole hours have gone by just listening to the three of them chat.
“How’s the child support filing going?” Emerson asks Rumi. I reach a hand behind Rumi’s chair, knowing that she has talked to both my sister and Ava about her decision to file for child support for Evee, but Trevor is not her favorite thing to talk about.
“Okay, I guess,” she says, explaining to my sister that there’s been little movement with the process since the local child support enforcement agency sent over a court-ordered paternity test to Trevor’s last known address. “We’re still waiting for the court to prove paternity.”
“The whole process can really be a headache,” my mom says, speaking from her own experience of having to file for child support when my dad left.
I’ve told my mom very little about Rumi’s past, mostly because I didn’t think it was right to give her details that were Rumi’s to tell. She’s aware that Evee’s birth father isn’t involved with her and how Rumi plans on keeping it that way, and she knows there’s a history of domestic violence.
“Has he tried to contact you at all?” my sister asks as she helps clean Evee up, wiping her face with a wet paper towel and grabbing her one of those flappy books she loves from the basket of toys my mom bought for her and setting it on the tray of the high chair.
I was pretty much holding my breath when Rumi saw that my mom bought Evee toys, waiting for her to say how my mom didn’t have to do that. But she surprised me when she thanked her, telling her how excited Evee would be to come visit her again.
“Thankfully, no. I was already nervous for the paternity test to be sent, but luckily it’s from the court,” Rumi explains.
It’s been a concern of hers from the beginning that Trevor might be able to find her if she decided to file for child support, but, as far as we know, her address and other information is protected. But, since paternity cases are localized by county, there is a chance Trevor would be able to figure out where Rumi is.
She is adamant that Trevor won’t bother trying to contact her in any way, but it’s something I keep in the back of my mind, knowing that there’s a chance.
“And you’ll let me know if you ever need anything?” my mom asks Rumi. They’re seated next to each other, so my mom rests her hand on top of Rumi’s. “I’d be happy to help with Evee or anything else you might need.”
I press my leg against Rumi’s under the table, knowing this can’t be easy for her. As someone who missed out on a chanceto have a mother and isn’t used to being part of a family, I know this all might be overwhelming for her.
Rumi flips her hand, holding on to my mom’s. “Thank you, Angela.”
That’s my girl.
CHAPTER 32
JACK
“This is definitelynotwhat we should be doing in the library right now,” Rumi whispers against my lips.
I have her trapped between my arms in a dark corner of the Northshore Public Library, having stopped by when she texted me that she and Ava were bringing Evee to an event with a local author of a popular children’s book.
I’ve been feeling like a teenager lately with how much I want to get into her pants, reminding myself that we are taking things slow, but the memory of the night in the bed of my truck, feeling her fall apart on my fingers, seeing the way she looked when she comes, has been on my mind for weeks now.
The two of us have yet to get past what I can only consider as heavy petting—steamy makeout sessions in the car, teetering on the edge of second base, and me going home with no other choice but to jack off in the shower.
But tomorrow night is the night. My mom is watching Evee overnight, and Rumi is spending the night at my place.
“We’re going to get caught,” she whispers, but I press my lips to hers, feeling her moan against me as I grip her hips tight, pushing against her so she can feel how much I want her. “I have to get back to Evee and Ava.”
And I need something to hold me over until tomorrow—the anticipation is killing me, and I know it’s killing her too.
“What you need to do is stay quiet.” I’ve been coming to this library since I was a kid, and I know no one ever comes back into this section of government documents, right next to the microfilm and archive room.
