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I jumped out of bed, moving so fast I didn’t even know what I was doing, my body carrying me before my mind could catch up.
“No, no no no,” I muttered, my eyes scanning the room. “It’s not possible, it can’t be.”
Henry.
“Stay right here,” I instructed her. “Don’t move.”
“Carter—”
I ran to Henry’s room and threw open the door.
He was already awake, as always, waiting for me to come in and for our day to begin.
“Daddy!”
My boy was safe. I breathed a sigh of relief. I rushed over to him, holding his face between my hands and inspecting him for any sign of damage. Thank God, I found none.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” he asked innocently. Like they say, kids are always more perceptive than adults.
“Nothing, kiddo. Why don’t you go have your morning potty and brush your teeth?”
He catapulted out of bed, heading to the bathroom. I followed two steps behind him and, when he arrived at the bathroom, I slipped in first, pulling back the shower curtain, even looking behind the toilet, making sure the coast was clear.
Phew. That would buy me enough time.
“Phoebe!” I called into my room through the semi-closed door. “Could you come out here for a second?”
There was the sound of rustling, blankets being thrown, then Phoebe emerged.
“What is it?” she whispered, propping an elbow up against the door.
I positioned myself so that I could see into the bathroom with one eye and watch Phoebe with another. Henry was still in there, safe and happily washing his hands and reaching for his toothbrush.
In a low, even voice, making sure my words weren’t audible to Henry, I replied, “You need to get the fuck out of town.”
Phoebe went white. Well, whiter than she already was, anyways.
“Excuse me?” She was both aghast and pissed, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now. Feelings matter less than physical safety.
“You need to leave. Now.”
Her face went from white to red. “If you’ll recall, Carter, I can’t. That’s sort of why you came into the picture. And the part doesn’t come until, what, tomorrow? So, sorry, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
I knew she was mad, I heard that, but I didn’t have time.
Meghan was coming.
No, correction.
Meghan was here.
And she would stop at nothing, especially if there was another woman around me. Phoebe had to get the hell out of town, far away from me, before it was too late. If she wouldn’t go willingly, I’d just have to push her.
“Stay away from me,” I snarled.
“Daddy?” Henry said from the bathroom.
“You haven’t brushed for two minutes,” I told him, before turning to Phoebe and hissing, “Meghan is here. That’s what that match is. It means she is here, in Rough and Ready, and she has been in my house, and could be right now.”
Phoebe swallowed, I guess having suspected as much. “It’s okay,” she said firmly. “I know she’s crazy, but there’s strength in numbers. I’m not gonna leave you now, not with such an unhinged person so close to you and Henry. It’s not safe. Besides, maybe the match doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“You’re wrong. You’re wrong on all counts.” Phoebe just wasn’t getting it. “I’ve lived through this before, and I know when it’s coming.”
“Carter, please—”
“I cannot protect you both,” I spat out. “She is coming for me, yes, but she’s also coming for my son. And I have to focus on keeping him safe.”
“Yes, of course, I know, but I can help you.”
She was pleading now. Why did Phoebe need to make this harder than necessary? Couldn’t she understand I was just trying to defend everyone against Meghan, a mistake that I had allowed into my life, and for whom I took full responsibility? God, why was Phoebe making this so fucking difficult?
“Call a cab,” I told her. Henry’s tooth brushing had slowed. I didn’t have much time. “Get the fuck out of town while you still can.”
“We can be a team.”
I ignored this, averting my eyes from hers. She wasn’t getting it. I mean, how could she? Sure, I’d told her the whole story, but that had been in the past — it didn’t feel real. And I understood that, in her mind, a match on a pillow was weird, but it wasn’t a death sentence. She had not lived through my trauma, endured my pain. Phoebe was, fundamentally, a stranger to my truths, and no matter how much I told her, it is impossible to inform as well as lived experience.
Meghan had not successfully killed — yet. It was just dumb luck that I’d lived. I wasn’t willing to roll the dice a second time — not with my son, and not with Phoebe. We’d only met each other two days ago, and already, I knew that I did not want to live in a world where she was dead. Even if I never saw her again after she drove off, so be it. It’d be enough to just know that she was alive.
