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Once I was done with the living room, I went to Ryan's room to inspect the damage. I hadn't really paid much attention to what, if any, destruction my attacker had caused in my youngest son's room when he'd entered the house that way, so I really didn't know what to expect. My biggest goal, in addition to getting Ryan's space back to normal, was to try and erase the image of the man holding a gun to my son’s head. Realistically, I knew that would likely never happen. I saw that picture every night when I tried to close my eyes and every time I looked at Ryan now, even if he was happy and smiling and communicating in his own unique way, I still only saw the fear in his eyes as he’d looked to me to protect him.
I hadn't been able to.
But thankfully, there had been someone who had.
Predictably, when I thought about the man who'd saved my son's life, my body thought about him too, and not in a good way.
Okay, maybe in a good way but not exactly in a way I wanted it to.
I only knew a few things about the man.
First, that he was called Matias, and I only had that tidbit of information because he also happened to be the brother of my older son’s boyfriend. Second, the man, Matias, was one scary-ass guy. He'd snapped the neck of the man threatening Ryan's life like his body had been made of twigs rather than flesh and bone. And third, with his tattoos, emotionless voice, and piercing eyes, Matias was someone my mind was dreading seeing again even as my body was eagerly anticipating that moment.
Since he was Cruz’s brother, it was likely that I wouldn't be able to avoid the man in the future, especially if my instincts were right in that Elliot had found his soulmate. So that meant I'd have to figure out some way to deal with the guy, which meant getting my body and my mind in sync the next time I saw Matias. Since I loved Elliot more than life itself, I couldn't wish away his chance at happiness with Cruz, even if that would make things a little bit easier for me.
I sighed because I was being beyond ridiculous. Not only was I considerably older than Matias, I doubted the man was even gay. Yes, he’d looked at me in a way that had made my entire body shiver with excitement, but I considered myself to have pretty good gaydar. And nothing about Matias had made it ping. Of course, with the guy as cold and detached as he was, I doubted he’d ping on anyone’s radar, gay or straight.
Though I'd always thought I was someone who could read people, Matias had left me fumbling like some insecure teenager. I hadn’t even had enough courage to shake the man’s hand to thank him for what he’d done. And if my behavior hadn’t been bad enough, I’d actually started to physically react to the man while standing right in front of him. I still couldn’t believe I’d actually popped a boner in my own living room a mere hour after one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I had to write it off as adrenaline related.
As I made my way to Ryan's room, I gave the spot between the living room and the hallway a wide berth because that was where my attacker, Blake, had put his gun to my son’s head. Part of me wondered if maybe I just needed to consider selling the house because spots like that would likely haunt me for the rest of my life. But I’d only adopted Ryan six months earlier, so the last thing the nine-year-old needed was any kind of instability in his life and moving definitely counted as instability.
I felt a little bit better once I reached his room because the damage wasn't bad; nothing more than a broken window. I went to the kitchen to grab a broom and dustpan. Since my son was in a wheelchair, I’d renovated the house and had all hardwood floors put in, among other things, so it would be easier for him to get around. That made cleaning up the glass easier. I'd have to board up the window until I could arrange to have it repaired, but otherwise my son's room was ready for his return. I just wasn't sure if he was. I'd tried a few times over the past several days to talk to Ryan as we’d both stayed with our neighbor, who also happened to babysit Ryan on a regular basis, but my son hadn’t wanted to talk about the incident with Blake.
I’d already reached out to a child psychologist because I had no doubt Ryan would start showing signs of the trauma he’d endured at some point. Despite cerebral palsy stealing away his ability to communicate in the same way other people did, my son was a normal kid and he had normal reactions. His efforts to “forget” what had happened three nights ago wouldn’t work and I needed to be prepared for that.
