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Fuck. I had to get out of here. And not just here, but town entirely. I should pack my bag and drive away. Go back to what I was good at: hunting criminals. Killing. Torturing sick bastards.
I pushed off the tree and turned to jog back to the house. Tomorrow. Or rather, today. I’d stop by Hettie’s first, then drive back to Toronto. Deck and the guys wouldn’t question my sudden early return.
I’d gone two steps when a scream wrenched through the air. My body tensed and I spun around, my gaze shooting toward the cabin.
The kid.
I didn’t think as I tore across the yard. Macayla dropped her guitar and it tumbled down the steps. She lurched to her feet and scrambled toward the door.
Fuck. The last thing I needed was for her to run inside if some crazy ex-husband had broken in through the kid’s window and was after him. “No. Stay there,” I shouted.
Macayla stumbled. Her gaze swung to me as I ran across the yard. Her eyes widened in shock, and she hesitated a fraction of a second before yanking open the screen door and darting inside.
Christ.
There was another scream, muffled this time, as if someone had their hand over the kid’s mouth. My heart pounded and my legs burned as I sprinted up the porch steps.
I jerked open the screen door so hard the top hinge ripped from the wood frame.
I ran inside.
Macayla
I ran into Jackson’s bedroom and stopped. “Jackson?”
I quickly found him in his usual spot, cowering on the floor beside the Superman nightlight. My chest clenched and tears teetered on the rims of my eyes. I hated this for him, damn it. He should be having dreams about catching frogs, playing baseball, and skateboarding—not monsters.
I slowly approached. “Hey, Jacks.”
He had his fist shoved in his mouth, attempting to muffle the sobs. I didn’t know why he did that, but every time I found him like this, his fist was in his mouth.
He was still wearing the gray pants and green T-shirt he’d worn today. The pajamas I set out on the end of his bed every night were untouched. I hadn’t been able to convince him to wear pajamas yet, and I wasn’t going to force him or make a big deal out of it. If he wanted to wear a freakin’ snowsuit to bed, I’d let him.
I heard the screen door screech open, then the thump of Vic’s boots on the hardwood floors. I hadn’t had time to process the fact that Vic had run across the yard when Jackson screamed. Which meant he’d been close by. The question was why had he been so close to the cabin in the middle of the night? But I couldn’t think about Vic right now.
“Jackson, it’s okay, hon. You’re safe.” I crouched in front of him, and as much as I wanted to grab him and hug the shit out of him, I didn’t. Maybe one day he’d trust me enough to let me hold him, but until then, I wasn’t forcing it.
We’d made a lot of progress since getting out of the city and moving here. He’d let me carry him in from the car twice now. Sure, he had been half asleep, but he no longer jerked awake and scrambled from my arms.
The thud of Vic’s boots drew closer, then stopped. I didn’t have to look to know Vic stood in the doorway. His presence filled the room with an undeniable energy. I wasn’t sure whether it was protective or threatening.
But what I was sure of was that I wouldn’t have Jackson being scared of Vic looming over him. “You need to leave,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at him.
I didn’t wait for his response as I sat down a few feet from Jackson like I usually did. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I’d discovered Jackson relaxed faster when I didn’t hover over him or crouch like a panther ready to dive on its prey.
“Monster?” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Was it a Wazowski?”
Jackson shook his head, and a few strands plastered to his damp forehead.
Shit. “Sully?”
He never talked about his dreams, but I figured out a way for him to let me know how bad his dream was. We’d watched Monsters University last month at Hettie’s, and I began comparing how scared the dream made him by which character it was.
He lowered his fist from his mouth. “Boggs,” he replied with a quiver in his voice.
