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Chapter Four
8 weeks later
Cora
I’m crying. Again. It never ends, always weeping for one reason or another. Or no reason at all.
I’m packing up the last of Kael’s belongings into a storage unit. They’d been shipped to the on-base housing, but since we’d never taken residence in the one assigned, it has all been sitting in a room in the commissary waiting to be claimed. Frankly, I’m surprised they hadn’t tossed it all out.
I’m still in my crappy little one-room apartment, except now I have to pay an exorbitant monthly rent since I’m no longer pregnant. And hadn’t that been a blow? I’d lost the baby and Kael on the same day. I’d found the letter Kael had left in my purse but haven’t had the courage to read it. I still don’t understand what happened. According to everyone else, he’d been fine, refused to get checked out. If he had been examined or told anyone he hit his head on the window when the truck flipped, they may have found the clot that took him from me.
Sighing, I pull down the rolling door and put the lock on, trying not to dwell on the what ifs. It had taken weeks to recover enough to get off mostly bed rest and be able to work again and deal with all the things that had piled up. The auto insurance was still in litigation. I’d gotten a payout from Kael’s life insurance through the military, but it mostly went to paying my hospital bills and subsequent doctor visits and testing. And, of course, taking care of Kael. Keeping a roof over my head had been a priority as well, and the money was dwindling fast.
I’m currently jobless, nearly broke, and only now able to put in applications, but I still have light duty restrictions to abide by for the next few weeks before I finish my physical therapy and get a tentative all-clear. I wish Damien’s parents would just let the insurance pay out. I get that they’re pissed about their son, but I didn’t force him to get wasted and smash into us. The least they can do is let it pay out without a fight.
After finally getting home and heating up a freezer meal in the microwave, I pull up my bank account.
“Shit.” I’m going to be lucky to make it to the end of the month. No job, no career, no schooling past a high school diploma. And soon to be no apartment, as crappy as it is. Along with shattered nerves thanks to the crying baby next door.
I have night terrors, not only about Damien, but about the wreck, the baby, and Kael, and the crying baby seems to set them off the worst. I get out my exercise bands and start my strengthening exercises, still-weak muscles protesting the stronger ones, but they’re getting there. I’m sweating and huffing when there’s a knock on my door.
When my yells to come in are ignored, I stop to answer it. Usually, it’s the upstairs neighbor’s boy trying to sell something for his school fundraiser. No one else, besides the landlord if I'm late on rent, ever comes by.
I swing open the door, preparing my speech to let the little guy down gently.
“Hey, Marshall. I can’t buy—" It's not a little boy at my door. "You’re not Marshall, and you’re not selling overpriced candy.” I cock a hip and brace my foot on the inside of the door, ready to slam it as soon as an opportunity presents itself. “What do you want, Drake?”
“Just a minute of your time, Cora. That’s all. Then I’ll leave.” Drake holds his hands up, a manilla folder in one and the other empty. I don’t believe he’s harmless, regardless of his actions; too many hinky things happen around him and his crew. Plus, his brother had been an absolute douche.
“Fine, but you can do it here. I’m not letting you in.” I can be stubborn, and this is one of those times I’m not going to budge.
He gives a gusty sigh but steps back and extends the folder. A tattoo of scales on his inner wrist catches my eye, and I’m struggling to keep myself from being pulled into a panic attack. It matches the marks I’d seen on Kael when the hospital staff had realized he was in distress after I’d woken up in the hospital. Only the pressure of the door being pushed in against my foot snaps me back to reality with a new terror— the kind of an invader pushing their way into your home against your wishes.
“No, get out,” I shout, shoving on the door, making my newly healed injuries twinge. Drake immediately desists and backs up. I'm shaking and nauseous, but I'm not about to stand down.
“Here, I’m laying it down. Read it, please. It’s the only offer my father is prepared to make.” Drake continues backing up until he hits the pavement to the parking lot in the gated apartment complex before he turns and gets into a shiny black BMW.
I wait until he’s gone before darting out to grab the folder then get back inside, securing the chain, deadbolt, and doorknob lock. Feeling marginally better, I retreat to my bedroom and, plopping on my bed, open the folder.
After making it through all the legalese, I get down to the heart of the deal.
Attend the private university run by the same board as the highschool me and my step-brother had gone to.
Finish all courses with a B+ average.
Receive a monthly allowance as well as room and board at the school.
