Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I toss and turn, my heart a restless drum, until exhaustion pulls me under, sleep claiming me at last, only to jerk awake to a small, frantic voice.
“Aunt Amelia!” Jason stands by my bed, his white face is streaked with tears, his bear clutched tight to his chest, and his gray eyes are wide with fear.
My heart lurches. “What’s wrong?” I sit up, my voice still groggy, reaching for him. He climbs onto the bed, his small body shaking, and I pull him close and let the warmth of my body envelop him.
“I had a bad dream,” he sobs, his voice muffled against my shoulder. “Monsters were chasing you, and you fell into the lake out front, and… and… you drowned.” His words break, and he clings tighter, his tears soaking my shirt.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I murmur, stroking his hair, my hand gentle on his back. “It was just a dream. I’m right here. See, I’m safe.” I rock him softly, my heart aching for this boy, so withdrawn, so sad beneath his timid smile. He looks just like Max—the same dark hair, the same curve of his jaw—but his vulnerability is his own, a fragility that tugs at me.
“Can I sleep here?” he asks, his voice small, his eyes searching mine.
“Of course,” I say, lifting the quilt to let him crawl under. He curls up beside me, his bear between us, and I feel a great burst of love for him, fierce and unexpected. Max’s son, a piece of the man I can’t have, but in this moment, he’s mine to protect. I watch him drift back to sleep, his breath evening out, and the ache in my chest deepens, a mix of tenderness and longing I can’t untangle.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, sad shadows looming in my mind.
Chapter
Thirteen
MAX
The veil of sleep shatters with a sharp shake, as Sara’s voice slices through the haze like a blade.
“Max! Max, wake up!” Her words are high, frantic, pulling me upright in bed, my heart is already pounding even before my eyes adjust to the dim glow of the bedside lamp. She’s leaning over me, her blonde hair tousled, her eyes wide with panic. Her fear jolts me fully awake instantly, and my pulse is a wild beat in my ears.
“What’s wrong?” I rasp as I swing my legs over the bed’s side.
“Jason’s not in his room,” she says, her voice breaking, her hands wringing the hem of her nightgown. “He’s been taken, Max. Someone has come in and kidnapped him. I checked his bed, the bathroom, everywhere—he’s gone!”
The word gone lands like a punch, stealing my breath. I’m on my feet, adrenaline surging, the room tilting as pure fear takes hold. “Stay calm,” I say, more to myself than her, grabbing a T-shirt from the chair and pulling it on, the cotton clinging to my skin. “We’ll find him. He’s probably just wandering around in the kitchen.”
Sara’s already moving, her bare feet slapping the floor as she heads for the door. “I looked in the den and the kitchen—he’s not there,” she says, her voice rising, cracking. “What if he’s outside? What if—”
“Stop,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant to. I lay my hand on her arm to steady her. “We’ll check every room. He’s here, Sara. He has to be. I set the alarm myself. No one has got in or out.” My tone is firm and sure, but inside, I’m unraveling. What if someone hacked the system? Even the best systems are not impenetrable to highly sophisticated hackers. Visions of Jason lost, scared, or worse flash through my mind. I push them down, forcing clarity, and lead her into the hallway, the light from the sconces casting long shadows across the polished wood.
We move fast, splitting up to cover ground. I take the upstairs, my feet heavy on the runner as I check the guest rooms, the office, the linen closet—every door flung open, every corner scanned.
The house is silent, save for the creak of floorboards and Sara’s distant calls downstairs, her voice echoing through the open foyer.
“Jason? Honey, where are you?” she pleads, and it twists my gut, her desperation mirroring mine. I check his room again, the superhero sheets rumpled, his stuffed bear gone, and my chest tightens. Where the hell is he?
The studio comes to mind—Amelia’s space, where she was painting last night. Maybe he went there to look at the dragon painting. I start running towards the studio, my heart racing. I fling open the doorway and my gaze flies around the room, but it’s empty, the easel standing sentinel in the moonlight, her dragon half-finished.
I pause, my hand on the doorframe, her presence lingering in the scent of turpentine and the soft glow of a left-on lamp. The panic is growing inside me. One last place he could be. Her bedroom is down the hall, and I move toward it, and a new tension coils in my chest.