He looks down at my stomach and then with hesitancy places his hand over mine. I don’t know if he can feel anything or still hear the beat of the heart, but a small smile touches his lips.
“We protect it,” he says nervously, looking up at me. “We protect it more than anything.”
A few tears escape my eyes. God knows why I’m crying other than I just feel so . . . warm and fuzzy inside.
“Gemma.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palm. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you or the baby.”
Strangely, I believe him.
The taxi ride is long, and the cab smells of old cheese and sweaty socks. I have to hold my breath most of the way just to keep from puking, although that’s not the only problem. Squished in such a small space, it’s like a lightning storm has erupted between Alex and I. The air is static charged, and all I keep thinking about is how long it’s been since I’ve felt him inside me. Not counting the dream, it’s been weeks since we’ve been together like that, and the kisses he keeps stealing only leave me wanting more.
Just when I think I’m going to pass out from the heat and the smell, the taxi pulls up to a curb on a street crammed with two-story houses.
Lampposts illuminate the falling snow as we hop out into the chilly air. Alex pays the driver before the taxi speeds off.
“Which one is it?” I ask as Alex puts his wallet away.
He takes the paper out of his pocket then walks up the street, glancing at each house before coming to a stop in front of a brown one with a tan roof.
“I think this is it.” He stuffs the paper into his pocket then opens the gate.
Holding hands, we hike up the snow-covered path to the front door.
“Are we safe out in the open like this?” I ask, noting the stillness of the area.
“We’re never safe when you really think about it. But hopefully, after we talk with my mom, we will be.” He squeezes my hand before knocking on the door.
After knocking on the door two more times, he grabs the doorknob, but I swat his hand away.
He stares at me, partially confused, partially amused. “Is something wrong?”
“It just seems like every time this happens—every time someone doesn’t answer the door—and we walk inside, things end badly.”
“You want to wait out here while I go in and check things out?”
“No, I don’t want anyone to go in.” I clutch his hand. “What I want is for the door to open and your mother to be standing there, looking super happy to see us.”
He chuckles. “You’re so cute.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Would you please stop saying cute like that?”
“Like what?” He’s even more amused
“Like it makes me sound special or something.”
“But you are special.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment or two before he leans back. “Even without the star in you.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’m cute. And special.” I turn for the door and rap my knuckles against it. “Come on. Please, just answer.” I beg the door.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Alex says with a sigh.
“But wouldn’t it be so nice if, just once, something was that easy?” I give him a hopeful look.
He gives me that look again, the one he gets whenever he calls me cute. Then, instead of saying something, he fishes out his knife.
“Stay behind me,” he commands then opens the door and we step inside.
The house appears empty. The floorboards creak under our weight, and the walls are covered with a layer of residue.
I trace my fingers along the wallpaper as we slowly walk from the foyer to the living room. “It’s ash,” I say, cleaning my hands off on my jeans.
“It’s weird that it looks burned on the inside but not on the outside,” Alex takes note, looking around at the furniture covered with dusty sheets.
“Maybe the fire was put out before it spread?” I offer right as a wail resonates through the house.
We both go rigid, and Alex’s arm immediately shoots out, holding me back protectively.
“What is that?” I whisper, gripping the back of his shirt.
He swallows hard. “I think it’s my mother.”
ALEX
It’s the kind of sound that puts hairs on end, that raises the dead from their graves, that warns people of