on the hardwood planks, the errant sensation that it was so wrong that Milo wasn’t there right beside me.
This place that I’d considered a home for two years suddenly feeling vacant.
And I was ready. I was ready to go home.
To confess and forgive and love.
I jerked the door open only to stumble back a step when I saw who was standing on the other side.
Not Evan.
My thundering heart stuttered a beat before it jumped into a jagged sprint. I stared dumbfounded at Chris who was standing on the porch, his dark hair hanging over his forehead and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.
He blew out of a sigh of relief when he saw me.
“Frankie Leigh, thank God. I went to Evan’s parents’ house and no one answered. Do you know where he is? I found my sister . . . she’s in bad shape. Really bad shape.”
Dread curled. “What? What happened?” I demanded, pissed that he’d disappeared for all these days when he’d been the one asking for help.
“Think she tried to overdose. I found her in her motel room passed out with a bunch of empty bottles scattered around her.” His voice quavered. “She is okay, but she needs serious help. But she’s worried about that kid. She’s going to try to take him back and that is the last thing she needs right now. We need to talk some sense into her. Convince her he is better off with you and Evan.”
Agony tightened my chest, the thought of that little boy being snatched away.
But this woman obviously needed help, and I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.
“Where is she? We have been trying to get in touch with you for several days.”
I rubbed my hands up my arms, trying to quell the chills that lifted.
A frown crawled to his brow. “What do you mean? I haven’t heard from anyone. Figured your cop friend didn’t give a crap about another basket case roaming the streets.” Bitterness filled his short laugh, and he shook his head. “I gave up and headed back for California then turned back around when I got another call from her yesterday.”
The constricting lump that had been in my throat was back, although this time it was all different. The need to protect this little boy greater than anything I’d ever felt.
Bigger than my fears.
Bigger than the wounds.
He started to back away, his demeanor urgent. “Listen . . . do you know where Evan is? I need to talk to him . . . see if I can get him to come down and talk some sense into her.”
My nod was frantic. “Yes. We . . . he moved just a short while ago. Let me grab my keys and my phone and you can follow me over there.”
“You sure? It’s late.”
My tongue swept across my dried lips, the words rushed and haggard. “Yes.”
Absolutely.
Yes.
I needed to do this. Be there for Evan. Fight for what was right for that little boy.
My spirit shivered in awareness. In fullness. I’d already felt it—experienced it—the depth of the love I had for him. Maybe right then was the first time I really felt like I had the right to feel it.
“I’ll be right back, let me grab a couple things,” I told him, and I rushed back through the quiet house and into my old room, trying to keep my footsteps from banging through the house and waking Josiah and Carly. I grabbed my keys, phone, and wallet from the nightstand and slipped my feet into some sandals, didn’t take the time to change out of my sleep shorts and tee.
I was back at the door in less than two minutes.
Chris gave me a grateful smile. “Thank you for doing this, Frankie Leigh.”
I returned a wary one because I really didn’t think he should be thankin’ me.
Yes, I hoped his sister could find a way to heal.
To be well.
But I was no liar, and the truth was, I was doing this for Everett and Evan. “You can follow me over there.”
I hurried down the two steps to my car, and I backed out onto the street. Headlights lit behind me from where his car was parked, and I started toward home.
Home.
Knot in my throat, I told my phone to dial Seth. It was past midnight, and I cringed thinking about waking him, but he told us to call immediately if we had information.
It went to voicemail, so I left a message. “Hey, Seth.