Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 115

I might have to put the big reveal on hold if he's getting violently sick. He's only had a few stomach bugs over the years, and they always hit hard and fast.

I'll be lucky if I don't get it. Last time, I spent two days hunched over a toilet, regretting everything I'd ever eaten for the last year.

The traffic inches along. I swing into a parking lot for a gas station, knowing I can start cleaning him up there.

"Stay calm, big guy." My fingers are too tight on the steering wheel. "It'll be okay. I'll just get out, find the wipes, and get you all cleaned—"

I stop cold as I look at him again. He doesn't say anything.

His eyes are half-closed.

His lips are too pale and his eyes are drooping and glassy. Is he breathing?

Panic.

My own breathing becomes a deafening roar in my ears as I fling my door open and run to his side. There's too much sick everywhere, and the only time he moves is when he keeps convulsing, heaving himself dry.

Oh my God, no.

I start using my fingers to clear his airway, holding his head, trying not to shake.

All I can smell is rancid orange.

"Arlo?" I shake his shoulders, but his head lolls loosely. "Arlo!" He's still breathing, yes, but he's not responding.

He barely seems conscious as he groans.

My hands shake like leaves, fluttering around his face. I'm probably supposed to do something to help right now, but all I can think of is the fact that he's not freaking there.

He's dying in front of me!

"Arlo, Arlo," I beg, my voice choked. "Arlo. Please."

By the time I have the wits to grab my phone and hit emergency, I'm screaming into it.

Soon, he isn't moving at all.

PATTON

The weathered brick building looks uninspiring from the outside.

There's a balcony on the third floor with twisted iron railings that have seen better days. I let myself inside with the key and frown,

taking it in.

The plan is to convert the place into a luxurious house with rustic charm, but right now, it's a tumbledown three-story house. The hall shows off the tall ceilings, at least, with stairs leading up to the second and third floors, and the kitchen is straight ahead. I check that out first.

This isn't the extravagant escape some of our other properties are. It's a roomy, practical place for a couple or an entire family looking to enjoy a few nights away in affordable luxury without being right downtown. A hidden sanctuary oozing history from its pores.

I make a few more notes on my tablet and step onto the balcony. The back of the property opens up to a park, and in the late morning light, the city looks especially vivid.

Salem would like it here.

Fuck, I can't stop thinking about her. Even at work.

Especially at work when it's painfully inconvenient. Double fuck.

I haven't replied to her latest texts from a few minutes ago, hating that they're already burning a hole in my pocket.

When the hell did I get so soft?

Then my phone rings and my heart does this annoying leap when I see it's her.

I've been avoiding her, yeah. Deliberately, ever since that moment at Mom's.

Not because I don't want to talk to her, but because I don't know what the hell to say.

What else can I say to convince her to let me be Arlo's dad? Obviously, I can't go behind her back to tell him. Even if I understand it abstractly, it still hurts like an iceball to the face.

So what if I've been spending the last few days at home, missing her and drinking too much and hating the fact that her absence makes me self-medicate, brooding in front of my fish?