Mm. I liked that. All of it. So much, I started imagining too.

My imagining took all my attention so I stopped behind a car and studied the tips of my high-heeled boots.

Then something else hit me and I asked, “Do you think it’s okay to be in a bikini around the boys?”

I could actually envision Brock’s eyebrows snapping together before he said, “Uh…

yeah.” Then, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

There was a moment of silence then, softly, “Baby, you just became stepmom to two boys.

That doesn’t mean you gotta go June Cleaver.” Then he ended on a muttered, “Or Christ, at least I hope you don’t.”

I thought about it.

Then I informed him, “Donna never wore a bikini.”

“Did Donna have a great f**kin’ body like you do?”

“Donna was five foot two and liked carrot cake more than Rex and chocolate cake way more than Joel. How do you think I learned how to make them?”

I listened to my man chuckle then he said, “Turn around and buy me some bikinis.”

“I already bought you three nighties.”

More silence, then low, “Fuck,” then, “Make my year, sweetness, turn around and add bikinis.”

I grinned.

He went on, “I’ll swing by, get the boys, bring ‘em into the Station. Can you pick them up here?”

His question and the casual way he asked it made warm gushiness saturate my belly.

This was an addition to my life that I liked. Since Martha started and my load was less but Brock’s hadn’t changed, Brock dropped the boys off at school (on time) and I left the bakery to get them in the afternoons. Usually, they hung out with me at the bakery after school.

Sometimes, I had to take them to baseball practice which had just started and I’d hang while they practiced. Sometimes, I called it quits early and we all hung out at home.

I liked this. All of it. Meeting, even fleetingly, the other Moms and Dads I’d see during school runs, getting to know the boys’ friends and their parents, having chats with the boys about how their day went. I never thought I’d have that, asking two beings I loved if they had their homework done, listening to them chatter in the car while I drove, hearing their voices drifting up the stairs while they fought in front of the television about what they were going to watch, going to the grocery store and buying food enough for a family, not just myself or not just myself and a partner.

I loved being with Brock, he made me feel safe, he made me feel beautiful, he made me feel loved. I loved all he’d given me, more than I could say.

But the best thing he’d given me was a family.

And since he gave me a family, I could give him bikinis.

Therefore, I turned back toward the mall, answering, “Sure.”

“Text me when you’re on your way.”

“All right, honey.”

“Later, babe.”

“Later, Brock, love you.”

“Me too, darlin’.”

I sighed happily.

He disconnected.

I put my phone in my purse.

Then I saw the middle of a man in front of me, I started to scoot by him and say, “Excuse me,” but I didn’t get the “Excuse me” part out.

This was because the middle of that man scooted the direction I scooted.

My head came up and I caught his eye.

“Sorry,” I said on a small smile and scooted the other way.

He again scooted the way I scooted.

Uh-oh.

“Uh…” I started.

“Mr. Heller wants to see you.”

Damn!

I looked beyond him to the doors to the mall. I was four car lengths and a thoroughfare away. I was in high-heeled boots. He was big and brawny. Maybe this meant he’d be slow if I made a run for it.

There was a black sedan that was crawling along our lane and I heard a car also coming from behind.

I sighed in relief that we had company and scooted again, turning to the side to slide by, saying, “I don’t want to talk to Mr. Heller.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option,” he told me.

Great.

Damian.

God, I hated him. There I was thinking of bikinis and family and Brock loving me and boom! Damian rears his ugly head and sends a goon after me and all my happy thoughts evaporate.

I scooted faster, the black sedan stopped and the backdoor opened.

Damian was in the backseat.

Fuck!

The big brawny guy cut me off from scooting and the car was cutting me off in the other direction so I had to stop therefore I juggled my bags to dig in my purse to grab my phone and call 911 so I could report Damian was harassing me.

“Tess, get in the car,” Damian ordered. “It’s urgent.”

I didn’t answer. Vance told me not to engage him and I wasn’t going to. I was going to phone 911. I tried to push through big brawny guy but big brawny guy just put a firm hand on my arm to stop this.

I tried to twist away at the same time activating my phone.

“Tess, there isn’t a lot of time.” I heard Damian say. “Please, for your own good, get in the car.”

Surprisingly, big brawny guy wasn’t taking my phone away. I dialed 911 (which, at this rate, could be added to my favorites) and put it to my ear.

“Tess, please, ” Damian entreated, sounding like it was, indeed, urgent (the jerk) but I kept my eyes on the pavement, the big brawny guy weirdly gently started to pull me to the car and the 911 operator said in my ear, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emer –”

Then it happened.

Gunshots.

Right there.

Gunshots right there.

So loud. Unbelievably loud. Making my ears ring.

I stood frozen as the big brawny man’s hand left my arm and it left my arm because he’d fallen to the ground, blood oozing from his chest.

In a fog of horror, I tipped my head down and stared at big, brawny man who was wheezing with blood oozing from his chest.

Oh my God!

Stupidly, in shock, I turned to look left and saw an older man I’d never seen in my life advancing, smoking gun drawn.

“Tess! ” Damian shouted, jumping out of the car before I could do anything, say, like flee.

“Get in my f**king car! ”

Then he had a hand on me and he yanked me to the car as more gunshots were fired.

Damian grunted in pain as I felt his body jerk but he still shoved me into his car, coming in after me, slamming the door.