[𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄]
𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒
30 Months...
Almost three years since my accident. My first game playing pro in the NHL and I blew it. Many people have tried to help me but I'm past giving a fuck now. I just want to be left alone to drink my s...
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"Shit, fuck!"
I'm jolted awake at the sound of someone cursing, my mind running a thousand miles as hour as I frantically check my surroundings. I relax sightly as the sight of dinosaurs and my precious boy asleep in his cot put my mind at ease.
He is okay.
I huff moving my hair out of my face and frown at the green blanket that was draped over my body on the rocking chair. What?
Why was I even asleep here?
I slowly stand up and fold the blanket before draping it over the back of the cream chair. I had to give it it's dues it was the comfiest chair ever. I think I spent the first month asleep in that chair after Lucas had been discharged from the hospital.
Quietly tiptoeing over to the black wooden cot I peer over and don't even try and contain the smile that lifts my lips. He was so beautiful, and so mine. Gently stroking away the hair falling onto his forehead I lean down and place as kiss to his forehead, inhaling the smell of my baby.
It's slowly fading as he gets older, the baby smell. That makes me sad.
Sighing to myself I watch him for a few more moments before leaving his room and pulling the door to a close. Pulling out my phone from my back pocket my eyes widen when I see its just past eight. Did I really fall asleep that early?
I don't have time to ponder the thought because movement from downstairs makes my blood run cold. Who the fuck was in my house? Was it him? Had he really ignored everything?
I slowly make my way down the stairs while trying to figure out what to do. My instincts were telling me to run, to hide, to do whatever I had to do to get away. Yet I couldn't because it wasn't just me. I had Lucas to thin about and this was our home. He was happy here and I hope he felt safe. There was no way I was being pushed out.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs I could hear the movement more clearly, the footsteps, the mumbles. Whatever he was doing he was moving things around, what could he be looking for though?
Walking forward and grabbing ahold of the baseball bat I keep hidden behind the umbrellas I slowly walk towards the kitchen. My heart is pumping trough my ears and I can't help but exhale a shaky breath every time I take a step.
Fear trickles through my veins like ice.
Just as I make it to the doorway of the kitchen a shadow moves towards me so I scream, squeeze my eyes shut and blindly swing the bat as hard as I can and pray that it hurts him.
