Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

His little face, still slack with sleep, instantly brightened. His green eyes widened, and then he was hurtling across the hardwood flooring. Just as I thought he would run right past me, he skidded to a stop, whirled around, and threw himself at me.

I caught him, but just barely. Only seven years old, but he had the strength and build of a baby bear. Much like Tegen, the color of his eyes and hair were his only resemblance to me. He was every inch his father’s son.

“Merry Christmas, Mommy,” he said, squeezing my waist. In answer, my heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t called me Mommy in years.

I might not have remembered being pregnant when he’d first been presented to me as an infant, but it hadn’t stopped me from loving him instantly.

Regardless of all my confusion, the pain from my head injury, the resulting surgery, and my emergency C-section, the moment I’d laid eyes on him, I’d felt instantly connected to him, knowing he was mine.

While everything else around me had felt foreign and new, while my family and friends tried desperately to force my memories, Christopher was the exception. He was as new to the world as I was, expecting nothing from me but love.

Grateful for that, and for him, I’d returned the emotion in spades.

“Merry Christmas,” I whispered, running my hands through the unruly mass of long red hair he’d vehemently insisted on growing.

Tilting his head back, he returned my smile. “Where’s Dad?”

Keeping my smile firmly in place, I softly brushed a few locks away from his eyes. “He’s on his way,” I lied. “He said not to wait for him.”

“But he’s coming, right?”

Not knowing how to answer him, I changed the subject instead. “Your sister sent you that big box over there.” Releasing him, I gave him a gentle push toward the tree and pointed to the ridiculously large present Tegen and Cage had mailed out weeks ago.

With an excited shout, the absence of his father temporarily forgotten, Christopher bounded forward. Grabbing the large red bow from the top of Tegen’s gift, he tossed it over his head and began quickly stripping off the brightly colored wrapping paper. Knowing them both, I was fearing the worst. A drum set, a dirt bike, something that would undoubtedly make Christopher ecstatic and me miserable.

“Mom! Look!”

It was even worse than I’d feared. Like a beacon on a foggy night, the words “Tactical Paintball Gun Mega Set” glared ominously at me. And I glared right back, silently promising retribution against my daughter and her husband. One day they would have a child and I would be the doting grandmother, buying my grandchild gifts that will surely leave its parents as equally horrified as I felt right now.

Setting the paintball gun set aside, Christopher began tearing into his presents with happy abandon. Grabbing my coffee, I took my seat on the couch to watch him, smiling when he smiled, nodding excitedly each time he showed me a newly opened gift.

But my heart wasn’t in it. Every other minute I was checking my phone, hoping to find a message from Hawk, or Deuce, and coming up empty.

I had grown so accustomed to our quiet life, to our dependable routines, that this glitch, this unexpected change was more than unsettling.

In fact it was much worse than even that, the anxiety and worry coursing through me . . . it was all too familiar.

“This is for you, Mom.” Christopher appeared in front of me, a small wrapped box held in his outstretched hand. “From me,” he said proudly.

The bitter coffee sloshing around in my stomach congealed into a hard ball of dread. A present from Christopher meant a present from Hawk, more than likely something they’d bought together during Hawk’s last visit.

Setting my mug down, I took the little box from Christopher into my trembling hand. As I turned it over, noting the messy wrapping job, my lips began to curve in a genuine smile.

“Thank you,” I said softly as I did my best to release the wrapping paper without tearing it. It was the little things, like my son’s shoddy wrapping job, that I wanted to savor and remember. Thing I’d never done with Tegen.

I’d been too caught up in myself, desperate to be loved, unable to see past all the things I didn’t have that what I did have—Tegen and all her love—had gone unnoticed.

Now I kept every drawing, every note, every little trinket or memento, all of them tucked safely away inside the chest beneath my bed.

In a lot of ways, Christopher represented my redemption as a mother, but even more so as a person. Without him, without the circumstances that his conception had brought about, I might never have realized the extent of my mistakes, and thus would have never had the chance to make things right.

The wrapping paper safely removed, I was left staring down at a small velvet box. Surprised, I glanced up into Christopher’s smiling face.

“Jewelry?” I asked, confused. My accessorizing amounted to a small pair of gold hoop earrings that had once belonged to my grandmother. I had always been simple in that sense, not someone who’d ever cared much for flashy clothing or adornments.

Christopher shrugged. “Dad said you’d like it.”

Tentatively, I lifted the silky-smooth lid and, upon seeing the contents, felt my eyes prick with tears.

Of course Hawk had known I would like it. Hawk had always known me better than anyone. He’d seen me at my best, at my absolute worst, and all the moments in between.

Whereas no other man, not my ex-husband, not even Jase, had ever taken the time to truly pay attention to the little things, Hawk had always been watching. Whether we were secreted away together in the shadows, lying beside each other in bed, or when we were apart, from across the room, he always had his eyes focused directly on me.

Using only the tip of my index finger, I gently brushed over the delicate silver chain until reaching the tiny silver heart that hung from it. “Mom” had been engraved in softly swirling letters in the center of the charm. It was beautiful, yet simple. It was perfect.

“You like it?” Christopher asked.

Clearing my throat, I set the box in my lap and reached forward, drawing my son into my arms. “I love it,” I whispered hoarsely.

As was typical at his age, our hug was short-lived, and after only seconds he was pulling away from me, his attention once again on his gifts.

Tucking my legs beneath me, I leaned comfortably against the large throw pillow beside me, content for the time being just to watch him enjoy his Christmas.

He might not appreciate it now, but someday he would look back and remember that his mom had always been there for him, was always armed with a hug and a smile. He would remember those times and in turn, he would smile.

Tegen hadn’t had that as a child, and after repeatedly disappointing my parents, neither had I. But Christopher always would. I would make sure of it.

Glancing over at the cell phone lying beside me, I felt my chest uncomfortably tighten as my anxiety returned. I just hoped he would be able to remember the same from his father.

Good God, why wouldn’t someone tell me what was going on?

**•

It was early afternoon when my phone finally rang, the screen signaling that Tegen was calling.

“Mom,” she said softly, too softly. My daughter did not speak softly, not unless something was wrong.

Gripping my phone tightly, I swallowed back a wave of fear. “What’s wrong?” I whispered. “Where’s Hawk?”

“Mom,” she repeated. “This isn’t a secure line. You need to come home.”

Two days earlier

With the highway stretched out in front of him and nothing but more highway behind him, James “Hawk” Young could finally breathe again.