Break the Chain

PROLOGUE

I hacked and coughed to force air through my crushed windpipe. My head throbbed just as fiercely. My heart pounded so hard I feared it would burst, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off the mess I had made.

The bastard’s blood oozed from every hole in his body, pooling beneath what was left of him. The streams branched into the grout of our kitchen tiles, gleaming under the track lighting mounted above me like little spotlights. The knife shone just as brightly from his chest.

I did that. I killed him. I actually killed him! Until death do us part, and I made it happen.

I should’ve felt free, but terror loomed over me. I should’ve been celebrating after all he had done to me and—

Bas!

I flopped off the counter, landing in a grunt while agony shot through my hands and knees. I wheezed as I scrabbled along the slippery floor, praying to God my little boy was okay.

When I reached the living room carpet, I froze. My little boy hadn’t moved an inch from where that bastard had thrown him. He just lay amid the broken glass all over my hand-tufted rug with the metal legs of my coffee table framing his little form like a shattered coffin.

“No,” came out of me as I crawled toward him, absorbing a fresh hell of glass shards piercing my flesh to scoop him up and cradle him in my arms. “Bas?”

He didn’t respond.

I shook him carefully against me, not wanting to worsen the damage his wretched father had done to him. “Bas!”

Still, no answer.

I pressed my ear to his chest, and I couldn’t help smiling when I felt his little heartbeat. I rolled him onto my shoulder and looked for my phone … which was still in the kitchen. Oh, God, what if he woke up and saw his father dead in there?

I shook it off, pushed myself to my feet, and lugged him into the kitchen.

My feet stopped when I saw the body again. My breath caught in my throat while my heart pounded in it.

No, I told myself, swallowing hard and trying not to vomit. Bas is more important.

I marched up to the counter and yanked the cell right off its charger.

“You’re going to be just fine,” I told my son while swiping my screen awake and hitting the phone button, but my list of contacts stared me in the face. My father, my grandmother, my friends, and—God forbid—my stepmother; all of them would curse my name for what I had just done.

There was only one number to call. I dialed.

“9-1-1 emergency,” came up almost immediately. “How may I direct—”

“Ambulance, please,” I said in a flourish. “My son fell through my glass table.” Disbelief shot through me instantly. Why was I still covering for that rotten bastard? No, never again. “My husband threw him through it.”

“Is your husband still in the house, ma’am?” the woman’s voice said firmly yet monotonously.

I froze, still as the corpse I couldn’t bear to look at again. They would crucify me! What’ll happen to Bas? I hugged him tighter.

“Ma’am? Are you there?”

My brain scrambled so badly, I didn’t know how to respond. That knife hadn’t accidentally fallen into him all those times. The operator was a woman; she would have to understand. “He attacked us. Tried to kill us.”

“Are you still in danger?” the operator asked with little more alarm than before.

My eyes nearly darted his way, but I stopped them. I didn’t need to look. “No. He’s dead.”

The line was silent for a moment, but she came back on with, “Did you kill him?”

My head flushed like it was falling down a well, my pulse doubling every ache in me. She wasn’t on my side. I shook it off to put her focus back where it belonged. “Please hurry! My son won’t wake up. I need an ambulance.”

“E.M.T.s have already been dispatched to your location, ma’am,” the operator said with that same firm yet level voice, “but I need you to calm down and answer me. Did you kill your husband?”

They’re going to burn me at the stake, I realized. Who would care for my son? My father? Not after living with those three brats of his! My grandma couldn’t even take care of me growing up, and her osteoporosis had only gotten worse since.

“Ma’am?”

My life was over, and I damned my late husband for it. He was supposed to be the good one, but he turned out to be another link in the chain of losers I’d kept hooking up with before meeting him.

No, this was my fault. Why did I keep letting men treat me this way? It had to end. I had to break this pattern. I just hoped it wouldn’t ruin my son’s life with mine.

CHAPTER 1: HEAVY AIR

I stepped off the motorcoach and scanned the mostly Black and White crowd lining the outer wall of the station. The few Latinx faces were too young or short to resemble the towering suit who had partially raised me. Spent gasoline filled my nostrils with each breath, and a wet, heavy heat flowed through my day-two T-shirt and jeans. Why did my father have to move to such a humid place? And where was he?

I sighed and went to fetch my bag.

Engines and travelers echoed between the buses like a tunnel—a warm wind tunnel making my clothes stickier with sweat. I fanned myself to no avail, suffering the must of fuel and body odor with this unbearable heat.

I spotted my navy-blue tote in the baggage bin, which gave me pause. All my worldly possessions now fit into one bag half my size, and I wasn’t exactly tiny anymore. Even with the muscle I had put on my slim frame over the last two years in prison, I still felt small in the face of my entire life fitting into one duffel.

Well, not my entire life! Knowing that made me smile a little as I grabbed my tote and headed inside the station.

I still couldn’t see my father, which made me feel small again. I wondered what his excuse would be this time. He’d barely even written to me in the past year, and those letters had consisted mostly of updates on Bas’ condition. At least he did that much—okay, he’d done a lot bringing my boy all the way to Charlotte and funding his care while I did my time—but it was hard to be grateful while being stood up again.

I went out front and found a cab waiting by the curb down the street. I headed for it before it could get away, thanking God our nation was done with quarantine, but I felt like I was swimming through the air. My shirt clung to my skin, but at least the taxi was air conditioned.

The ride to the hospital was short, but the fare sure didn’t feel like it. The receptionist on the first floor was nice, his smile bright yet his eyes as hopeful as almost every man I had spent the last three and a half days trying to ignore on the bus. I took it with a cordial grin and followed his directions to the elevator.

I found the Coma Ward easily enough. Staff in blue and turquoise scrubs traversed the bright square hallway with rooms marked by numbers. I headed for the C-shaped nurses’ station to find out which number would be my son’s.

The slim blonde in baggy blues looked up from her computer and smiled at me. “Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes almost twinkling more than her glasses.

I smiled back in kind. “Sebastian Kamal? What room is he in, please?”

The blonde’s grin diminished under a mild crease of her barely-there brows. Natural blonde, apparently. “Are you a relative?”

“I’m his mother.”

Her remaining grin vanished, her lips trembling. “Oh,” she said before glancing between her terminal and her phone. She picked up the latter. “Just a minute please.”

It has begun, I thought glumly, forcing me to steel my nerves with a quiet breath. The prison shrink had told me to expect this, but I didn’t think it would follow me to the East Coast. Had my trial been that widely publicized?

The nurse hung up her phone and kept her eyes squarely on her monitor. I balled my fists behind my back with a quiet sigh.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” came from beside me, where a burly White guard in a dark uniform reminiscent of the L.A.P.D. clutched the buckle of his gun belt with both hands. His holster bore a taser, but his blunt gaze and imposing size still made me tremble. “May I see some I.D.?”

I slowly pulled my California driver license from my pocket. “All I have is this right now, but it expired last year. I’m just here to see my son.”

He took the card, glanced between it and me, and frowned. “Tyra Heidi?”

I shrugged. “My mom was a model. She named me after her heroes.”

He nodded before taking another gander at the card. Then came that silly grin I’d endured for far too long. “You realize your initials—”

“Please don’t,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ve been getting it enough for the last eight years.”

He held my gaze for another awkward moment before handing my card back to me. “Do you have any proof of kinship?”

“It’s in here,” I said as I patted my bag before unzipping it. “Don’t taze me.”

He just stared me down.

I slowly dug into my bag, pulled my manila folder, and dug out my son’s birth certificate from the bundle of release paperwork. I handed it over and watched him scrutinize it carefully.

After that eternity, he handed it back with a nod at the reception nurse, whom I faced.

“Room Four-Twelve,” she said to the guard rather than me.

“I’ll take you,” the guard said with a hand out to me.

My gut soured, but I gave the man doing his job a smile and let him lead me down the hall into a corner. When I stopped in the open doorway, my heart leapt into my throat.

My little Bas lay motionless on the only medical bed in the room. He’d grown so much in my absence, his cherubic little face stretching a touch closer to manhood. I had missed three years of his growth. Had he had one waking moment in all this time? Would he ever?

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the guard asked.

A sob broke from my mouth. I sniffled and smiled at him with my hand pressing my throbbing heart. “He’s so big!”

His face softened a bit as he nodded. “I understand.”

I couldn’t help frowning. “Do you?”

He gave me a little smirk. “Five tours in the Middle East. Missed my son’s graduation, my daughter’s first prom, driving lessons, baby number three being born.”

I nodded at the parallel and headed for my son’s bedside. I took my boy’s soft hand, which radiated adequate warmth into mine. His olive complexion had grown a touch lighter. Three years out of the sun he should’ve spent playing with other kids, learning baseball and soccer, all gone because of that—

“Ty,” came from behind, which made my blood warm and chill all at once. I took a breath and turned around.

Standing next to the guard stood the towering suit, his handsome face ashen. His peppered hair had grown grayer, but it remained in that slick part on his left without a stray to be found. A gold tie shimmered between the lapels of his sharp blazer and white button-up shirt, looking more stunning than ever for a man of fifty-one.

“Sorry I missed you at the station,” he said meekly, his accent bearing little from his ancestry and none from this region. “I got held up at work.”

I nodded at that old tune.

He nodded back. “Got a place to stay?”

“Yeah,” I replied while sticking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Lined it up before I got here. It’s a few miles, but I’m sure the walks won’t kill me—even in this humidity.”

He frowned. “Don’t you still have a license?”

“It expired last year.”

“I can take you to the D.M.V. if you—”

“I’ll find it myself,” I said casually as I turned to face Bas. “I understand you’re busy.”

My father sighed behind me, and after a brief, tense silence he quietly asked the guard if we could have a minute.

A chill ran up my spine as footsteps faded behind me. I shut my eyes while holding my son’s hand as steps approached me.

“I know we can’t change anything,” he said. “I wish I knew how.”

A sad laugh escaped me. “You and me both.”

“I did what I could.”

“That you did,” I said with a stroke of Bas’ forehead, grinning bittersweetly. “You took such good care of him. Probably cost you a bigger bundle than I can ever repay.”

“You’re both family,” he said quietly like he was choking. “I’ll take care of you however I can.”

“Just not with your time,” came out before I could stop it.

Silence.

I shut my eyes and huffed sadly. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’ve been on the road for the last three days, which I had to spend fending off guys who clearly didn’t see the word MURDERER stamped on my forehead.”

“You know I don’t believe that of you for a second,” he said as his hand fell onto my shoulder. “You were protecting your family.”

I laughed sadly again. “Too bad the jury didn’t buy it.”

He sighed. “Well, that D.A.”

I touched his hand. “What’s done is done.”

His hand tugged me lightly, prompting me to face him. “So, you’ve got a place. You got a job lined up, too?”

I shook my head at the floor. “That part’s been harder. I filled out a mess of online applications back in Cali, but I’ll to follow up tomorrow. I’m too tired right now.”

He smiled. “Proactive. That’s good. It should make parole easier for you.”

I shrugged. “God or whomever willing, I guess.”

“I can put in a good word for you at the office.”

I smiled at his offer, but the reality in his tone rang clearly. God or whomever knew how he would have to explain his jailbird daughter to his big investment firm after so many reporters had hounded him out of San Diego, but at least he was trying. “I won’t get my hopes up, but thanks.”

He nodded grimly. “Why don’t you stay with me, mija? Save your money and—”

I touched his shoulder the way his offer genuinely touched my heart. “Thanks, Papa, but I need to live my life on my own two feet. I’ll start paying for Bas’ care when I can.”

He shook his head. “That’ll stay on me. Family is important.”

The history behind his sentiment soured my gut, but my current predicament forced me to play my part with a smile and a nod.

He surprised me with a hug, but it lacked power. I spared him with a quick return, and he left my arms in short order. “You have my number.”

I nodded. “Now I just need a phone. Mine kind of vanished in lockup.”

He stroked the curls beside my ear like he used to. “Let me know when you get one, mija. You’ve got my email.”

I almost smiled, but he left the room without another word. I stewed in my heartbreak, failing to savor the dash of gratitude.

The guard came back a few seconds later, his face bearing no indication he’d heard us.

“You get along with your dad?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I did when he was alive.”

I nodded and sat beside my son. I leaned in and held his hand.

“I’m here, mijo,” I half-whispered. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

I didn’t expect a response, but I couldn’t stop hoping to rouse him.

“You look so good. You’re going to break a lot of hearts soon. I’ll bet some of those cute nurses out there are already smitten, eh?”

Nothing.

Just to prod him, I grinned. “Come on. I’ll bet you open those sweet little eyes of yours for a peek down their blouses or something.”

Still nothing, and I felt gross. He was only seven, but I had met my crude-assed half-brother at this age. I shook my head and proceeded more mom-appropriately.

“If you wake up for me—” I shook that half-assed shit away. “When you wake up, I’m going to take you to that amusement park I read about on my way here. What’s it called?”

“Carowinds,” the guard said.

I gritted my teeth behind a tight grin and continued speaking with my son. “I’m sure you’re old enough for the cool rides now, the ones you wanted at Magic Mountain.”

His static face continued to gut me.

I tried sucking in air and huffing out my rage like the prison shrink had taught me, but the memory of his fucking father burned inside me. I tried to be grateful my little boy didn’t need a respirator, but all I could feel was hate. I damned his father and hoped I could do better for Bas.

Maybe even for me, too.