Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

Someone’s actions in a singular moment didn’t label them who they were. Or who they would always be.

“You tried to make a vegetable into a steak?” I asked, fuckin’ horrified. I just walked out of an inevitable murder scene, but this is the true crime.

“I love spicy food.” “I know.” He knows. Of course he does. “Except the heartburn.” Shifting me to the side, he pulled something out of his pocket and set it on the table. Antacids. “I know,” he repeated. Not just does he know. He knows. And not just am I in big trouble. I’m in huge trouble.

“If you think I want anyone but you, you haven’t been paying a fuckin’ lick of attention.”

It took less than a minute for her breath to even out, but I stayed awake. ’Cause under my palm, Squish rolled and kicked. And I didn’t wanna miss any of it.

“The baby’s not mine.” I thought about the tiny face on the ultrasound. “But the baby is mine.”

“Can we get to business now?” “Good idea.” Judge grabbed a beer from the beverage fridge. “I’m sure you wanna hurry so you can pass Mac a note to see if she likes you, too.”

Every damn time she laughed, she’d tilt her head back and look at me. Like she wanted to make sure I was in on it. Like she wanted to share her happiness with me.

But his time was almost up. The roar of the motorcycles was close. Knights riding in on chrome and steel.

As far as I’m concerned, she,” I put my hand on her stomach, “is my baby. And I’ve felt that way for longer than you’re gonna wanna hear.”

I had Mac in my bed. I had her love. She carried my baby.

She knew better than most that some monsters deserved their own nightmare.