The Drive-By

Vance. I stared at the name, the cold from the car window seeping into my cheek. It was a jagged, ugly word that didn't belong in my vocabulary. Julian had stripped me of my name, my credit, and my safety, and replaced it with this.

The front door of 116 Whispering Pines swung open.

I ducked instinctively, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I peered over the dashboard, the camera lens still raised.

Julian stepped out.

He wasn't wearing the tailored navy suit I’d brushed lint off of this morning. He was in gray sweatpants and an old university hoodie I thought I’d thrown away years ago. He looked younger. Relaxed. He was carrying a white plastic trash bag, his movements effortless and domestic.

He tossed the bag into a sleek, concealed bin at the side of the porch and turned back toward the house. A younger woman stepped into the light of the doorway.

She was the woman from the feed. Her dark hair was tied in a messy knot, and she was laughing, holding the toddler I had seen on the screen. The child was wearing a bright yellow onesie, his small legs kicking with excitement as he saw Julian.

Julian didn't look like a man at a high-stakes city planning meeting. He looked like a man who had just come home after a long day at the office.

The toddler reached out, his small hands grasping for Julian’s face. Julian took the child, hoisting him high into the air. The boy’s giggles carried across the silent street, a sharp, joyous sound that felt like a physical assault.

The woman leaned against the doorframe, her expression soft, watching them with a look of absolute, uncomplicated possession. She said something I couldn't hear, and Julian turned to her, his face illuminated by the morning sun.

He looked at her with a hunger I hadn't seen in a decade. A look of pure, unadulterated devotion that made my stomach turn into a knot of hot lead.

He stepped toward her, the toddler still balanced on his hip. He reached out with his free hand, cupping her jaw, and pulled her in.

Julian kissed the woman. A long, familiar, domestic kiss. The kind he hadn't given Clara in years.