A thousand times I wanted to jump into the van in the garage.

A thousand times I wanted to hold them to me and beg the men getting into the van with them to take me too.

A thousand times a bad thought filled my mind, and all I saw were horrid images of my vulnerable babies.

Mom kissed me and shook her head, "Be strong, safe and fast." She kissed the tip of my nose. My eyes watered. It was what she always said to my dad when he left. My mom was a military wife. She knew, at any given time, my dad's work could make her life painful. She knew it, all too well. She loved it when he got too high to go on mission anymore.

I looked into the van and crossed my arms. Thankfully, my kids were confused enough that they didn’t ask too many questions. I had already explained that it was a military thing for the men to ride with them, as an honor to their fallen father. They did it for every fallen family.

I took both their hands in mine and spoke softly, “Daddy had it in his will that we were all to take a vacation, if he ever died. He didn’t want us to be sad or heartbroken. He wanted us to be happy and remember him. We are going to take that vacation, like he made in his last dying wish. Grandma is going to go ahead with you and I’m going to stay behind and deal with the rest of his stuff. I love you both.”

Mitch shook his head, “I don’t want to go.”

I gave him my look for ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass’. “Mitch, this is your father’s dying wish. We have no choice but to respect it.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, making me snap, “Behave for Grandma or I burn the electronics.”

Mom climbed into the driver's seat of the minivan. A man got into the passenger side and laid the seat back. My kids were put in the middle seats with men on either side on the floor and two men lying in the back. How they had all made it into the house from the backyard, was disturbing. Had my neighbors really not noticed the military combing through the backyards in broad daylight?

I glanced over at Coop, ruffling the hair on Mitch's head and joking with him. I wanted to tell him to stop, but it was sweet to see Mitch laughing and trying to be a man in front of him.

I stepped away from the van and blew them kisses as the doors closed. Coop closed the last of the minivan doors and walked to me.

He wrapped himself around me, helping me inside of the house and closing the door. I pressed my face to the cold metal and cried against it. He didn’t try to comfort me, thankfully.

I dropped to my knees and sobbed, "T-t-t-they only finished their father's memorial hours ago. I've m-m-made a mistake," I wailed.

I curled up at the door, keeping my fingers on the cold metal of it.

I heard him close to me and opened one puffy eye to see him carrying things from my kitchen.

"What are you doing?" My tone was edgy.

"Get up, Evie," he answered back with a tone of his own.

I turned to tell him to kiss my old, saggy ass, but I was stopped by what I saw. I started to laugh.

"You are so twenty-years old. You can say twenty-eight, but I know," I whispered as I sat up, shaking my head and licking my wrist. I snorted as I gave it to him. He shook the salt on it and handed me the shot. He did the same on his wrist and held his shot out, "To your mom and kids arriving safe and staying that way."

I muttered, "Cheers."

He clanked our shot classes together and gave me a mischievous look.

"Stop trying to be nice to me. I have seen the real you," I snarled and licked the salt the same time as him. I shot back the tequila and grabbed a lemon from the plate. I sucked the juice as he did. He reached over and wrapped his empty hand around mine, holding the empty shot glass, "I am nice."

I gulped.

The lonely corner we sat in, with our shots and lemons, seemed darker suddenly, matching the gloomy day outside. He took my glass from my fingers and poured us each another shot, and passed me the glass back. I licked my wrist and held it out for him to pour more salt on.

He held his drink up again, "To James, may he rest in peace." His eyes twinkled. I grinned and nodded, "And Mel. May they be at rest together, happily."

He half smirked, lifting only his upper lip on only the right side. He licked his lips and I tried not to notice how plump they were. Or how he had the subtlest cleft in his chin. Or the way his pulse beat rhythmically in his thick neck. It was like neck porn. I licked my wrist and sucked back the drink. I grabbed the lemon and sucked, all while watching the neck porn.

I needed a nap and to be away from him. He was jailbait and he called me a cougar, and I was an emotional wreck who was about to make a poor choice out of grief. I jumped up and shook my head from the two shots.

"Thanks," I walked past him and up the stairs.

"No prob," he muttered.

I curled up in my bed and slept, until he woke me with a shout from the bottom of the stairs.

I jumped up and pulled on a casual outfit. I didn’t even look at myself. When I met him at the door, he gave me a disapproving once over.

“What?”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Is that really what you want to wear?”

I growled, “I’m a grieving widow, ass.”

He put his hands up in the air, "Alright fine; let’s sort this out then. I'm your cabby. Meet you out front in two." He nodded all snarly again and vanished. I looked at the foyer and crossed my arms around myself.

How had it all happened? How had it gone so wrong? How could James die, or even worse, fake his own death and abandon us?

I waited the two minutes and walked out the front door.

He sat in the same cab as the night before. I climbed in and looked down.

He spoke as he backed up, not looking at me, "He's going to talk to you and ask you questions, and you are going to have to seem like a devastated widow who knows shit all." He drove like a maniac and dropped me off at the lobby without saying much, "Be safe. I'm nearby, okay?"

"No last advice?" I gulped.

He shook his head, "Say yes to everything."

I scowled at him and closed the door. What was the everything?

"Good evening, ma'am," the bellhop said and opened the door. I looked up and walked across the lobby, wondering how many hotels I would be entering if this continued. They would start thinking I was a nearly middle-aged hooker, if I kept coming back and visiting hotel rooms. I glanced at myself in the mirror I passed and felt a little better. At least I didn’t look nearly middle aged or like any hooker I'd ever seen. Whose fantasy was to have their mom show up in their hotel? Maybe I could nag them to pick up their clothes and wash their faces.

The bellboy was a young man with an infectious smile. He nodded at me as the elevator opened, "What floor?"

I smiled back, ignoring the fire in my stomach and stepped inside, "The presidential suite please."

He gave me the up-down and smirk, "Yes, Ma'am." I could have pulled off my sports bra and choked his little ass.

I sighed, partly because everyone had been calling me Ma'am lately, and partly because, I knew I would never get my sports bra off fast enough. The thing was a death trap.

The elevator stopped on the top floor.

As I stepped off, he said, "Have a nice night, ma'am," and pressed a button. I glanced back at the shit-eating grin on his face and raised an eyebrow.

Had he had a mocking tone?

Was he laughing at the fact the guy opening the door was getting a mom hooker? He was probably used to seeing three girls in miniskirts with red lips and syphilis entering the presidential suite.

I looked at the single, white door in the hall. The suite must have been nearly the entire floor. I pushed down my fears and walked to the door. The fact I'd already done this routine was making it less scary, like I had wasted the real fear on the practice run when I met Coop. I didn’t feel as scared as I should have been.

My hands didn’t shake. My stomach burned but never cramped.

I placed my fist up to knock, but the door opened.

"You're late." The man from the photos with James scowled at me. He looked so much better in person.

I winced, while trying to smile, "Sorry. The taxi was late."

“I gave you valet money for a reason.”

I stammered, “Uhm…I was too tired to drive.”

He watched me for a second, before letting me in. His short, dark hair was thick and styled nicely. He looked my age but his face was actually tanned, so his skin was aged, but only slightly more. His hazel eyes had a greenish tint to them, but were mostly brown. I could imagine them getting quite dark if he were angry. He was tall, much taller than me in all my five-foot-four glory. He had to be at least six foot three.

He smiled and made slight dimples in his cheeks, "Please, come in. My name is Gustavo Servario." His smile was hypnotic and calming. This... this was the man threatening my life and children?? I was having a terrible time believing it possible or seeing him as threatening. My nerves were barely registering or just refused to participate on account of the handsome man.

I could feel awkward nervousness making attempts to take over. He was sophisticated and smooth and handsome, beyond what I had expected. I had only ever seen surveillance of him. Up close, he made me breathe irregularly. I regretted my choice of yoga pants, a three-quarter sleeve sweater and sneakers.

I entered the suite, nearly jumping when he placed his hand on the small of my back. He chuckled, "You'll need to get used to that feel, my dear."

My stomach dropped, the charming dimply smile couldn’t even rescue me from the panic of my nerves showing up all at once.

I would need to get used to that touch? He was planning on touching me? What did that mean?

He guided me into the living room and put a hand out, "Sit."

I gripped my clutch and sat in one of the fancy cream and yellow chairs. The room was lovely.

He picked up two champagne flutes and brought one to me. Were we celebrating my husband’s fake death or his taking over of my life and forcing me to hide my children?

I took the delicate stemware in my suddenly-shaking hand and forced my nerves down.