Unexpected Fate
Page 58

“Okay, okay . . . Jeez,” I laugh and follow him through the front door.
He leads me past the smiling real estate agent and up the huge staircase that dominates the front entry. He doesn’t stop until we’re both facing one of the many closed doors in the upstairs.
“Go ahead,” he urges and nods to the door.
I give him a look but reach out and turn the nob. When my eyes settle around the room he’s found, my lip quivers. “Oh, Cohen.”
“It’s perfect, hmm?” he says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my body until he has his hands against my belly. His lips press against my temple. “I figured, with us deciding not to find out the gender, that this color would be perfect. You can match anything you want with a green like this. It reminded me of your eyes, and that made me think about our little one having the same green eyes as you, and it just seemed like a sign.”
“It’s perfect.” And it is.
The large room has light-green walls and a dark hardwood finish. The back wall has a huge floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the wooded backyard. I walk deeper into the room and notice the huge walk-in closet through one doorway. The other doorway leads into a connecting bathroom. I imagine where each item I have carefully planned on buying for our child would go, seeing the room come together instantly.
“This is it, Cohen,” I tell him and watch his handsome face brighten with happiness.
“I hoped you would say that since I put an offer on this one last week.”
“You did what?” I laugh. “Then why have we been looking at house after house since then?”
“Even on paper, it was perfect, Dani. There’s more than enough room for us and our family to grow. I had no problem putting our future in writing. I wanted you to see your choices before I showed you mine. Had you liked something better, I would have pulled my offer and gotten you that one.” He walks over and rubs my belly. “You, me, and baby against the world.”
I nod my head and lean up on my tippy-toes to give him a kiss. “That’s right, Superman.” I giggle.
I’m not sure what kind of strings Cohen pulled to have us in our home so quickly, but not even a week after he showed me the beautiful home with our child’s perfect nursery, we are moving our stuff in.
Against his better judgment and a lot of convincing from me that I would be perfectly fine at the apartment with Chance, Liam, and my brother—not to mention that my girls were all on their way to help—he left to meet with the realtor and the contractor we had hired to finish our basement and to wait for the furniture company to deliver ninety percent of our stuff. He had a busy day at the new house, and with all of us busy boxing up the rest of Cohen’s and my stuff, it was best for him to leave me here to make sure it gets done.
“Chance!” I yell out Cohen’s bedroom door. “Where is the packaging tape?”
When no one answers, I heave my almost eight-month-pregnant body off the floor and walk into the living room, where I left them arguing over which PlayStation games belong to Cohen and which ones he had stolen from them. Sometimes, I wonder if they’re really grown children.
“Hey, where are you guys?” I ask, looking around.
“Danielle.”
I jump and spin towards the familiar voice.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
My eyes widen when I see the blood staining the knife in his hands, and when I move my eyes back to his, I notice that they’re wild.
Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening. I quickly look around and search for the guys. The blood on his knife could only mean one thing, and my stomach drops when I realize what that is.
“Where are my friends?” I question. Keep him talking . . . I think that’s what Dad said to do in a situation like this. Keep him talking until you can figure out a way to get help.
“Your friends,” he says as if the words taste bad against his lips. “Those men that you’ve been whoring yourself to aren’t going to be a problem. The big one and your brother left a second ago, and I took care of that other motherfucker just like I took care of Don and Clint.”
“Don and Clint? Clint the cameraman? What are you talking about, Mark?”
“I saw the way they looked at you. Always looking at you. And you let them. You shouldn’t have done that, Danielle.” He laughs, the sound making my skin crawl. “You shouldn’t encourage that they had a chance with you. YOU are mine and I’m tired of watching you act like a slut when you know, YOU KNOW, what we have.”
I gape at him, dumbfounded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mark.” A sense of dread starts to take hold of my body, and I try to think of a way out of this mess.
Until he speaks again and I’m shocked to my core.
“I saw the way that you would look at me. I know you felt it. All of our dates we would have. When you would tell me what you loved about me as a boyfriend. I remember it all, Danielle. But you’ve been a naughty girl. It’s time to take care of all of these . . . complications.” He waves the knife around until the tip is pointing down. At my swollen belly.
“No,” I gasp and clutch my stomach. “No!” My scream goes unnoticed by him as he takes a step forward. “Mark, those weren’t dates. We had lunch—with about five other people—in the breakroom at Sway’s. That was it. You were asking my advice for the girl you were dating. Mark, we aren’t anything.” My attempt at reasoning with him only angers him further.
“No!” he bellows, repeatedly jabbing the knife in my direction. “We’re EVERYTHING!” his voice takes on a manic level of insanity, and he starts to advance on me.
“Please . . . I’m begging you. Don’t hurt my baby. I’ll do whatever you want, but please!”
“That,” he says harshly. “That is an abomination and it must be removed from you. I won’t stand for it.”
I grip my stomach tighter and sob. The tears mix with the snot as they roll down my face. The hope I was holding on to that I would be able to talk him off the ledge starts to dwindle. I look around again, praying that I’ll find something that will give me the answer on how to escape this impending doom.
This is it. I’m going to die right here where my future started. Right where it started, we’re going to die, and I know there is no way Cohen will survive this kind of loss. That knowledge and my love for him are the only hope I have left. I spot the lamp just an inch away from my fist right when Mark makes his move and lunges forward. Given the fact that my belly has gotten huge in the last seven weeks since Cohen returned home, my movements are slower than normal, and right when I feel his knife pierce my left side, I heave the lamp with everything I have and clip him right on his temple.