His mind went to the woman in the room next door, and he thought of her bravery, her grit and determination to do the right thing, and he knew he’d stand beside her in this fight. He owed it to his family. He owed it to the young men he worked with every week at the gym as they fought to escape the gang life that was embedded into their lives at every turn, threatening to suck them into the path that would only end their lives prematurely.
He owed it to Jay; his older brother, the person he’d looked up to, had followed and worshipped and, ultimately, the brother he couldn’t save.
Malco sat up with a jerk, his ears cocked for the sound that woke him. He stilled, listening over the familiar noises of the house for it to come again. When it did, he moved, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Urgently needing to get to the source of the noise.
A keening, heartbreaking sob came from the room where Frida slept. As he grabbed for his leg, slipping the limb on with practiced ease, he resented the extra seconds it took, hating that he couldn’t get to her faster, yet knowing he was more use to her with two working legs.
The sound came again as he pushed open her bedroom door, the sun from the corridor skylight casting light across the room and illuminating her form. Frida was fast asleep on her back; her hair spread wildly around her; her covers tangled at her feet as if she’d been restless in her sleep.
Malco moved closer and saw the wetness from the tears she was shedding in her sleep on her cheeks.
Pain and relief squeezed his chest as he realized she was in the throes of a nightmare. Sitting gently on the bed beside her, he wondered what to do. Wake her and risk embarrassing the proud woman or leave her to face this torment alone? Something about leaving her to face any kind of pain alone didn’t sit well with him.
Again, the desire to protect her and stand between her and anything that wanted to hurt her was strong. Reaching out a hand, he stroked the soft hair from her face and murmured reassurances. Her face turned into his touch, and he wiped the delicate warm skin of her face. From her brow to her chin, he kept going as he spoke.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” His words or his touch, perhaps both, eased her. The racing pulse beneath his fingers and the breathy sounds of fear stilled until she was once again relaxed, her breathing deep and peaceful.
Malco sat for a second taking her in, wondering at the pain she’d witnessed that haunted her in her sleep. Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t sleep well? Had they more in common than he knew? Were they both nursing a pain that couldn’t be changed?
Standing, Malco backed away, easing the door almost closed before heading to his room to shower and dress. He wouldn’t sleep again now. Looking at the clock, he noticed he’d had three hours straight, which was good for him.
Once he had showered and dressed for the day in his usual denim jeans and dark polo top, he moved to the door in the laundry room that led to the back garden. He needed to check the grounds. This had become a morning ritual he enjoyed. Walking the perimeter of his slice of heaven. Listening to the birds as they woke, seeing the sun make its magnificent ascent from the darkness as it spilled color and warmth over this part of the world.
He checked the lines and sensors and noted they were all as they should be. The silence, except for that of nature, spoke to him. Living as he had and then being in the army, peace and quiet had not been something that was readily available. Now though, he relished his quiet time at home.
He loved work and his friends, but his home was his haven, and he looked at it once again with a sense of pride and guilt. Pride that he had built this, he had succeeded. The guilt, though, never seemed far away, and he lived with that as his penance. It was his burden to carry for the mistakes he’d made. He tried to make amends as best he could, working with young teens at the Youth Center to help them find a way out of the lives that circumstance was trying to force them into. It would never wipe his debt clean, though, and nor should it. Shaking off his thoughts, he moved back toward the house. At six am, it was still early, but the heat of the Miami sun was already making itself known.
Pushing start on the coffee pot, Malco took eggs, peppers, cheese, sausage, and spinach from the fridge. He had no idea what Frida liked, but if he made his usual and some toast and fruit, he should get somewhere near. He enjoyed cooking, he was no MasterChef, but simple food was all he needed and having someone to cook for felt good.
He began to sing as he cooked. It was not something he did often or in public, but he enjoyed signing; it made him happy, and he wanted to be happy. To find what King and Syd had, or Mason with Cleo.
