Matters to You (Hart #5) - M.E. Carter Page 0,2

it looks like Spence’s car. With a black sheet over it.

My breathing speeds up as I zoom in but can’t see enough of the back window to tell if the spot in the bottom right corner is a promo sticker from his favorite radio station, or something else. Surely, it’s something else. It’s someone else’s car. It can’t be Spence’s. I’m just overreacting. Mazda has lots of cars out there. Millions. It could be a million different people. Not my Spence.

The comments, though, do little to ease my mind.

It’s going to be here a while, guys. An ambulance came out but they never took anyone away and they’ve stopped working. Pray for these people.

I’m here. Overheard an officer say they’re waiting for the medical examiner.

Y’all pray for the families. That black sheet isn’t a good sign. Usually that’s only to cover the scene when someone has died.

“No, no, no, NO.” My voice sounds shrill as I close the app and try to call Spence.

“Kiersten, what’s wrong?”

I know Lauren is trying to talk to me, but I can barely hear her over the sounds of his phone ringing and my own heartbeat.

“Pick up, Spence. Come on, baby. Pick up.”

Finally, someone answers. “Hey, this is Spence. You know what to do.”

Dammit. I hang up, uninterested in leaving a voice message. I need to hear him, alive and breathing.

Dialing again, I continue my ministrations. “Come on, Spence. Answer the phone. Pull over if you have to. Please answer.”

“Kiersten, what’s wrong?”

I ignore her, waiting. Voicemail picks up again. I redial.

Small nudges begin pushing against my abdomen and I instinctually cradle my baby, our baby, as I try to reach his father. As I pray my life didn’t just change forever because of a damn social media post.

“Come on, Spence,” I say louder this time. “We need you, baby. Don’t leave us. Answer the phone.”

He never does.

TWO

Kiersten

Three years later

Our new place isn’t huge, but it feels cramped with a toddler, three women, and two men—including a huge pro football player—standing in the living room. It doesn’t help that we’re surrounded by boxes.

I had to have all this help, though. It took all of us to move the never-ending piles of boxes without losing the toddler.

One exhausting day is nothing, though. I’ve lived through worse. Far worse. A cramped room and a long list of things to do is still a far cry from all the ugliness and despair I left behind. I’m choosing to focus on our new beginnings. I have a healthy son, a safe place to live, and good friends to help me move. Friends that have helped me get through the other crap I’ve been dealing with the last several years too.

Yeah. Life could be worse than being surrounded by people who love me.

“So, listen.” Lauren plops down on the floor next to me and promptly yawns. We’re exhausted from a full day of driving a moving truck and hauling furniture. If I never move again it’ll be too soon.

“Heath and I were talking.”

I look over at my best friend, a smirk on my face. Whenever she tells me they’ve been talking, that usually means they have an idea they want me to subscribe to.

Like the time they “talked about” me making a will and giving them custody of Carson if something were to happen to me.

Or the time they “talked about” paying the deposits and two month’s rent on this apartment to make sure no one swooped in before I could get here.

Or the time they “talked about” co-signing on my car.

Admittedly, they were all really good ideas that I’m grateful for. “Leath,” as I call them when they’re not looking because they’re basically a power couple, are just liars. They haven’t been “talking about” anything. They’ve been “making decisions” on how to take care of me. No matter how much I protest, it won’t do any good. Neither of them will back down. Lauren, because she loves me. Heath, because he loves my son. And I think he loves me, too. It took a while but we’ve found our footing as friends and pseudo-family.

“And what decision did you come to about my life this time?”

Lauren smiles sheepishly at me because she knows I’m right. She also knows I’m not angry about it. I never would have made it through the last three years without them. If anything, I’m embarrassed by how grateful I am.

“We want to help you pay for child care.” I start to protest but she stops me