Warrior (First to Fight #1)(59)
Out of everyone, Cole is the only one Ben devotes one hundred percent of his focus to. No matter how overwhelmed he gets or how huge the tantrum is, Ben is ever patient and attentive. They’re inseparable, and I could have never in a million years thought I’d be so lucky.
We reach the counter and I reach to get my wallet from my purse, but Ben bats away my hands and pays for the bracelets that will serve as our entry tickets. I roll my eyes at his impish grin as the attendant attaches mine.
The scent of fried food and boiled peanuts permeates the cool night air. We immediately stop to get a cup of the salty goodness, sharing it as we wander through the booths of wares and stalls of games. Ben hoists Cole on his shoulders and grabs my hand so I don’t get lost in the crush of people. For a moment, I forget everything that’s torn us apart—and the things that we have yet to discuss about our strange situation. Relationship? Whatever it is, I vow to forget about it for one night and enjoy it.
Even though Cole can hardly balance, we help him atop a miniature horse and lead him around in circles. Ben keeps him steady with one strong hand and I stand outside the gate, taking pictures of the two of them. I find myself doing that a lot these days—taking pictures. Ben laughs every time I do, insisting it’s unnecessary. But having no real mementos from my childhood makes me all the more determined to make sure Cole has more than he could possibly need. Overcompensation is the watchword for parenting, I’ve learned.
The boys return, smelling a might earthier than they did before, but both have identical grins stretched across their faces. “We’ve got a happy baby, Momma.”
I can’t help but smile back. “I see that.”
Ben straps Cole back into his stroller and turns to face me. His face is awash with the cheerful lights from the carnival rides, his smile easy, free, and unspeakably alluring. It’s the look of the man he was before he deployed for the last time. Before he took on the unbearable burdens he now shoulders on his own.
“Where to next?” he asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
There aren’t many places Cole can go, but I spot a carousel across the way and point to it. “How about that?”
Cole spots the swirling lights and makes high-pitched sounds of excitement as we near the carousel. Ben throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to his side. I turn, lean up and press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. He pauses in the middle of the crowd to meet my lips for a more passionate embrace.
By the time we make it over to the carousel, I’m giddy with happiness. I lift Cole from his stroller, choose an aquamarine seahorse and strap Cole on. Ben watches from a crowd of onlookers. I gesture for him to take pictures, but he shakes his head. The carousel starts moving, so I gesture more violently. He finally relents and points his phone towards us with a beleaguered expression.
We go around one turn and make it back to Ben. I manage to get Cole to pay attention for a few seconds while Ben snaps off a round of pictures before we’re out of view.
The ride winds down to a stop, and I pull an over-excited Cole off the seahorse. We buckle him back into the stroller and set out through the crowds.
“I hear there’s a petting zoo somewhere back near the horses,” I tell Ben.
“Let’s grab something to drink first. Those peanuts made me thirsty.”
Ben deftly guides the stroller through the masses until a loud sound from behind startles the both of us. Ben whirls, throwing his hands up, eyes wide and feral. I flinch at his reaction and turn to search for the noise.
A couple of kids howl, waving sparklers and fisting handfuls of bottle rockets. Their parents intervene, grabbing arms and jerking them backwards while spewing stern words.
I slip an arm around Ben’s waist and whisper, “Are you okay?” I can feel the heavy beat of his heart in his chest and his breathing is shallow. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly.
“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. He shakes himself then returns the hug. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
We both turn back to the stroller to make our way towards the concession stand. I lean down to offer Cole some consoling words—the noise surely had to startle him, too—but the stroller is empty. My mind blanks and my stomach drops somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. I look at Ben, thinking maybe he somehow grabbed him in the commotion, but he’s looking off in the distance, his jaw tight.
“Ben, where’s Cole?” I gulp for breath, but it doesn’t help.
His head jerks to me sharply, and he turns the stroller to confirm that my nightmare is real. I twist, looking wildly through the ever-moving crowd of people, but there are so many around us I can’t even see the edge. The world reels away and the lights are no longer bright and cheerful. The crowd around us is no longer happy and friendly, but terrifying and sinister.
“Cole!” I screech, searching blindly.
Ben leaves the stroller and strides away, pushing through the people too slow to get out of his way. His eyes scan the immediate vicinity, but there’s no way he can see through the mass of people.
I spot a uniformed officer and sprint to him. “Someone took my son.”
As the officer speaks into his radio, I fumble for my phone. I scroll through, find the photo Ben took while we were on the carousel and show the officer. “This is what he’s wearing. He was in the stroller, but some kids set off some fireworks and we turned away for one second and he was gone. He’s not even a year old yet; he doesn’t even know how to unbuckle the stroller.”