Single Mom’s Firemen: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

More than a month has passed since my encounter with Colby.

We have been extremely vigilant but recently I decided to let the kids go back to daycare while I resumed my job at the firehouse. We were getting restless. Knowing that Dallas PD had received a few tips confirming that Colby had skipped town helped me make my decision. He likely bolted when he heard about the BOLO that went out in his name.

I don’t think we’re anywhere close to being out of the woods yet, but the Danson brothers have been by my side every single day. I feel safe enough with them to dare live my life, safe enough to allow more for my kids.

My body has been on overload lately from all the stress that I’ve been dealing with. There is no amount of lovemaking, not even with these veritable studs of mine that can heal what is bothering me on a deeper level.

Until Colby is apprehended and convicted of his egregious crimes, until he is stripped of all of his parental rights, I will continue to struggle. There is still a high chance that he or his mother could take me to court for custody of Luna and Sammy.

Which is just one of the reasons why we’re keeping our relationship a secret. Society wouldn’t understand, and I would be the first to fall. They’d call me terrible names. They’d shame me and ostracize me. Social Services would have a field day ripping what’s left of my life apart, and they would no doubt try to remove my children from my custody.

It would give Harriet and Colby the ammunition they need to obliterate me.

I thought I’d feel better if Eric, Chase, and Wyatt knew the truth but I am still constantly on edge. I can’t get enough sleep. There are moments when I catch myself dozing off behind my desk. At other times, the alarm snaps me out of a dream without a hint of mercy.

Mornings are the hardest.

I can barely function, and managing the little ones before Marie comes over to pick them up for daycare has become a real mission. I’m hungry all the time yet I can barely keep anything down. Nausea tests my limits daily while my feet drag in the afternoon.

Today in particular has been exceptionally difficult though I’m not sure why.

It’s not until I reach the kitchen area of the firehouse that it hits me. The smell of Danish cheese from the fridge nearly sends me over the edge. There’s nothing wrong with the cheese itself, there’s nothing wrong with any of the food in the fridge. No, what is wrong with this picture has everything to do with me. Every smell in this room makes me want to hurl.

“Oh, no,” I mutter to myself.

I’ll need to stop by a drug store on my way home.

“We’re having lunch in a minute,” Eric says as we cross paths in the kitchen. “What are you looking for?”

“Oh, just some water,” I reply with a smile and grab the pitcher to bring it over to the table in the dining area. I love the view from up here, the dining area overlooks the firehouse garage. The four red trucks are parked in a perfect parallel row, equipment waiting on each side to be loaded or placed on the vehicle as soon as a call comes in. Until then, however, we’re going to sit down and enjoy a Holt-made lunch. “What did the chief’s wife cook for us today?” I ask Eric.

“She baked bread.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is. Have you ever tasted the chief’s wife’s bread? It is dangerously addictive. Way too good, especially when she pairs it with her chili con carne,” Eric replies. “I swear I will absolutely bawl like a baby when he retires.”

The fragrance of the food envelops me as soon as we step into the dining area. The table is already laid out with plenty of bowls and plates from which to serve ourselves. It’s a true feast, with chili and bread, Wyatt’s “everything salad,” and three different types of pasta dishes from the other firefighters. One of them used seafood in their recipe. It makes my stomach turn inside out but I keep my game face on and take my seat at the table.

Chase and Wyatt are already seated. The others are still gathering from different parts of the firehouse while the chief is almost done sprucing up his wife’s signature guacamole. Jokingly, Wyatt picks up the bowl of nacho chips to inspect it.

“Seriously, Chief? Store bought?” he quips, making us giggle.

Holt smiles, eyes on the guac as he stirs in the lemon juice. “Beggars can’t be choosers, son,” he says. “Alright, we’re almost ready to dig in.”

The sound of heels clicking up the metal stairs has us stopping and turning to see who decided to interrupt a decent, quiet lunch in a place that doesn’t get much quiet to begin with. I hear myself gasping as soon as she reaches the top.

“Harriet,” I whisper, the blood freezing in my veins.

She hasn’t aged a day, this viper of a woman. Her brown hair shows streaks of silver, pulled into a tight and classy bun at the back of her head. Her camel-brown pantsuit and mocha heels convey her strength and dominant persona. She’s not here for a pleasant visit, that much is obvious. Two gentlemen in grey suits followed her up the stairs. Lawyers, by the looks of them.

“There you are,” Harriet says, smiling coldly as soon as she sees me. “It took me a while to find you, Helena, but I’m glad I did.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I blurt out, almost jumping out of my seat.

Instinctively, Eric’s hand covers mine under the table but his gaze is fixed on the newcomers, coldness turning his otherwise soft blues into soul-crushing ice.

“You’ve been impossible to reach,” Harriet says, her eyes darting all around, measuring, checking, memorizing every face and name tag in sight.

Chief Holt sets the guacamole aside and walks over to greet her and her lawyers. “Excuse me, what is this about?”

“It’s a family matter,” Harriet replies. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“You’re in my firehouse, it does concern me.”

One of the suits takes out an envelope from his briefcase and tries to deliver it directly to me, but Chase intervenes, taking the envelope from him with a menacing glare that clearly makes him uncomfortable. “It’s for Mrs. Nash,” the lawyer tries to protest.

“Former Mrs. Nash,” I reply. “What is that?”

“I’m suing for custody of the children,” Harriet says.

It shouldn’t come as a shock. Harriet was always about keeping the kids in her family, regardless of how Colby and I got along. More than once, she told me that I was free to leave at any time, provided I left Sammy and Luna behind.

The answer was always a flat “no” every time she brought it up. In hindsight, I think Harriet would’ve been happier if I’d done precisely that, instead of sticking around and putting up with her abusive son.

Her presence alone is enough to make my blood boil but knowing what’s inside of that envelope only serves to exacerbate my state, pushing me past my limits. My throat burns. The earlier sensation of nausea returns with a vengeance while I try to keep my wits about me.

“I’ll take this,” Chase says, claiming the envelope.

Eric stays by my side, his physical proximity doing little to stop me from collapsing inward. Wyatt, however, moves slowly around the table, his green eyes never leaving Harriet and her lawyers. Chief Holt frowns, his gaze bouncing between my former mother-in-law and me.

“You will never get custody of my children,” I tell Harriet. “And the audacity you have to even think you might pull something like this off is unbelievable.”

“Oh, look at that, the kitty has finally grown some claws. Isn’t that sweet,” she laughs maliciously, as if I’m the most adorable little fiend that she has ever come across. “One can tell that Colby hasn’t been around to set you straight.”

“You mean he hasn’t been around to deliver his daily dose of emotional abuse, belittling, and gaslighting,” I reply. “I presume it’s how you raised him.”

Helen gives me a hard look. “My son is a good and honorable man. It’s not his fault you couldn’t be a suitable wife to him.”

“Mrs. Nash, you’ve delivered your envelope,” Eric cuts in. “What are you still doing here? And furthermore, how did you track Halle here?”

“Halle? Is that what you told them to call you, Helena?” Harriet keeps her sights on me, watching me like a hawk.

Heat bursts through my chest, but I keep my chin high, determined not to let her get to me this time around. “I’ve always gone by Halle. You and your psycho son are the ones who insisted on calling me by my full name,” I say, then point at the envelope. “Like Eric said, you’ve accomplished what you came here for by delivering the envelope. Please, leave.”

“No, no, hold on,” Chief Holt interjects. “Eric asked a fair question. How did you find Halle here, exactly?”

Harriet smiles. “I employ capable investigators, what can I say?”

“I wasn’t dodging the courts, Harriet. I have a certified restraining order against your precious angel, Colby,” I hiss. “Who, by the way, tried to choke the life out of me just the other day. Good and honorable man, my ass. Do you actually believe this BS that you’re trying to sell here? Or are you just afraid you’ll be embarrassed by your own progeny?”

“Helena, I honestly don’t like this new version of you. It’s all the more reason to take Luna and Sammy back where they belong. At home, with us, with their family,” Harriet says.

“The only way you’ll ever get my children is over my cold, dead body,” I shoot back.

Something shifts within me. The nausea swells into an overwhelming sensation. The entire firehouse is suddenly too crowded, and it’s getting harder for me to breathe, to focus, to stand upright. Eric catches on, squeezing my hand in a bid to keep me alert, but I can feel myself slipping away from him with each passing second.

“You won’t be able to find a job flipping burger patties by the time I’m done with you,” Harriet says, her voice low and her tone sharp. “What you did to my son is deplorable. Those children deserve a better life than what you’ve given them, and that diner fire is all the proof I need to convince the judge that you’re an unfit mother.”

Eric scoffs. “If I were you, I wouldn’t pull that thread, Mrs. Nash. Your son is currently on the run from the police. There’s a BOLO out on his name regarding his involvement in the diner fire. You should tread carefully at this point.”

“If anything, you should tell him to turn himself in at any police station in Dallas for an interview, sooner rather than later,” Wyatt adds.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Harriet seems surprised. Confused, even. But she can’t react, not here and certainly not now. Something tells me that Colby did what he did without her knowledge, and she has no idea that Colby was spotted on camera. There must be a fracture somewhere between them. I wonder how that came to happen.

But for now, I need her vermin face out of here before I puke my guts out.

“You’re bordering on false accusations,” Harriet tells Wyatt. “You’d better mind your tongue, boy.”

“We’re the ones who pulled Halle and your grandchildren out of that fire,” Wyatt replies. “And we’re the ones who saw your good and honorable son, on camera, mind you, running away from the diner with a gas canister in his hand.”

“I will not stand here and put up with this nonsense,” Harriet snaps, then points an angry finger at me, gold bangles jingling around her bony wrists. “I’ll see you in court, Helena. And rest assured, I will have your children. You’re unfit to be their mother.”

There’s a lot I’d like to say to her at this point but the ground keeps spinning. I hold on to Eric for dear life while Wyatt and Chase almost forcibly remove Harriet and her lawyers from the premises. The two suits look so uncomfortable; it appears they had no idea what they were walking into. “Don’t you dare touch me!” she barks at Chase. “Do you know who I am?”

“The widow of a washed-up mobster. Cool your fucking jets and get the hell out of my firehouse,” Chase replies with his usual bluntness.

I’d laugh but my knees are close to giving way. All I can do is watch as they’re escorted outside, thankful that I’m able to breathe again. The anger, the helplessness, the fear—all have built a strong relationship in my head, toying with my resolve and messing with my ability to make clear and informed decisions. I’ve been down this road so many times, I am almost clinically accurate in my own self-diagnosis.

“Are you okay, Halle?” Eric asks me.

“I need a minute,” I mumble.

“You don’t look so good,” he says, trying to keep me from fleeing.

I angrily push him away and dart right into one of the employee bathrooms, careful to lock the door behind me. My breathing is uneven and ragged, each lungful making my chest hurt. I splash cold water on my face, hoping to alleviate some of the symptoms. It doesn’t work, though. I still end up on my knees, hunched over the toilet bowl.

“Halle?” Eric calls out and bangs on the door. “Are you alright?”

“Just give me a minute please,” I shout with a trembling voice. “I’ll be fine.”

I won’t be fine. Harriet Nash found me, Colby has a line on me, and I’m likely pregnant. I don’t have Harriet’s money or her bigshot lawyers to fight her for custody. How the hell am I going to keep my kids if she and Colby come at me with everything they’ve got?

I’m terrified.

If Colby doesn’t kill me first, Harriet will certainly try every legal trick in the book to strip me of having custody over Luna and Sammy. And once she exhausts her legal options, she will no doubt switch strategies and pull a page out of her dead husband’s playbook—or worse, her son’s. Either way, I’m screwed.