Two Pups (bxbxb)

Healing

Elliott's POV

I was alone with the kids again. We were sitting around the living room, with Drake and Josh on the TV. I couldn't remember turning it on, but there it was. Josh was in puppy form, rolling around on the floor without a care in the world. Jake's hair was in a blonde mohawk and he was dressed like a broccoli.

We were happy.

And then there was a knock on the door.

The door had definitely been locked — had it been locked? I couldn't remember locking it — but it was being pushed open anyway.

It was Mark.

He was standing there, dressed again like a delivery man. He was holding a vial of something.

I ran to my kids and grabbed them. It made me feel better, knowing this time I was holding onto them. Nothing could take them from me this time.

Mark waved the vial, filled with purple fluid, around. "Your mother tried to have me killed!" he snarled. "And Noel, too."

Fuck. What? That didn't make any sense, she wouldn't have—

I couldn't talk or move. I tried to, but I couldn't, and it just filled my chest with more panic. He was going to take my kids again. He was going to kill me. Something bad was going to happen, and panic was halting me in place.

"I'm going to fucking burn this place to the ground," he snapped, tossing the vial at me.

The vial — poison? — was going to explode on impact. I didn't know how I knew it, but I did, and then—

"Baby?"

I was greeted with a mouthful of pillow and a warm hand on my back. Oliver's soft whisper came again. "Baby? Are you okay? You were makin' noises."

Shit. Not again.

I peeled myself up from my blankets, blinking sleep from my eyes. Oliver was sitting up in bed next to me, staring down with concern in his eyes.

I was trembling. My heart was pounding.

"I'm okay," I said, voice sounding shaky to my own ears. "I had a bad dream."

Oliver's mouth twisted into a small frown. His green eyes were soft in the moonlight. "C'mere."

I gratefully cuddled into his arms. My anxiety was still running high, but I found comfort in the warmth of his body and the blankets that he curled around me.

"Was it about... ya know?" Oliver asked, shooting a glance at the crib.

I nodded, a lump in my throat where words should be.

"I'm sorry." Oliver wrapped his arm around me and kissed my hair. "I have them too."

I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking, but they kept trembling. "I'm sorry, I... it was stupid."

"It's not," he insisted. "Let's wake up the giant lump. Psst— hey. Tatey?"

I glanced over at the hump of adorable blanket that was our mate. Tate never failed to sleep soundly.

For some reason, watching Tate stir and blink open exhausted eyes sent my heart fluttering. It distracted me from the urge to grab my children and curl in a tiny ball.

"Why?" Tate grumbled.

Oliver poked him again. "Get up and comfort our Ellie."

Tate wiggled his way closer to us and draped his arm around my waist, still buried under a mass of blankets. "Can I lay?"