Released (Caged 3)

“The second bedroom is right next to the master bedroom, so it will be perfect for your impending arrival.” She turned and smiled broadly at Tria, who instinctively covered her protruding stomach.

It wasn’t huge yet, but as little as Tria was, it was quite obvious at five months pregnant, Tria was having a baby. I tried to hide the fact that I was counting the days before she was further along than Aimee had been when she lost Matthew.

It was strange how knowing his name—even if it was the name Aimee’s mother had graced him with—made thinking about him a lot easier. Erin said it was because I had a name for the mourning, but I thought it was more about separating him from the baby Tria was having.

A girl.

That helped, too.

The place was perfect; I had to agree. For me, there were two major perfection points—it was big enough and fit the budget. Tria liked that there was a tiny, fenced-in back yard where she could take the baby outside to play.

We moved in four days later.

“I think I was getting used to having a car when we needed it,” Tria said as we lugged groceries up the steps of the porch. She carried the light bulky stuff—the bread and toilet paper. I wouldn’t let her carry any of the heavy stuff, and she refused to let me do it all by myself.

“I’m sure Damon will drive you around whenever you want,” I reminded her.

“I think Michael might actually enjoy having his driver back,” Tria said.

“He and Chelsea both really liked having you in the house,” I said, “driver be damned.”

“What would you think about having them over for dinner?” Tria asked. “It would be a good start to the hundreds of years of repayment I owe them both.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I shoved canned food into one of the cabinets. I put all our stuff away as Tria pulled out a coup

le bags for Krazy Katie. “Did you want to go over and see her this afternoon?”

“Probably,” Tria said. “We haven’t been there in two weeks.”

“We left her a month’s worth of stuff last time,” I said.

“True,” Tria agreed, “but I feel bad about not seeing her. She has to be lonely without her smoking buddy on the fire escape.”

We hauled two bags of supplies back outside and to the bus stop. It took a little over an hour, but we eventually made it to our old apartment building in the shit part of town.

Maybe it was just because I hadn’t been there for a while, but the place looked even worse than I remembered. There was trash fucking everywhere and three hookers hanging out a block away in broad daylight. I glanced up to the fire escape, but Krazy Katie wasn’t outside.

I wrapped a protective arm around Tria as we walked into the building and up the stairs. The place smelled funky, which was another thing I didn’t really remember. We walked down the hallway, glanced in tandem at the door of the apartment where we used to live, and then bypassed it for the next one. I banged on the door.

“Open up, you crazy bitch!”

“Liam! Stop that!”

“It’s a term of endearment,” I told her.

“Oh, it is not!” she snapped back. She reached up and knocked again.

“Katie! Katie, we have some things for you!”

No answer.

“I don’t think she’s here,” I said. “If she was, she’d open the door—she always does. She wasn’t out on the balcony, so she must have gone somewhere.”

“Where?” Tria asked as she turned on me and put her hands on her hips. Her expression was tense and worried. “Where does she ever go, huh?”

“She’s supposed to meet with her social worker every week,” I reminded her.

“And what day is that?”