Page 68 of Somewhere in the Sunset

“Ah, fuck, Bill .?.?.”

I gasp for breath, but it hurts too much.

My gun has slid underneath the car, but I can’t even move, let alone reach for it. Gunshots continue to sound, until they don’t. A resounding silence settles over the scene and suddenly Bill is on his knees next to me. He tears open my shirt, unbuckles my duty belt.

“Weston,” he pants, blocking the sunshine as he leans over me. He bundles up my shirt and presses it hard into my thigh, almost his entire bodyweight pushing down onto my leg. “Hang on, buddy. We’ll get you fixed up, okay? Just hang on.”

Everything feels so cold. Sirens blare in the distance, but they don’t grow louder. They only fade. Every breath hurts. There’s blood on Bill’s hands now too. Lots of blood. Too much blood.

“Bill .?.?.”

I want to say:Bill, there’s too much blood, isn’t there?

I want to say:Bill, I never wanted to be a cop in the first place.

I want to say:Bill, I’m scared.

Fuck, there is so much I want to say.

There’s just no time.

GRACIE

Weston never gets out of the station exactly at the end of his shift. There are always reports to finish, so when he isn’t home by eight, I don’t find it unusual. It’s been a long day without him around, but I kept myself busy. I did some laundry for him, even put fresh sheets on the bed. I showered and borrowed one of his shirts, but he’s so tall compared to me that I’m pulling off wearing it as a dress.

We’re going over to my place soon, though. I’ll pack some clothes. Maybe even attempt to clean up some of the mess Luca left, but I also don’t know if I can face it yet. I loved that apartment. All of the good memories I’ve ever had there are all so tainted now, and Weston is probably right that I should move out and find a place that’s mine and only mine. I need to cut myself off from Luca completely. That means starting afresh.

When it gets to eight-thirty, I call Weston’s phone. It sends me straight to voicemail, and I figure it’s shut off inside his locker. It must have been a pretty hectic shift for him if he’sstillat the station completing paperwork.

I flick through TV channels, but I don’t care about watching much. I’m bored now. I ordered Chinese food for lunch earlier, but it’s growing late and I’m becoming increasingly hungry again. Would Weston mind if I ordered dinner without him? He’d understand. It’s almost nine!

Now that I think about it, Peyton hasn’t shown up. Weston mentioned last night that she would be in the city today and she’d drop by at some point to check in on me while he was at work, but if she hasn’t by this time, then I doubt she’s coming at all. Maybe it’s a good thing. I’ve only met her that one time at the hospital last week, so I imagine there’s still a list of questions she plans on asking me before she heads back to base next week.

There’s a thundering knock at the door and I think:Finally!

But it’s very quickly followed by:Wait, why is Weston knocking on his own door? He has a key.

I jump up from the couch and straighten out the shirt of his I’m wearing.I notice again how it smells like the cologne he always wears.

There’s more pounding at the door. Desperate pounding. A voice shouts, “Gracie? Gracie, are you still in there?”

At first, I think it almost sounds like Elena. She knows I’m staying here. But as I rush to the door, I realize the voice actually belongs to Peyton. She’s come by, after all. I unlock the door and swing it open.

Peyton stands in the hall, her hand pressed to the doorframe for support as she pants heavily. Her skin is tanned from all those scorching hot months in Kuwait, but somehow, she seems pale as she stands under the flickering, dim lights of the hallway. “I’m so sorry, Gracie, I forgot you were here .?.?. I was going to come by, but then I drove back to Bodega Bay to be with my dad when I heard, and then Ijustremembered you’d be here all alone, so I drove all the way back again to be with you,” she splutters, gasping for air between words. Her eyes are swollen, and I’m staring at her with furrowed brows, wondering why she’s so upset about forgetting to visit me when she has only met meoncebefore. It’s not that deep.

“Peyton,” I say, reaching out for her wrist and pulling her into the apartment. “I’m absolutely fine! Bored, but fine. Weston should be on his way home.”

Peyton’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God. Of course, you don’t know .?.?. How would you?”

“Don’t know what?” I ask, but my throat tightens. An awful, overwhelming feeling of dread settles over me and leaves me cold. “I don’t knowwhat,Peyton?”

Peyton stares at me in horror, her eyes wide and bloodshot. “Weston was serving an arrest warrant first thing this morning .?.?. Things turned ugly, and there was a shootout,” she says, her voice shaky. “He got hit, Gracie.”

No.

My heart drops into my stomach. That’s why he’s late. He’s hurt.

And I’ve been sitting here all day with no idea, when all this time he has needed me.

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