Page 195 of Perfect Pitch

After I close and lock the car, I place my hand on her lower back to stabilize her over the uneven sidewalk. My mind drifts back to what Caleb told me after I spoke with Beckett. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. “Austyn almost bled out.”

“The hit was that bad?” I was going to fucking kill Zandra, preferably with both hands wrapped around her neck.

“No, it was due to a placental abruption,” he said sadly. “She coded on the way to the hospital.”

“What? No one shared that!” I shouted.

Caleb was quiet. “You’re always the one protecting others, Mitch. Maybe someone was trying to protect you.”

Now, I have a clear idea of who that someone is. Her eyes are still damp, but they’re focused up ahead, where there’s a mass of flowers and candles.

There’s a blond standing from having laid a bouquet of her own down. When she hears our footsteps, her face turns in our direction. I’m about to step in front of Austyn when she breaks away from me and begins running. Her long multihued hair flies out behind her.

The blond doesn’t wait. I pause and watch as the two women leap into one another’s arms. They spin one another around and around. I can’t hear their conversation, but I know instinctively this is Fallon Brookes because there’s love shining out beneath the sadness Austyn’s wearing like a cloak.

The same expression used to be on her face when she looked at me.

Maybe someday, it will again.

* * *

Austyn croons into the microphone inside Galileo’s. She found one way to find herself some temporary peace—music.

After a massive argument where I told her I couldn’t protect her alone and she foot stomped—actually picked up her foot and slammed it down multiple times—saying she’d be safe. “Besides, I owe the patrons. They’re the reason I’m alive, Mitch.”

I lost that battle, hands down.

A spotlight beams down on her, making her a target. Yet, in spite of the number of laps I’ve made, Austyn was right. She read the crowd the first time she was here accurately. I let out a relieved sigh. “She’s safe here.”

“Almost,” comes a husky accented voice to my left. Fallon is studying Austyn intently.

I clear my throat. “Elaborate?”

She doesn’t give me a glance. “Can. Won’t. That’s my girl up there.”

A small smile quirks my lips. “I love her too, Fallon.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting way of showing it.” Fallon’s viciousness is raw, nothing hiding it.

I struggle with a response until something magical happens. Austyn’s voice soars in exquisite French. “Je me sens si seule sans toi!”

Fallon gasps next to me before muttering, “I don’t have time to give you the ass whoopin’ you so rightfully deserve for making my girl cry, Mitch. I’m going to need to mop up my own because she’s healing. Time. That’s what Austyn needs.”

She shifts to move past me, but I slide to block her. I grind out, “Do you think I don’t know the fault of all this lies solely on my shoulders?”

She opens her mouth, but a gleam of consideration enters her eyes. “Breaking Austyn’s heart, yes. Her losing the baby? No. That belongs solely to the person who hit her and drove off,” she spits.

“What did you see that night?” I press, curious if she saw or heard something that didn’t make it into the report.

That’s when patience wars with agony on her face. Both fade away as Austyn continues to pour her heart out in French. A terrible sadness creases her lovely features when Austyn’s haunting tune continues. “Tu ne te sentiras jamais aussi seul avec moi.”

I decide then and there, I need fucking French lessons.

After masking her agony, she considers me. “You don’t speak French fluently, do you?”

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