Page 60 of Smitten with the Single Dad

Carefully, she did a quick inventory of her body, and nothing seemed broken. So she reached over and nudged Wyatt. “Wyatt! Wyatt! You need to wake up.” She shoved him harder and harder until he finally started to rouse.

“Wh-what?” He lifted his head, his eyes going wide as he realized that happened. “Jake! Griffon!” Panic filled his tone. “Boys!”

“We’re here, Dad,” Jake said.

He exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Vica tried her door, and surprisingly it still opened, despite the impact from the other vehicle. She needed to see if the other driver was okay. Unbuckling her belt, she was very cautious as she stepped out and into the ditch. “Just stay still. I’m going to check on the other driver. Be right back.”

“Vica, don’t leave,” Griffon begged.

“I’ll be right back, Griffon. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Leaving the truck door open, she squinted and shielded her eyes from the bright headlights of the other car. “Hello?” she called out. “Is everyone okay?”

That’s when she heard the gunshots.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Vica!” Wyatt screamed from inside the truck. He unbuckled his belt, but was too pinned in by the crunched door against the tree and the airbag.

“Dad! What is that?” Jake asked. “That sounds like gunshots.”

Yeah, that’s exactly what that was. Someone was fucking shooting at them, and he was helpless to protect his kids or Vica.

“Vica!” he called again. “Vica!” he shouted for the third time, panic rising to new levels in his body

More gunshots.

“Boys! Get down. Now! Heads between your legs if you can.”

They both did as they were told.

Terror whipped through him like a hard winter storm, mixing with a hot rage at how useless he was. How wrong all of this was. Someone was shooting at Vica. This was targeted. This was planned. Somehow, they knew she was off the island for the day, and they were lying in wait. Did they know his children were in the vehicle? Did they even fucking care?

“Vica!” he shouted again, just as Griffon’s door flew open and she appeared, out of breath.

“I’m here. I’m here. Someone is shooting at us.” She leaned away and yelled, “There are children in this truck! You are shooting at children!”

A moment later, the sound of a vehicle peeling away hastily infiltrated the otherwise quiet night.

There were no more gunshots.

When he was driving, he removed his phone from his back pocket, so he reached forward into the spot below the big screen to grab it. Then he called Clint.

His brother didn’t even have a chance to say “hello” before Wyatt told him what happened.

“Fuck,” Clint breathed. “I’ll call the cops and get Justine to come with us.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The call ended, and Wyatt leaned back against the headrest. “You boys still okay?”

“Do we still need to have our head between our legs?” Griffon asked.

“I think whoever was shooting at us has gone,” he said. “You can sit up.”

His youngest son sat up and unbuckled his belt, then launched himself out of his seat and into Vica’s arms. “We didn’t die in a car like our mom.”

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