Page 98 of What I Should Have Known

“Now there’s a confession if there ever was one,” one of the cops standing to the side of Bernie and Ford muttered.

“I’m not saying shit!” Wyatt snapped, jerking his arms away from the silver cuffs.

“You already did, which means we’re not just going to ask questions anymore. You’re under arrest, Wyatt Benson,” the officer helping restrain him stated. “Now quit fighting and listen as I read you your rights.”

Relief crashed through me. Wyatt was going away, and by his own doing. Bernie hadn’t needed to orchestrate anything, and I was safe. Bernie had kept me safe.

“Bernie assaulted me, too! What about him?” Wyatt shouted, attempting one last tug against the cuffs that clicked tightly around his wrists. His eyes stared daggers at the eerily calm man pinned up against the wall.

“Bernie?” the cop on the opposite side of Ford asked, his blond brows pulling together. “As in Bernie Phillips? Eleanor Phillips’s oldest boy?”

Bernie nodded but remained silent.

“You’ve caused quite a stir around these parts since you came to town,” he continued.

Wyatt curled his upper lip as the two officers with him guided him around the foot of my bed.

“Is this going to continue to be an issue?” the other cop with Bernie and Ford asked.

Bernie shook his head. “No, sir.”

The policeman inhaled deeply as he hooked his thumbs beneath his bulletproof vest. He raised a bushy, black brow and studied the man I cared for.

My heart pattered heavily, wishing that everyone else would leave this room so I could have a moment alone with Bernie. I offered no backward glance to Wyatt as he was dragged out into the hallway.

“Were you simply defending Kat, since the man who shot her was in this room with her and she’s temporarily unable to protect herself?” the officer continued.

“Yes, sir,” Bernie politely replied as Ford cautiously released him from the wall.

“And you sent your friend here to report the shooting to the authorities instead of doing so yourself in order to make sure no further harm came to Kat?” he asked, tipping his head toward Ford. I liked where this questioning was going.

Bernie nodded again. “Of course, sir.”

“Now that we have the perpetrator arrested, you’re aware she is safe and all we will need is statements from everyone involved?”

“Absolutely, officer.” Bernie kept his gaze steadily focused at nothing and no one.

“All right, if your friend here would like to step out into the hallway, we’ll start with his statement first.” He gave a curt nod at Bernie and then spun on his heels. The officer’s eyes briefly met mine, and through the pounding headache, I realized that there was no more reason to keep what Bernie and I shared a secret. Because it wasn’t a secret already. That single glance from the cop told me all I needed to know.

And finally, as Ford and the final other visitor disappeared from my room, closing the door behind them, I was left with the one man I’d wanted to be alone with for a while.

The final click of the door shutting danced around the room, and as if cued by a conductor to an orchestra, Bernie’s eyes shot to mine and all calm façade upon his figure fell. His shoulders slumped forward, and his brows pinched together, that ever-present line appearing once more.

He shot to my side and collapsed to his knees. “I’m so sorry, Kit Kat. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a shaky breath.

“Bernie,” I quietly said and stretched a stiff arm forward. My fingers danced across his cheek. Warmth tingled beneath my touch as he leaned a little closer into it.

“I failed you. I should’ve stopped him. But I—” His voice cracked as he remained on his knees at my side. “I thought I was… I couldn’t figure out if what happened was… I wasn’t sure if it was you or…” His bottom jaw trembled, the words he attempted to share clearly caught behind pain and anguish that I would never have to experience personally, but I understood.

Slipping my hand to the back of his neck, I curled his hair between my fingers. “Duncan?” I gently said.

He nodded, his face tightening as grief deepened the mature lines upon his face. A single tear slid down his cheek.

“It’s okay, Bottle Cap. I’m okay. Everything’s okay, other than I’m not sure why the graze of a bullet on my arm knocked me out.” I paused as he opened his eyes and finally glanced up to meet my gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and raised a trembling hand. He hesitated above my skin, and I studied his movements for a moment.

Time seemed inconsequential as his brows twitched. Some war raged in his mind as he stared at his fingers. “You looked like you’d gotten down from the ATV,” he muttered as he finally rested his fingers against my outstretched arm.

I exhaled deeply and closed my eyes as his calloused touch danced down my arm, inching his way toward the bandage and then traced the taped edges across my skin. Visceral goosebumps erupted on my skin as I soaked in every tender shared moment in this blissful, though temporary, private getaway.

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