Page 104 of Shea's Hero

What?

Mark blinks at me. “Universal health care?”

“Yes?”

“You think I should move to Canada for universal health care?”

“Health care can be really expensive,” I retort. “So it’s something to consider.”

Oliver moves into position behind Mark.

Mark laughs. “Are you fucking crazy?”

And then.

Oliver moves.

He does this karate chop thing and knocks the gun from Mark’s hand. Grabs his arm. Flings him to the ground.

And in less than ten seconds, Mark is on his belly with his wrists pulled behind him.

Cash comes running in after, panic all over his face. He spots Ari unharmed on the couch, and gasps, “Ari, honey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies in a shaky voice. “I’m okay.”

Oliver yanks a pair of handcuffs from his pants pocket and snaps them around Mark’s wrists. Then he grabs the discarded gun with the hem of his shirt and shoves it into the back of his waistband.

Mark starts yelling, “Let me up! You can’t do this! I know my rights!”

Bending down, Oliver gets right in his face and growls. “Yes, I can. I’m the fucking police. And you just pointed a gun at my fiancée. So I damn well can cuff you. And you’re under arrest.”

Then he looks at me, guilt and fear in his eyes. “Shea, love, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No. He didn’t.” Leaping off the couch, I run to him and fling myself into his arms.

Oliver hugs me tightly, almost crushing me in his embrace. “Fuck,” he groans. “Ah, fuck. Are you sure you’re okay? Shit, Shea. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”

“I’m sorry,” Penny whispers. “I didn’t know. He must have hidden drugs in my things somewhere. I didn’t know.” Her voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

Thea goes over to Penny and pulls her into her arms. “It’s not your fault, Pen.”

Outside the house, sirens approach.

“I’m really okay,” I mumble into Oliver’s neck. “He just scared us. But no one got hurt.”

Oliver shudders. “He pointed a gun at you, Shea. That’s not okay.”

Less than a minute later, more police swarm in and quickly surround Mark. One of them—Officer Troy, an older officer I know Oliver likes a lot—stops at Oliver’s side. Oliver rattles off what he knows, and I add the rest of the story, ending with, “And then Oliver came in and did a bunch of karate moves to take Mark down.”

Officer Troy smiles at me. “Karate moves, huh?”

“I don’t know what the moves were called,” I explain. “An arm chop. And a sweeping thing with his leg.” Turning to Oliver, I say, “Can you teach me? I want to learn how to do it.”

It’s kind of surreal; talking about karate after having a gun pointed at meagain.

But the alternative—freaking out or bursting into tears—doesn’t seem as appealing.

I’m close. My legs feel like jelly and my eyes are burning. Everything feels like it’s slightly detached, like I’m seeing it through a thick pane of glass. If I let my control drop for even a second, I won’t be able to hold the tears back.

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