Page 150 of Hot Shot

“If you kill him, you might not ever get to see her again.”

“You’ll let me see her?” he breathes.

“I would have let you see her this whole time, if somebody had just told me. But if she finds out you killed somebody, what will she think?”

The muzzle of the gun quivers, lowering a few inches. “She’ll hate me. She’ll be scared of me.”

“I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll tell her you wanted to protect her and Ashley. That you wanted to make sure whoever did this was held accountable. But you’ve gotta give me the gun.”

“You’ll let me see her?” The pistol lowers when he asks again, and I wonder just how far gone he is, just how much Ashley’s death has destroyed him.

“Of course. She loves you. I know you love her too. I’ve always known you’d never hurt her.” Slowly, I extend my hand, knowing the police have to be close. I’ve almost got him, but when they get here, I don’t know what he’ll do. “Give me the gun.”

He looks down at it, turns his hand so he can see its profile. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

My thudding heart shoots into my throat as he turns the gun so, pointing it at his chest and?—

Trent turns the gun, holding the muzzle to point the grip at me.

Trembling, I take it and eject the magazine, emptying the slide. And for the first time since I saw his truck, I draw a full breath.

The screech of the squad car tires come just in time.

CHAPTER 55

SURVIVAL 101

CASS

Waiting in the truck practically kills me.

Every second is torture, and it feels like Wilder is in the house for hours. That it takes days for the police to get to us. I almost get out and follow him a dozen times, terrified of what he might find, terrified of what Trent might do. What he already might have done.

When the police pull to a stop outside the house, I finally get out, explaining as best I can what I know, which isn’t much. One of the officers heads inside, pausing at the front door. Whatever he hears compels him to draw his firearm, stopping my heart dead, and the other officer joins him before they enter.

Again, I’m left blind, hand on my mouth as I wait eternally. There’s some yelling that nearly tears a scream from my throat, stopped by my hands clamped over my mouth. A few minutes later, after another squad car arrives, the police finally appear in the doorframe with Trent and a man I’ve never seen before in handcuffs.

When Wilder exits behind them, my knees are jelly, my relief total. He looks like he’s been through hell, sagging and heavy, but when he sees me, he comes alive. We meet somewhere in the middle of the yard, arms clenched around each other, his heart pounding through his chest and into mine, face buried in my neck and hair.

The toll the day has taken on him is steep.

It’s hours before we’re finally on our way home. Trent and the landlord are taken to the station for processing. Wilder and I follow for questioning and statements and whatever else we can provide. While Wilder is busy with the bulk of it, I call Patty to tell her what happened. Cricket is already in bed, thank God. She cried herself to sleep, Patty says, and she and Paul are sick over it. Not sick enough to let us come get her, but I don’t say so.

We lied, and now they don’t trust us. They’re scared and trying to do what’s best for her. We didn’t have to bring her to them—we did it because we love her, and we respect them, despite their lack of respect for us. We don’t want to fight, even though we will.

A few days will help. Space for them to calm down, to think, will set everything right.

They’ll come around. It will be okay. And even if they don’t, we’ll get her back. I have no doubt.

I just hope we can spare her any more pain in the process.

When we’re finally finished at the police station, we’re starving. Wilder takes us to Sonic thinking it’ll cheer me up. It only makes me more miserable. But I try not to cry into my tots, choking them down past tears, my mouth so dry, everything tastes like cardboard. My food is in the bag in my lap because I refuse to scoot into the passenger seat and put the console down, preferring to eat like an animal over separation from him, even by a stupid armrest.

We talk about what all we said to the cops and my talk with Patty, and by the time we’re done with all that, we’re home. There’s no discussion about what to do once we get there—we change and fall into bed in a tangle of limbs.

I don’t think I sleep an hour all night, and most of it is in that first stretch of dead sleep. But when I roll over, I wake up. Like,all the way up. Wilder has a hold of me with both arms, his legs knotted with mine, and I can’t bear to move him, so I just lay there with my face smashed against his chest. My comfort is the feel of his heartbeat once again, thudding slow against my cheek, and I’ve never been so thankful for anyone in my life. It has been the longest, hardest day I’ve ever lived, and the only reason I’m even remotely okay is this, him. I’m sure that if we hang onto each other like this, we’ll survive whatever comes.

Eventually, I end up on my back with his head on my chest . At least from here, I can stare at the ceiling. I drift in and out of that in-between sleep for hours, but somehow, dawn never breaks. It’s three in the morning when he whispers, “Are you awake?”

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