Page 23 of White Raven
So why did Wren feel so hell-bent on making sure the pieces never left her hands?
“Don’t call me, Brent. Don’t text. I think it’s best if we just…”
“Wren…”
It stung. That confusion and hurt in his voice. Once upon a time, he might have deserved all the shit she gave him, but right now…right now, he didn’t. She had spent a great deal of her time praying this man would get hit by a bus…now she wished she could go lay in the street.
“I’m sorry.”
Before he could say another word, and make her feel even more like an asshole, she ended the call. Her lip wobbled, and her chest rose and fell quickly as tears stung her eyes. Wren dropped to her knees, holding her middle with the phone still clutched in her hand. The world felt like it was caving in around her. Her skin felt damp with a sudden sheen of cold sweat. Her throat constricted. She felt nauseous. Dizzy.
Wren squeezed her eyes shut, allowing hot tears to race down her cheeks and gasped for breath. As soon as her eyelids closed, all she could see was Conrad’s face. All she could hear ringing in her ears was that gun going off, and Brent’s body hitting the stone patio with a loud thud that made her want to vomit. All that blood. That panic. That feeling that she’d never get to tell him how sorry she was for every shitty thing she’d said. Bile crept up her throat as she scrambled for air that wasn’t coming, and Wren leapt up, racing to the bathroom and barely managing to hang her head over the toilet before hurling.
His stomach hurt. And not just because of the tired, healing muscles that were far beyond where they should be, considering that he’d taken a bullet merely a week ago. Brent stared at the screen on his phone as his legs dangled over the edge of his kitchen counter. His breaths came in shallow waves. There was a mixture of anger, confusion, hurt—but also the faint buzz of understanding that neither one of them had been ready for what happened in Wren’s hospital room that night. While it felt good…felt right…it had been way too soon, and they both had acted on impulse after experiencing something awful together. He couldn’t be upset that she’d drawn a line there to replace the one that they’d not only danced over…but tripped over.
It took a moment for him to realize that she hadn’t just rejected him for her own sake, but for his. This wasn’t what he needed right now, and he knew that. What they both needed was time to process it all and move forward without the weight of a shaky relationship to hinder any progress they both made in getting over this. If steering clear of her would help, he’d give her that. As long as he knew she was safe, it didn’t matter…did it?
How did this even happen?
Brent ground his teeth and began to lower his phone to the counter, when it suddenly started buzzing in his hand. Captain Foley. Well, this was unexpected. Brent answered and raised the phone to his ear.
“Brent Stratford.”
“Mr. Stratford, this is Malcolm Foley. How are you holding up?”
Brent ran a hand through his hair that was damp with sweat. “I’m—I’m doing alright, captain. How is your leg?”
The captain quieted for a moment.“You heard about that?”
“Yeah, I was there.”
Foley cleared his throat on the other end of the line.“I assumed that you—never mind. I’m recovering well, thank you. I understand if this is really unusual timing, but I was calling to ask if you were still planning on listing your apartment?”
Brent’s brows knotted, and he slid himself off of the counter, stepping around it and opening the fridge. “Oh…yeah, I’m still open to that.” His mind wandered, and the idea of leaving Boston and all its bullshit suddenly seemed more appealing. He grabbed a bottle of water and left the door open to cool himself down. “Did you have an idea in mind about how soon you wanted to move?”
“I was considering the next month or two, but I understand that you’re going through a lot, and honestly…I shouldn’t even be bothering you about it right now. I apologize.”
“No, no…I’m glad you brought it up, actually. If you want, we can set up a time for you to come by and look around. You haven’t really seen much other than the kitchen and living area.”
“I’d appreciate that. There’s no rush. Whatever is convenient for you. Don’t feel obligated.”
Brent swallowed down half his bottle of water and shut the fridge. “Not at all. I’ve got to get through my mother’s funeral service, but after that, I’m open to discuss setting up a walkthrough.”
“The press is gonna be all over you, Stratford. Would you be willing to let the 12th offer you some protection for this?”
“You don’t have to do that, Captain. I do appreciate it.”
“Well…if it’s all the same to you, I’d be honored if you’d allow me to attend.”
He had to admit, he never expected the captain to treat him with such high regard. Especially since their first few meetings were anything but friendly. Then again, a lot had happened since then. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“Thank you…for keeping the obvious to yourself. I understand how strange it must seem to know what you know. I’m very grateful.”
“The whole idea has seemed a lot less strange to me lately. Now it’s just a part of my life. Your secret is safe, sir.” He meant every word.
“Thank you again. Please let us know if we can be of any help to you. The 12th has your back.”
Brent smiled softly, turning up his water again. “Have a great day.”
