Page 78 of New Girl in Town
Dylan’s angry voice had me scrunching my eyes shut.
“She’s my wife! You aren’t going to steal her from me!”
He lunged for Grant even though he was restrained, which got him a rough shake and a “Stop resisting or I’ll have to use force” from the officer who had hold of him.
“You aren’t going near her again,” Grant spit out with a glare, but he didn’t lunge like Dylan had. He turned and, seeing me, shot me a crooked smile through his bloody mouth. “I’m coming back, sweetheart. Just wait for me, okay?”
My heart skipped a beat and I nodded even as the police officers read Grant and Dylan their Miranda Rights. “I’ll wait,” I promised. Grant’s smile widened and he nodded at me before turning and leaving with the police officers.
“Aurora!” Dylan yelled, still struggling against the handcuffs and the police officer, who did her best to calm Dylan down.
“Sir, if you do not stop resisting, I will have to use force,” the officer said again, her voice level despite Dylan’s aggression. I swallowed hard, noticing the officer had undone the clasp around the taser that sat on her hip. I hoped she saw fit to use it. If anyone deserved it, it was Dylan with his meddling ways. I didn’t care what some novels said—stalking was not romantic or healthy, and I was angry about him imposing himself on my new life.
“I’m coming back for you,” Dylan said, his eyes zeroing in on me as the officer led him out. When he made another lunge in my direction the entire world seemed to come to a screeching halt. I wasn’t the only one who’d had enough of Dylan’s antics, and the officer holding him reacted with a resigned look on her face.
Out came the taser and down went Dylan.
“Serves him right,” Mrs. Reynolds crowed from above.
I peered up at her to see her shaking her fist with a downright gleeful expression on her face.
Reaching for her shoulder walkie talkie, the officer sighed, “I’m going to need additional assistance removing the suspect from the residence.”
I took a quick step back as Dylan fell to the floor in front of me. “Holy shit,” I whispered, in awe at the sight of Dylan powerless and prone. Mrs. Reynolds’s cackle floated down to me from the second floor and I glanced up again to see the older woman watching me.
She winked before she said, “File a restraining order, honey. He reminds me of my fourth husband. Tried to attack me with a vegetable peeler.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh that came out, but she shrugged and looked over to where two officers had begun dragging Dylan out of the building.
“Men. They’re just crazy,” she told me with a shake of her head.
I sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah, I’m coming to realize they can be completely and absolutely crazy.”
Mrs. Reynolds came down the stairs, and I didn’t miss the determined look in her eyes. “Of that you should have no doubt, but there’s one that isn’t,” she told me, holding up a finger.
I blushed pink, already knowing what she was about to say. “Oh?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
She turned her gaze on me with an almost satisfied look. “Grant...he’s a keeper, you know.”
I nodded and looked away. “I’m coming to see that.”
“And he’s going to need bail money, sooo....” Mrs. Reynolds inclined her head toward the door with acome on, nowlook on her face that had me springing to attention. “No one likes staying in a jail when they were just doing the right thing, honey.”
I shoved myself away from the wall with a yelp. “Oh my god, you’re right. I have to go!”
I sprinted barefoot toward the door, intent on getting to my car, when Mrs. Reynolds called out to me.
“You need your shoes and your keys,” she yelled with a laugh.
I skidded to a stop and whirled back toward the staircase, giving her a thankful look. “Right, right, thank you.” I flew past her and she added, “And your wallet too.”
I barreled up the flight of stairs and slid into my apartment, shoved my feet into the first shoes I found, yanked my purse off of the hook, snagged my phone from the coffee table, and made a neat about-face out of the apartment. I didn’t bother slowing down to lock the door and barely managed to close it before I hurtled down the stairs.
Mrs. Reynolds cheered me on with a wave of her hand. “There you go! Go after your man, honey!”
And despite all that had gone on that morning—which had been perfectly horrendous, because there was nothing that ruined a good Sunday like an obsessive ex-husband breaking into your apartment—her comment did, at least, salvage it.
Your man.
