Page 55 of Salvation

My vision is red as I stomp across the hall to my office and slam the door. Reaching for my cell, I pull up his name and harshly punch the button to call him.

It only rings once before he answers, “Hello, Hope.”

I scream at him, “Don’t you fucking ‘Hello, Hope’ me! You got fucking shot? Someone shot you and you didn’t tell me?!”

He sighs and I can almost see his frown through the phone. “Davey told you.”

I look at the phone and want to throw it. “I asked where you’d been and he told me, yes! YOU should have told me.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Like I’d never notice a bullet hole or scar.

What the fuck Gabrial?!”

I hear a chuckle and a murmured, “I told you to tell her.”

Then Gabrial snaps out, “Shut up! Go away, Max. I need to talk to Hope.”

Sputtering, I rage at the top of my lungs, uncaring of who hears me, “Oh, now you want to talk to me?!”

His voice is hard as he says, “If you don’t stop screaming at me, I won’t talk to you.

“Yes, I was shot. It was a setup, and I was shot along with three of my men. Max got me out of there. I’m fine, Hope. It was taken care of and there was nothing you could have done for me; so yes, I didn’t tell you.

“There was no reason for me to have you worry when I was fine and there was nothing you could do.”

I hear what he’s saying, and it even makes sense, but screw that…

He doesn’t get to decide what I need to know or don’t need to know. He’s not my keeper and I’m not a fucking child that needs to be coddled.

I sigh and say through clenched teeth, “You should have told me.” My head is suddenly pounding, and I feel slightly lightheaded. I think I’m having caffeine withdrawal. I ask him again, “You’re okay? Really? Where were you shot?”

He sighs and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Yes, Hope. I’m really okay. It was in my shoulder, but the bullet was removed and nothing major was hit.”

I sigh in relief. “Well, that’s super. Are you free tonight? I want to see for myself that you’re okay.”

He’s quiet for a minute and I instantly think, “He’s not okay.” Then, he says, “Yes. I’ll be at my place tonight. Have Davey bring you by when you’re done at the shelter for the day.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I’ll be staying, so I can drive myself.”

He says flatly, “No, Davey is to drive you and then he can pick you up in the morning and bring you to the shelter.”

I don’t have the energy to argue with him right now after that whirlwind of emotional trauma, so agreeing with him quickly, I hang up.

A few minutes later, after sitting at my desk to get myself under control, I head to the hall, intending to clean up my mess.

Once I open the door, I see that the glass and coffee have already been cleaned.

Making my way down the hall, I stop as Maia and Davey look up at me from their whispered conversation at her desk. I smile sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that. I was shocked. I was going to clean it up. You didn’t have to do that. You’re not my maid, Maia.”

Looking at me with concern and understanding in her eyes, she says, “It’s okay. I’d have reacted the same way, Hope. I understand. But I didn’t clean it.” She looks at Davey. “He did.” She glances back at me. “Are you good? I felt the heat coming through the walls.

“You reamed out Mr. DeLucca?”

Smiling, I chuckle at her. “I did. I was pissed that he didn’t tell me, and I let him know that. You don’t have to worry about me and Mr. DeLucca. He’s used to my temper.”

She smirks as Davey grins and says, “I told you so.”

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