Before, it was just a gut instinct I hoped was wrong.
But now, given what just happened, I’m sure it was intentional.
I mean, what are the odds? First her brakes fail, and then twenty-four hours later, an intruder breaks into her house?
Coincidence? I don’t think so.
I got the whole story from Officer Nelson—Sage, when she’s off duty—while I drove over. Once I finished talking to Hazel, I asked her to put one of the responding officers on the phone so I could get the details. There was no way I was going to askHazel about it; not when her voice was wobbling and she was sniffling back tears.
So I know the intruder cut a hole in one of the rear windows, unlocked it, moved Hazel’s trusty broomstick out of the way, and climbed right inside without making a sound. But somewhere between the guest bedroom and the living room, he must have hit a creaky floorboard, because Hazel heard him. Or she thought she heardsomethingthat worried her enough to grab her pepper spray before going to investigate.
Shit. Just the thought of Hazel coming face-to-face with a masked intruder makes me feel ill. And hearing how she fought to get away from him, spraying him with the pepper spray even as he was grabbing for her, using the distraction as an opportunity to get away…
Shit.
Just, shit.
I should have insisted on motion sensors for the windows. I should have stopped over on my way to Enzo’s house for dinner and installed them for her.
But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to push.
Just because I helped Hazel last night and brought over soup this afternoon doesn’t mean we have the kind of relationship where I do home improvement projects for her.
I was trying to be respectful.
But that wasn’t all, was it?
My jaw clenches at the truth I’m ashamed to admit.
I could have stopped over. It wouldn’t have even taken that long. But I was feeling conflicted and itchy about my feelings for Hazel, and I told myself distance was the best solution.
It wasn’t. Not just because I couldn’t stop thinking about her, regardless, but because my cowardice could have gotten Hazel seriously hurt. Even killed.
Dammit.
I thunk my fist on the steering wheel, welcoming the dull throb it leaves behind.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I turn into the police station parking lot. My tires squeal as I round the corner, and I reluctantly let up on the gas even though instinct is urging me to move faster.
Yes, I know Hazel is okay, at least physically. “She has a few bruises,” Sage told me over the phone, “but all things considered, she’s pretty lucky.”
When I snorted at the ridiculousness of her statement—how can Hazel be lucky when she’s found herself in mortal danger twice in the last two days—Sage quickly amended, “I’m not saying what she went through was lucky. But it could have been a lot worse.”
I know it could have. And that’s one of the things I’m most upset about.
Another thing I’m upset about? Imagining Hazelsitting in the police station, hurt and scared and crying. Alone, save for the officers on duty, who are all very nice but not the same as having someone who cares about her there for support.
As soon as my car comes to a rocking stop in front of the station, I jab the ignition to turn it off and practically leap from it. It’s only a belated thought that has me spinning around to close the door behind me, and then I’m jogging towards the entrance, all my muscles tense and heart racing.
She’s okay, I remind myself.Bruised, scared, and upset, but okay.
But if that’s true, why am I so worried?
Why does it feel like there’s a band wrapped around my chest, drawing exponentially tighter by the second?
Shit. I can’t examine these feelings right now. I just need to get to Hazel, talk to her, make sure she’s really okay and not just painting a pretty picture of it, and come up with a plan to keep her safe.
I take the steps up to the entrance two at a time and burst through the double glass doors into the reception area. In contrast to the storm of emotion rampaging inside me, the station is quiet. Almost peaceful, in fact, if not for the lingering scent of disinfectant mixed with a hint of body odor and cigarettes.
