The door chime sounds and Christian Cruz appears, expertly using one of his forearm crutches to hold it open as he works his way through the door.
Instinctively, I turn to watch Bug. I swear it’s like watching my younger self when she sees him. Her eyes light up. Her chest rises and falls a bit faster. Even the color of her skin seems a shade warmer. Their eyes connect and they gaze at each other like nobody else exists. Like they are the only two people in the room. Like he’s the Jack to her Diane.
I’m sure I looked at Trevor that way when I was their age, and it makes me nostalgic every time I see them together.
Then again, there’s nothing to be nostalgic about. Because I realize that’s menow.
My heart races when Trevor walks into a room. Even when I think about him, as I am right now, I feel lighter. Like there aren’t any problems in the world because he exists.
I wonder what the future holds for them. Will they go off to college together? Get married the day they graduate? Live out their lives in Calloway Creek, running the business Christian’s family started?
If you ask either of them, they’ll say they’re just friends. But they aren’t fooling anyone. Not me, not Carter, not Bug’s dad Asher or her stepmom, Allie.
Carter and I talked about it once a few weeks ago. He thinks they won’t admit to it because they live next door to each other and if they say they are dating, Bug’s dad might go to extreme measures to make sure Christian doesn’t have easy access. Which kind of made me laugh considering everyone knew Asher Anderson deadbolted the outside entrance to his daughter’s room the day they moved in.
Still, where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I contemplate telling Bug about the tree. Passing the torch, so to speak. But I don’t. The tree will always be mine and Trevor’s. It belongs only to us. The three of us—me, the old Trevor, and the new one.
I thank my lucky stars every day that he’s allowed this one thing from our past to remain a constant in our life. We go there often, especially now that the weather’s warm. I’ll sit and lean against the trunk, he’ll put his head in my lap and talk to baby Jordan as he rubs my belly. Sometimes we’ll bring a picnic. Sometimes we’ll make love. Sometimes we’ll just sit and gaze at each other, telling each other all the things without having to utter a single word.
Happy? Yeah, damn right I am.
“Ava,” a shaky voice calls my name.
Oh, God.
I turn to see Patrick by the front door. The expression on his face is one I’ve seen before. There’s a niggling in my gut. A horrible sense of déjà vu. He’s not wearing a military uniform. He’s wearing his fire captain one. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to deliver bad news.
I swallow shards of glass as my throat goes dry.
Trevor is on duty.
Is my happy world about to be upended once more? It’s ridiculous to think it. He’s a paramedic, not a doctor in a combat zone. But then why is Patrick looking at me the way he is?
My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I ask, “What is it?”
“There’s been an accident.”
My hands cradle my belly as I sink to the floor in a state of panic. I close my eyes and cover my ears. If I can’t hear about it, it can’t hurt me. It can’t ruin my perfect life and perfect future. It just… can’t.
“Ava!” Patrick runs around the counter and pulls me to my feet, escorting me to the back room.
I ask the question that might just kill me. “Is he dead?”
“God, no. He’s okay.” His eyes shift away, which makes me think he’s lying. “He’s at the hospital. I came here to take you to him.”
“Why don’t I believe you when you say he’s okay? Patrick, what aren’t you telling me? What happened?”
“There was a domestic dispute just outside of town. You know that couple, the Hetzingers? The ones who are always fighting? Police and EMS were called. The woman ran out of the house, bloodied and battered. Her husband was being put in handcuffs when he broke away and got a hold of one of the officer’s guns and started shooting.” He shakes his head. “And your stupid ass husband had to go be a goddamn hero and jump on top of not only Mrs. Hetzinger, but his own partner.”
The way he says it—stupid ass husband—makes me think it’s all okay. That Patrick is just here to warn me of the impending rumors and the likelihood of more reporters coming around. But there’s a look on his face. He hasn’t told me everything. And he said Trevor was at the hospital. Because he’s hurt? Or because someone else is?
“And…?” I ask, hesitantly.
“And.” He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “Trevor was shot.”
My hand flies to my mouth. I feel sick. “Oh my god!”
