“Yes.”
“Call the police,” he said, hovering over Amanda so she wouldn’t try to get up off of the couch. I nodded, fingers trembling, and found the cell I left sitting on the island counter.
By now, Amanda had finally stopped shrieking, and instead, she was sobbing, rocking back and forth on the couch with her arms securely around her knees. Korbin was trying to talk to her, but she ignored him as she continued crying.
“Don’t move,” he told her, and there was a no-bullshit tone in his voice that I rarely heard from him. “The police are on their way.” He turned to look at me, eyes landing on my terrified face as he crossed the room and took me into his arms, just holding me.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, and I whispered frantically as tears slipped down my cheeks.
“I—I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“Did she hurt you?”
“N—no.”
“She brought the gun?”
“Yes.”
“Did she threaten you?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” snapped Korbin, and the fire in his eyes seemed to grow as he glanced over his shoulder back at Amanda, who was still sobbing on the couch. “I could fucking kill her.”
Fortunately, he didn’t have much time to mull this over because a moment later, the police showed up at the door, guns drawn and aimed, ready to minimize the threat.
“My fiancée already disarmed her,” Korbin said, leading the cops through the house to where Amanda was wailing again in the fetal position. It was such a petty thing but hearing the word fiancée come out of this man’s mouth made me giddy despite the circumstances. The heat rose to my face as the cops leaned down to talk to Amanda, who didn’t look like she’d be talking coherently to anyone for some time.
“They’re arresting her,” Korbin said, joining my side with another officer. He pointed at the unloaded gun on the counter. “It’s Amanda’s. She used it to threaten Peyton.”
“Is that true?” the officer asked me, and I nodded, willing myself not to cry again.
“Yes.”
“Okay, tell me exactly what happened.”
I recounted the incident to the officer as the other two escorted Amanda out of the apartment. She was still sobbing, still mumbling under her breath that none of us could catch, but I didn’t care. The further away she was from me, the better I felt.
“Talk to Eli Burton,” Korbin said, following the men to the door. “He knows all about the case.”
“If we have any follow-up questions, someone will contact you,” the officer said, reaching out to shake my hand and then Korbin’s. “You were brave getting the gun from her. Most people would just wait to be shot.”
“Not her,” said Korbin gruffly. “Not Peyton.”
The officer smiled politely, picked up the gun, and left us. As soon as the door was closed, leaving just Korbin and me standing together alone in the kitchen, Korbin broke.
“Are you okay?” he asked, arms so tight around my body that I had to strain against him to continue breathing.
“I’m fine, Korbin,” I said, but my voice shook slightly, which only made him squeeze me harder.
“You could have been killed,” he whispered, and his voice's fear caught me off guard. I’d never, in all the time I’d known him, heard him sound so scared—soterrified. In front of the police and Amanda, he was granite, unwavering. But here, now, with me—he was real.
“Hey,” I murmured, forcing my head back to look at him. “I’m okay. It’s okay. See?”
Shaking his head, Korbin’s hands ran up and down my body as if checking for any injury I might be hiding from him. “If that woman ever comes around again, I’ll kill her my fucking self,” he growled, fingers tightening around my hips. “She—she—”
“She’s a lost little girl,” I said quietly, resting my hand on his cheek. “She was angry about her husband, and things got out of control.”
