Out of the corner of my eye, I swore I saw movement.
The flash of a police car? A closing of a door? Maybe.
“Shoot, then.” I gritted my teeth, pulling a whimpering Clara farther behind me.
We were less than a hundred yards from the parking lot. Beau or the police would get to Clara after Beau shot me.
But he wouldn’t. Shoot me.
Even in this state, I didn’t think Waylon was stupid enough or brave enough.
Not for the first time, I was wrong about what a man was capable of.
Sound ricocheted through the previously quiet park as pain blossomed in my chest.
BEAU
An email.
That’s what annihilated my world.
Me looking down for two minutes to read a fucking email.
Me being too much of a coward to look at them.
No, what destroyed my world was letting Hannah walk out that door. Being the reason she was standing in that fucking park in the first place.
Thenit was my fault for not having my eye on them every moment they were there. Hadn’t I done it with Clara since thesecond she got her diagnosis? Hadn’t I made sure I cast my gaze upon her at every available opportunity because I didn’t know how many times I’d get to look at her?
And then I got careless. Complacent. With her getting healthy. I let myself feel hopeful, thinking I could look at her as many times as I wanted … for the rest of my life. That there would be no regret if my attention momentarily moved elsewhere.
The reason I even looked at the email was because it was too fucking painful to watch them. Because I was weak.
I hadn’t told Clara the truth that morning. That me and Hannah were broken up. Because I didn’t consider us broken up. I considered myself to be an asshole of epic proportions, sabotaging my life because I wasn’t used to happiness.
I considered myself a piece of shit for hurting Hannah again. Yes, a lifetime of groveling and no less would do.
Even though I’d made a gigantic mess of our lives, one I’d never forgive myself for, I thought I could fix it. Repair it.
That was before I looked up and saw the man in front of Hannah, waving maniacally. Holding a fucking gun.
Holding a gun in front of my daughter. Pointed at Hannah. Almost point-blank. I was out of my truck in seconds. I barely registered that Finn had screeched up too, in his patrol car. There was no time for questions, for pause.
We were both sprinting, I was a little ahead of him. My gait didn’t so much as stutter when I heard the shot. But it shattered my insides.
Hannah didn’t hit the ground. I caught her. I covered Clara at the same time I heard a grunt then a struggle behind me.
There was a threat, a man with a gun mere feet away from my daughter. One glance. I gave myself one glance to decide whether I’d have to make the choice between getting Clara away or staying.
Finn.
Fucking Finn.
I’d owe him everything until the day I died.
He had the man, face first in the snow. Arms behind his back. Waylon, the ex-husband.
I didn’t relax. Not even a little. But I didn’t have to choose.
