The sound is deafening. Something hot sears across my shoulder, but I don’t stop. I slam into Steven with all my weight, driving him backward into the concrete pillar behind him.
The impact knocks the air out of his lungs, and I hear the satisfying crunch of his ribs as he grunts in pain. He tries to swing the gun toward me, but I grab his wrist and smash itagainst the pillar once, twice, three times until his grip loosens and the gun clatters to the ground.
“Grant!” Heather screams.
I don’t let up. I pin Steven against the pillar with my forearm across his throat, not enough to choke him but enough to keep him from moving too much. He struggles, but he’s drunk and out of shape, and I outweigh him by at least seventy pounds of muscle.
“Don’t move,” I snarl in his face. “Don’t fucking move.”
He tries to spit at me, but he can barely breathe.
Sirens are already wailing in the distance, and it sounds like they’re getting closer. Someone must have heard the gunshot and called the police.
“Grant, you’re bleeding!” Heather is beside me now with her hand on my arm.
I glance down. Blood is soaking through my shirt where the bullet grazed my shoulder. It burns like hell, but I’m pretty sure it’s not serious. I’ve played through worse pain.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just stay back for now.”
Steven is gasping, and his eyes are wild and unfocused. “Get off me. Get the fuck off me.”
“Not a chance.”
Two police cars screech into the courthouse parking lot, followed by a third. Officers swarm out with their weapons drawn.
“Put your hands where we can see them!” one of them shouts.
I immediately raise my free hand, keeping Steven pinned with the other. “The gun is on the ground! He fired it!”
“Step away from him! Now!”
I release Steven and take three steps back while I raise my other hand as well. Steven collapses against the pillar and slides down until he’s sitting on the ground.
The officers swarm him immediately. Two of them haul him to his feet while a third pulls his arms behind his back and snaps handcuffs on his wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer begins, and Steven just sobs.
The second the officers have him secured, Heather launches herself at me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and she buries her face in my chest.
“Oh my god, Grant. Oh my god.” Her whole body is shaking. “You’re bleeding. He shot you. Are you hurt? He could have killed you.”
“I’m okay.” I hold her tight with my good arm, ignoring the burning pain in my shoulder. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me. “You could have died. You could have?—”
I cut her off with a kiss. She kisses me back desperately with her hands tangled in my shirt and gripping it like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
She’s still shaking when we break apart.
“I’m okay,” I say again, softer this time. “Hurricane, I promise. I’m okay.”
She kisses me again. And again. Short, frantic kisses, like she’s reassuring herself that I truly am here and mostly unharmed.
I just hold her close and let her do whatever she needs.
One of the officers approaches us. “Sir, we need to take your statement. But first, let’s get the EMTs to look at that shoulder.”
“I’m fine.”
