I barely remember ending the phone call with Indy, only registering that I needed to say goodbye and get to her as fast as possible.
She said he had a gun.
The conversation slams into me again as I jump into my truck, shoving the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I call her back as I put my truck into reverse and tear out of Declan’s driveway.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hi,” she breathes, her voice broken and small. The sound guts me, igniting something angry and desperate within me—it’s nothing like the strong, sassy woman I love.
“I’m on my way, Trouble. I’ll be there soon.” I’m already pulling into traffic, just minutes away from getting on the freeway that connects Bridge Point to Ridgewood. “Stay on the phone with me.”
The need to touch her—to feel her skin, hear the gentle beat of her heart—pulsates through me.
I press harder on the gas pedal.
“Okay.” She’s crying softly, which is worse. I envision the quiet, shoulder-shaking sobs, like she’s trying to hold herself together—to be strong.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as I weave around slower drivers. “Where are you right now? Are you with anybody?”
“Rosie. We’re sitting on the floor.”
A ghost of relief flickers through me, grateful she’s not alone. “Good. You’re safe, Indy. He’s gone.” I blow through a red light. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Air shudders through the phone.
“Good. That’s good, Trouble,” I murmur. “I’ll be there soon.”
“You’re an hour away,” she says with a watery laugh.
“I’ll be there in thirty,” I say with conviction. I don’t care what it takes, or if it’s dangerous or reckless. I should have trusted that feeling gnawing in my gut—the one that told me not to leave her tonight. The barbecue would have gone on just fine without me there.
Every mile feels like a knife digging deeper into my chest. Every minute passes too slowly.
I keep her talking about anything—insignificant things, like the weather. I tell her about how Austin was just trying to hit on Hailey’s sister even though she wasn’t there. Anything I can think of to keep her mind distracted.
When I finally speed into the parking lot, I leave the truck half on the curb and race inside, phone still pressed to my ear.
My gaze scans the bar until it lands on Zach—no,Cain, Rosie’s husband—standing near a doorway. His posture is rigid, attention fixed inside the room.
He lifts his head at the sound of my shoes pounding the floor.
“Where is she?” I demand, not slowing my pace.
He steps aside immediately, tipping his head toward the open door. “In here.”
I brush past him and find her sitting on a worn leather couch, knees pulled up to her chest, cheek resting against them while Rosie speaks quietly.
Indy’s phone’s still in her hand, our call illuminated on the screen.
I end it and shove my phone into my back pocket, then drop to my knees in front of her with a solidthud.
“Hey, Trouble,” I say gently, brushing my fingers through her hair.
She lifts her head, then launches herself into my arms. A sob rips through her the second she buries her head into my neck.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.” She wraps her body tight around me, and I rise with her in my arms.
I glance at Rosie. “Are you okay?”
