Chapter Eight
Tris spotted the strange car in his driveway at the same time Dylan did.
“Expecting company?”
“No.” He shook his head and focused on the house. His gaze zeroed in on the man standing at his front door, fist raised against the wood. “Shit. Dirk.”
“What? Where?” Dylan’s gaze bounced from the road to the house and back again as he navigated the slick road. “I didn’t see him.”
“He’s at the door.”
“She let him in?” The truck slowed.
“No. I think he’s knocking. He either just arrived or she’s not opening the door.” Tris unlocked his seatbelt ready to jump out the second Dylan stopped. “Shit. Stop the truck. Stop the truck!”
He had no idea what Dirk was doing here but seeing him pick up a pot plant and throw it against the door didn’t bode well.
Dylan pulled up behind what had to be Dirk’s rental. “Go,” his friend urged. “I’ll call the cops.”
Tristan’s heart beat triple time as he sprinted through the snow. The path wasn’t shoveled so it was slow going but he made it to the porch just as Dirk lifted another pot. Tris lunged. Wrapped his arms around Dirk’s middle and crash-tackled him against the door.
Except they didn’t hit the door.
Instead they sailed right through the now unobstructed doorway and crashed to the floor inside the house. The ceramic pot shattered on the timber flooring and Covington screamed.
It was that blood-curdling sound that sent his heart into cardiac arrest. For a split second, Dirk got the better of him and landed a punch to his jaw. The pain that shot through Tris’s head was enough to snap him out of his frozen state. With a speed and a thought process he’d never be able to recall, he got his ex-friend into a headlock and pinned him down.
In the next few minutes, the place exploded with activity. He had no clue where everyone had come from but suddenly his house was full of police and firemen and paramedics. It was the last, tending to a bleeding Covington that had him letting Dirk go and racing to her side.
“Cov, baby.” He tried to pull her to him but the paramedic pushed him back.
“Give us a minute. I’m pretty sure it’s superficial but I need to clean her up a bit to be certain.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. Discovered another—bigger—one in its place. His chest ached. His vision turned a hazy red. Covington’s face blurred in front of him.
“Hey. Buddy. You all right?”
The gruff voice sounded miles away. And there was so much red. It was blood. Cov’s blood. She was bleeding and he could barely suck in a breath.
“Hold it together, Harding.” Chief Maguire clapped him on the shoulder.
He wobbled, his knees threatening to give out except he was already on them. Kneeling beside a bleeding Covington while some stranger tended to her wounds and the police removed a shouting Dirk from his house.
“What happened?” he managed to choke out through his closed throat.
“A flying shard of pot,” the paramedic answered. “Clean slice. Not deep. But it’s a head wound. They bleed the most.”
“I love you.”
“What?” Three people asked.
The only one he was interested in was Cov.
He shuffled forward and was grateful when the paramedic finished applying the bandage and moved out of his way. He took her hands in his and locked his gaze on hers. Taking a deep breath, he spoke from the heart.
“I love you. I have from the minute Dirk introduced us. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair but I respected you and him in spite of what I knew. I should have told you—”
“Why didn’t you?”
