Page 122 of Floodgates

“I am very happy with how things turned out,” I said honestly, thinking of Cord. “And if I can be happy, so can you, Lucien.” And it would have been true before Tim Stanson. But maybe years from now, when he got out of prison…. “There can be a new life for you. I’m sure of it.”

“I tried,” he said tiredly. “I did. But there’s nothing left, Tracy, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I wish I had met you before Breckin did.”

I smiled at him. “But you would have only seen Turi in me too. Cord’s the only one who just sees me.”

“I hope he can forgive me.”

“Please,” I pleaded with him, wondering where the hell Cord was at the same time. “Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt Celia.”

“No one walks away,” he assured me, suddenly yelling. “Breckin needs to pay for Turi! He destroyed him! He destroyed me!”

“Turi took his own life,” I argued quietly, trying to lower his volume by speaking softly. “He made the choice, no one else.”

“He was only eighteen! What the fuck did he know about the rest of his life? He had no idea he could ever get over Breckin Alcott.”

“You were his friend. Why didn’t you tell him you were there for him?”

“I couldn’t!”

“Because you were scared he’d reject you.”

“He wanted Breckin!” he screamed at me. “Breckin was his shot!”

“Turi needed to be his own shot.” Trying to speak softly was hard because I was terrified. My voice kept coming out as a raspy whisper.

He took a deep, settling breath as he lifted the gun. “You’re right. Logically I know that, but my heart will never agree,” he said calmly. “So let’s see how Breckin likes losing his love and his baby.”

“Freeze!”

Oh thank God.

“Drop the weapon!”

The relief was so overwhelming that for a moment, I thought I was going to do a face-plant on the floor.

I heard the shot, like a pop, and stood there, frozen, before I heard another shot, and Lucien screamed as he went down.

Standing there, as the man was buried under three policemen, I was startled when Cord suddenly appeared in front of me, holstered his gun, and ran his hands frantically over me.

“Honey, are you hurt? He shot at you point-blank.”

But I wasn’t hurt, and when Cord grabbed me and hugged me, almost too tight, squeezing the breath out of me, I had enough presence of mind to ask him to check on Celia.

He manhandled her, spinning her in his hands, checking everywhere, and when she smiled at me before she fainted, I knew we were both okay.

“So he missed,” I said to the man I loved as he held Celia in his arms.

“Yes,” he agreed, and then his mouth dropped open.

“What?”

He reached out and touched the collar of my leather jacket. When I turned my head, I noticed when he pulled on it that right above a riveted snap was a perfectly round hole.

“Motherfucker,” I groaned, turning my gaze back on his face. “This is my favorite jacket.”