The Someday Girl (The Girl Duet Book 2), page 22
I’m almost there, when it swings open.
Masters is standing there like my avenging angel, gun drawn. His ice-blue eyes assess the situation in under a second.
“Duck!” He yells to me.
I don’t question him; I hit the deck.
He fires off a round and I hear Helena scream in pain, followed by the thud of her body as she collapses to the floor. Typically, I’d be concerned, but the fact that she was about to carve me open like a Thanksgiving turkey has essentially eradicated any semblance of sympathy. I watch Masters approach her, a set of handcuffs materializing from his back pocket. She’s restrained in under a second. With grim proficiency, he tears a strip of fabric from the bottom hem of his t-shirt and tourniquets her leg so she doesn’t bleed to death.
The shock of the bullet in her thigh is enough to quell her struggles. She lies on the floor, whimpering in pain, as Masters picks up the knife and moves it far out of her reach. When he’s sure she’s not going anywhere, he crosses back to me. I’m still crouched on the floor, barely daring to breathe.
“Are you okay?” His voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it as he stoops down to my level so we’re eye-to-eye.
I nod. “Oh, I’m just grand. Thanks for asking.”
His eyes crinkle a tiny bit, but his mouth is pressed into a solemn line. “The police are on their way. They should be here any minute.”
I stare at him. “You saved my life.”
Shrugging like it was nothing, he pushes to his feet. He flips on the nearest light switch, illuminating the room. The sudden brightness makes me blink. When my eyes refocus, I look around my living room. Between the shattered glass littering the floor and the bloody handprints trailing from Helena’s whimpering form to the front door, it’s like something straight off a scary movie set.
I look back at Masters and find he’s staring at me worriedly. I don’t say a word as I cross to him and throw my arms around his muscular frame. He goes still at first, but eventually his arms come up around me to return the stiff hug.
I don’t care if it’s awkward. I don’t care if he thinks it’s weird that his boss is hugging him. I don’t care about a thing except making sure he knows how grateful I am.
“Thank you, Kent,” I whisper, using his name for the first time since we met. “Thank you for saving my life.”
It could be my imagination, but I think his voice is a little thicker than normal when he speaks.
“Nice try, Firestone — getting yourself nearly murdered just so I’ll call you by your first name. Not gonna work, but I applaud the effort.”
I laugh through my tears — a hiccupping, horrible sound that catches in my throat and quickly turns to a sob.
He drops his arms and steps back, patting me on the arm like he doesn’t quite know how to handle my emotional display. We both hear the sirens at the same time, growing louder as they race down my street. Masters crosses to the security panel and punches in the code to open the gate. Flashing red and blue lights flood my driveway as two cruisers pull up in front of my house, followed closely by an ambulance. Uniformed officers leap from the vehicles like ants at a picnic, talking into radios and barking orders as they survey the scene.
Standing on my porch, I watch the paramedics load Helena onto a stretcher and wheel her toward the waiting ambulance — a lifeless, empty-eyed girl with no fight left in her. She stares straight up at the sky without a care in the world.
I try to summon sympathy.
None comes.
Masters is in the driveway talking to the police, gesturing from me to the house to Helena. I know I should join their conversation, should allow someone to look at my bleeding hands and ravaged wrist, but I am floating outside my body, experiencing everything as it unfolds like a passive bystander. It’s as if I’m watching a horror movie instead of living inside one.
There’s a crowd gathering at the end of my driveway — neighbors, news crews, paparazzi. All eager for details of Katharine Firestone’s horrific ordeal. Camera flashes mingle with flashes from the police cars, until the world turns to one giant strobe of color.
I’m not sure who arrives first. I just know that they all roll up, one after another — Harper in her used sedan, Wyatt in his shiny Audi, Grayson in the sleek Bugatti. The police attempt to stop them, but Masters waves them through. I try to conjure the strength to walk, to meet them halfway down the steps, but my feet aren’t cooperating. I have grown roots in this spot, beneath the dim porch light.
Wyatt moves faster than I’ve ever seen him. One second he’s behind the wheel and the next he’s there in front of me, face a mask of horror. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon. I see how his hand trembles as he reaches out and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, so gently you’d think I was made of glass, liable to shatter under the merest pressure. His fingers hover by my ear as his eyes hold mine, communicating wordlessly. Asking permission without making a sound, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down.
That’s all right. We’ve never needed words, anyway.
In total silence, I turn my head to lay my cheek in his big hand. A shudder of relief moves through him as his fingertips press into my skin.
I’m fine, my eyes say. I’m breathing.
The stubborn set of his jaw expresses the words he cannot say.
I could’ve lost you.
I know he’s aching to pull me into his arms — that he needs the crush of physical contact to remind himself that I’m real, that I’m alive, that I’m still breathing. I also know that, because he’s Wyatt, he’s holding himself tightly in check, putting his own needs behind mine until he’s one hundred percent sure I want his arms around me.
I’d roll my eyes at him, if I could find the strength. Instead, I look at him and force out a single word. A broken plea.
“Wyatt.”
A growl of need rattles inside his throat as he pulls me into his arms. He hugs me for a long stretch, standing there breathing me in like a man starved for air, until a wry voice interrupts the moment.
“Hastings, you’re not the only one who wants to hug her, you know.” Harper sounds impatient.
Wyatt drops his arms, but doesn’t release me fully. He keeps a hand on my waist as he steps aside so Harper can throw her arms around me. Her hug is full of warmth and strength.
“You good?” she asks simply.
I nod.
“Good.” She dashes tears from her eyes and looks around for her boyfriend. He’s still speaking to the police. Grayson’s joined them, which means they’re probably talking about Helena. He tries to catch my eyes, but I avoid his seeking gaze.
“I should probably talk to the police.”
A grumble of protest sounds from Wyatt. “No. You need to get checked out by the paramedics first. Another ambulance is on the way.”
I wrinkle my nose and turn to face him, a comment about his overbearing protective streak poised on my tongue, but he’s not paying attention. He’s too busy running his hands over me, checking for damage. I yelp when he reaches my wrist. He pulls it up to inspect it and I hear him suck in a breath.
“Baby.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hurt.” His hands delicately feel the bones in my wrist. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you still need to see a doctor.”
“It’s probably just a sprain. Doesn’t even hurt that much,” I lie. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.”
He turns over my hands, sees the deep gashes scored into the skin, and swears under his breath. Before I can say anything else, he’s scooped me up into his arms and carried me inside.
“Wyatt!” I protest. “I can walk!”
He ignores me, stepping over the threshold. The sight that greets us makes him stop short. I feel the tension inside him building like a storm as his eyes sweep from the wreckage of my lamp to the puddle of Helena’s blood, seeping across the hardwood.
“Wyatt, breathe. And put me down, please. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t listen. He strides through the house until we reach the sitting room, untouched by signs of struggle, and sets me down on the couch carefully. His hands stroke over my hair.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs. His eyes cut to Harper. “Stay with her.”
Harper doesn’t object. She settles on the cushion beside mine and sighs.
“Quite the drama queen, aren’t we? You know, if you felt you weren’t getting enough attention between the crazed paparazzi and accidental pregnancy and movie premiere and messy romantic entanglements with multiple men, you could’ve just gotten a bad haircut or rashly decided to get a tattoo you’d later regret. You didn’t have to go and get yourself practically shish-kebabed by a crazy girl with excellent bone structure and questionable sanity.”
I snort. “Noted. Next time, I’ll just get a really ugly pixie cut and call it a day.”
Wyatt reappears, the small first aid kit from my bathroom cabinet in his grip. He crouches between my knees, grabs my hand, and starts to pull tiny pieces of glass from the cuts with a pair of tweezers.
“Ow!” I wince and try to tug my hand away. “That hurts!”
He holds my hand still, concentrating.
“Wyatt, you really don’t have to—”
“Katharine.” His eyes flash up to mine and I see the fresh horror still swimming in them. “Let me do this. Let me do something so I don’t feel so goddamned useless. Please.”
I nod and my voice goes soft. “Okay, love.”
A few minutes later, my hands are glass-free and we’re joined by Masters and Grayson. Two police officers follow them in, along with a fresh crew of paramedics. They nod to Wyatt as they take his place by my feet, inspecting my wrist and hands. The wrist isn’t broken, but it’s severely sprained and there’s so much swelling under the bruised flesh, they err on the side of caution by wrapping it in a tight splint.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“My back,” I murmur, rising to my feet. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I’m starting to feel aches and pains over every part of my body. I turn and lift my shirt so they can examine my spine. Wyatt steps in front of me, creating a human privacy shield to block the view of the others.
I smile at him, appreciation in my eyes.
He frowns back at me, deep concern etched on his gorgeous face.
“Just bruising,” the paramedic says, lowering my shirt. “But if you experience any dizziness, excessive fatigue, or blood in your urine, make sure you get to a hospital ASAP. Otherwise, drink lots of fluids and take Advil as you need it. You should be back to normal in a few days.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, examining my new splint as they gather their med-kits and head for the door.
The police are next. They ask me to describe the ordeal from the moment Helena arrived to the second Masters showed up on my doorstep. I try to keep my voice steady, dispassionate, as I relive the horror, but I don’t think I succeed because Harper starts to cry and Wyatt’s hands are fisted so tightly by the time I finish, I worry he’s lost circulation. Grayson has gone pale. Even Masters looks effectively shaken.
With efficient nods, the officers snap their notepads shut and turn to go. Masters walks them out. The rest of us sit in silence. My eyes are starting to droop; it’s been a long day.
“You know, this is getting kind of old,” Harper says, shattering the quiet. “My boyfriend having to rush out of bed at odd hours, to save you. I’m thinking I should move in, like I did when you first bought this place. For wholly selfish reasons, of course.”
I smirk. Typical Harper — she recognizes I don’t want to be alone in my house, after this ordeal, but also knows me well enough to realize I’d never ask for her to stay.
“I’m hoping this was the last time,” I murmur, laying my head on her shoulder. My tired eyes find Wyatt’s and I see he’s watching me intently. His too-blue stare never leaves my face, as if he fears I’ll disappear should he shift his attention away even for a moment.
“What I want to know is how the hell she got in here in the first place,” he mutters darkly.
Walking back into the room, Masters answers before I can. “Saw her come in on the security feed. She slipped through the gate while you were leaving. Must’ve been camped out in the hedges, waiting for an opportunity.”
Wyatt flinches.
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, knowing it’s useless even as the words leave my mouth. He’ll blame himself for this, despite the fact that he couldn’t have possibly known what would happen when he drove away. I see his jaw clench even tighter. The thoughts in his eyes are clear as day.
If I’d stayed, you’d be fine right now.
“I thought she was in rehab,” Harper says. “How the hell did she escape a loony bin in Palm Springs and make it here in the first place?”
“She wasn’t in Palm Springs.” I sigh tiredly. “She was in Malibu.”
The air goes still. I don’t realize I’ve just dropped a bomb until I see Wyatt turn to Grayson.
Up till this moment, my co-star has been hovering on the fringes of the room, looking vaguely guilty. Now, seeming to realize I’ve just thrown him into the spotlight, he shuffles a bit father inside.
“I didn’t take her to Palm Springs,” he admits, voice suffused by remorse. “I thought I could handle it. I thought I could help her on my own, if I watched her round the clock and brought in a private doctor for home visits. I was trying to do something good. I had no idea she’d go after you, Kat.” He steps closer to me, those infinite green eyes contrite. “I swear, if I’d known she was this bad, I—”
I never get to hear the rest of his words, because Wyatt’s fist flies out and punches him in the mouth. Grayson goes reeling from the force of the blow. He catches himself just in time to prevent tripping over an end table.
“Fuck!” Grayson curses, clutching his bleeding lip. “Hastings, what the hell is your problem?”
Wyatt is red-faced and seething. His words vibrate with fury as they leave his mouth. “You put Katharine in danger with your shitty choices. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t even want to look at you. You’re leaving, right now.”
“Kat—” Grayson’s eyes fly to me. “Kat, I’m sorry—”
Wyatt takes a threatening step toward Grayson and he backpedals a bit.
“Just go, Grayson. It’s fine.” I rise to my feet, exhaustion saturating my every atom. “Really. I’m not mad. But I am tired. You two having a fist fight in my living room really isn’t helping matters.” I glance at Wyatt. “You need to calm down, love. You’re freaking me out.”
He grunts, his glare never leaving my co-star.
Grayson looks from me to Wyatt and back. I see comprehension fill his eyes. For the first time, he seems to realize that I’m not his anymore. That I haven’t been his for quite some time, now.
His throat muscles contract. His mouth opens to say something, then closes again without vocalizing a single thought. I think he knows there’s nothing else he can say, in this moment, to repair things between us. Too much has happened.
Hawaii. The baby. Helena.
Running a hand through his hair, he looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”
“I know,” I whisper.
His sad eyes meet mine. “For all of it.”
“I know,” I repeat, even more softly.
Nodding, he turns and walks out my door. And it’s strange, because I know I’ll see him again soon with the movie premiere rapidly approaching, but as I watch him walk out I get the sense that it’s the last time I’ll see him. An indisputable goodbye.
I shake off the ridiculous sensation and look around from Masters to Harper to Wyatt. They’re all watching me warily.
“So… this was a pretty stellar day, huh?”
Masters smirks.
Wyatt looks to the heavens, as if seeking patience.
“You aren’t funny.” Harper elbows my side. “And you look like crap.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it,” she insists. “You should go upstairs. Get in bed.”
“I won’t be able to sleep.”
“I’ll stay over so you aren’t alone,” she offers.
“No.” Wyatt’s firm tone interjects. “She’s coming home with me.”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“You. Are. Coming. Home. With. Me.” He over-annunciates each word, eyes narrowing. “Which part of that statement did you not understand?”
“You aren’t the boss of me.”
“Technically, I sort of am,” he reminds me. “But even if I wasn’t your boss, you’d still be coming home with me, because I love you and I’m worried about you and you could’ve died today. And until that image is out of my head, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Got it?”
“You’re being very domineering, old man.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
My voice gets quiet. “I thought…”
His brows lift. “What, baby?”
“I thought you needed space and time.”
“Fuck space. Fuck time.” He takes two steps, closing the gap between us, and bends so our eyes are level. “I was an idiot earlier. I was scared and stubborn. I let my own selfish needs distract me from what’s important — you. I choose you, Katharine Firestone. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s complicated. I choose us.”
My eyes are stinging, but he’s not done. Carefully, so carefully it breaks my heart, he reaches out a hand and places it flat against my stomach. When his eyes meet mine, they’re filled with something like wonder.
“When I look at my future, I see you. At my side, in my arms, in my bed. I want to build a life with you. I want to start a family with you. This baby…” His voice cracks. “Our baby… will be so loved. Unbelievably loved. It doesn’t have to be a burden. I was wrong to even think that. This… it’s an incredible gift.”
“But…” I bite my lip to keep from blubbering. “What if it’s—”
“Shhh.” His eyes flash. His fingers flex against my stomach. “I don’t care about biology. I don’t give a shit what a piece of paper from some lab says. From this moment on, I’m in. I’m one hundred percent in.”
